#i am actually astonished by what this has done to me

[louistardust]

there are people at barricade tonight that get to touch tanktop louis and none of them are me

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

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Next part

[noxturnalmoth]

What Could Have Been

Summary: Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Warnings:

Word Count: 6,397

Masterlist: here

Chapter 2 - Alone

"You have five seconds to explain what happened before I snap your neck."

Was gruffly said in your ear, ragged breath fanning the side of your neck and hair as the wet rag around your throat was pulled tighter. Although you knew very well he could and would kill you if given the opportunity, you refused to give in to your base instinct of attack, fight engraved in each cell in your body instead of flight.

"Can't do much if I can't talk." Was wheezed out as you managed to elbow him in the ribs. The attack could lead to either Slico dropping the rag to cradle his fresh wounds or him dragging you down while the rag choked you further, you were relieved that it was the former. Taking a gulp of fresh air, you turn quickly on the bed and ignoring your ankle's painful straining, straddled the man's waist, your legs hooked around his thighs while you pinned his hands above his hands. His teal eye was narrowed viciously, the teal a biting cold that clawed at you as his disfigured eye burnt you down, charring you to nothing by a simple rageful look. The black of its sclera seeming darker while the orange of the iris was shining bright like an inferno, a a much more different look than the calm yet restless dullness of it when Silco was unconscious. "And if you can't stop trying to kill me I'll have to leave us in this very uncomfortable position for the forseeable future. You're gravely wounded, barely stabilized, and if you try anything not only would it be easy to subdue you but if you managed to escape you'd be dead meat, no matter how strong you are. So can you please not?"

Nightmare fresh on your mind, still appearing behind each blink, exhaustion having sucked up all you had even after a small rest and pain making your voice clipped. His good eye widened slightly in surprise, probably not used to being talked to in such a way or physically handled for quite some time. His lips were pulled back in a sneer but when he tried to escape your grip and blood seeped from his wounds, pain shot through his and cut the action short by making him go limp and groan.

"Fine."

Is huffed from beneath you before you peel yourself away and softly appologizing for your action under your breath, action that also seems to astonish the man as if he had never expected his "captor" to show any ounce of humanity. And you had to rectify that horrible misunderstanding, if not for your pride, for his clarity of mind and relief.

You start the introduction by saying your name as you unwrapped his bandages.

"I found you in a building pretty well hidden between the fringes and the entresol level. I had been there for personal matter regarding a Chem Baron meeting." Silco takes a sharp breath, as sharp as the daggers he had hidden on his person when you first brought him home, aswell as the glare he was currently shooting you while you were cleaning and checking his wounds. "I know, it sounds suspicious, and it was. Those are worse sump rats than I am, because they don't even harbor any loyalty or cause but their own, not even to our people, to Zaun as a whole. I heard from the grape vine that you'd already have an attempt on your life done by Finn, so when I learned he was organizing a little clandestine takeover I had to know what it was about. Plus there's always good extra information to get, they're not careful enough with how they speak and act, it reveals all their cards to the one who actually has a mind and uses it properly."

He scoffs, tensing as your hands touch his skin but biting back any comment or insult he may have for you, knowing better than to bite the hand that heals.

"I was about to hide in the building you were detained in until the meeting started, and heard a whole lot of ruckus. Turns out a family reunion was happening, and i may have not seen anything but I heard enough to know someone got hurt. Even after I saw it was you I couldn't stop myself from running home, I had witnessed manslaughter and I was not about to let a fellow Zaunite die if I could help it. So what if it was you? I would have done it if it was anyone else of our people, even if it was a Piltie. But like hell I, as a trencher, was gonna let one of my own die if I had a say in it."

Your voice resounded in the curtain walled room, the rounded window letting the fluorescent lights filter through the mezzanine, as your hands applied ointment softly to the puckering scars. None had to be restitched but the movements he had performed earlier would make them more sore than they would have been had he not done that. Yet you understood, the man who had all the cards and control in Zaun dying, then finding himself in bed with a stranger was bound to activate fight or flight. And just like you, rebellion was carved deep within his soul.

"What do you want?" His voice had asked so roughly, like angry, rolling thunder hidden behind a curtain of dark, inky clouds.

"Nothing. I want nothing but your health and safety at the moment." Is what you humed back, your hands grazing him gently as you wrapped his chest and stomach. A hiss was heard, and as you looked at Silco you found him analyzing you, mouth downturned as if your mere existence displeased him, and it may have but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You were doing what you thought was right, you were helping one of your own and that's all that mattered.

"I'll ask again." He all but growls out. "What do you want?" Is clipped from behind clenched teeth, his hands going for youe throat. "I don't believe in good samaritans."

"You shouldn't. Everybody has something they want." My hand catches his wrists and his snarl grows deeper, carving his face with a grave expression. "My condition is you taking it easy to not make it any harder on either of us, and to just let me do this. Because I don't know if you've noticed but you've come back from near death Silco. Gone are the Eye of Zaun and the Industrialist, it's been a week and the world goes on without you. You've been old news since you got shot."

His breath hitches and his weak grasp on your throat tightens, eyes looking between each of yours, trying to find something, anything. Turns out, even if you're Silco, near death by the hands of a loved one is enough to make all your walls tumble down like a house of cards. So you bring my other hand up, enclosing both his wrists between your palms.

"I've admired you since I was a kid, Silco." You begin, speaking softly, your eyes looking onto his. "Somewhere along the way you lost yourself and you lost sight of what mattered the most, Zaun. You were obsessed with the idea of it and did all that you did for it, but in the end all you've done was for the semblance of a dream of youth. All you did was for revenge against Piltover, you were fuelled by hatred and now your dream and your empire both have toppled because you've grown overzealous."

"In the pursuit of great, you failed to do good, Silco." His hands clench again, your breathing slightly altered yet not enough to make you take action, his eyes looking at you, drowning and flaying you with their dual violence. "I wanted to save you not for the man you are and what he possesses, but for the man you once were that raised hell to Piltover's enforcers, the man that was a founding member of the Children of Zaun, the idealist who wished for all of his people to finally be free and happy, the child who fought tooth and nail in those mines to survive, the co-founder of the Lanes who helped us generate some of our own profit without Piltover, the man on whom the bridge attack's responsibility fell who then disappeared and came back a monster."

You grab his wrists tighter as he brings his face closer to yours, breath still smelling like tobacco even days after.

"I am not that man anymore, he has died."

"And so have you." You push his wrists away, getting out of the bed and pulling the chair back up from its position on the ground, sitting on it to rewrap your ankle. "So who will you be now Silco?"

Is the last thing uttered from your lips as you take the basin downstairs with your tray on top of it, emptying the cold water and preparing food for two for the first time since you crawled up from the deepest, darkest and most lawless parts of the sump you grew up in. Figments of memories still clinging to you as you hum to occupy the silence, to occupy your busy, loud mind, your gramophone too far for you to want to drag your exhausted body to it. Later, with the tray and basin filled with food and water respectively, you climb back up the stairs, careful not to hurt yourself more.

And opening the curtains you're surprised to see the man still awake, yet a part of you isn't, it feels like the coma he was in for the week was the most sleep he's gotten in years, and that saddened you as you knew exactly how it felt. He was sitting up on your bed, back on the wall, legs stretched as his eyes looked in front of him absentmindedly, lost in thoughts you could only guess were dreary.

"I have to work today, I've been gone for six days and people need me." You say as you set the tray on the bed, his eyes snapping to you as if he only just noticed you were there. "I'll be back later on, please don't try anything. If not for my sake, for your own. If there are still things you wish to accomplish in this life, rest." And those were the last words uttered between you that day as you left right after eating your breakfast.

Down in Zaun in this time of year the weather was bitingly cold, the metal storing the cool from the wind, rain and snow and distributing it to the whole of the Undercity, the bite getting worse the lower you got. But that was no matter for you, the forge was always warm, the hearth burning brightly and illuminating the shop in a soft orange glow as you fixed appliances and made tools, day in and day out helping your community. It felt good, cathartic even, to hit something in order to help someone instead of hurting them, and it felt good when people needed you because you were good at fixing and creating, not destroying. And everyday that Janna let you breathe, you'd thank yourself for working so hard towards achieving something worth being proud of with no one's help but your own and your community's. People who had taken you in their arms and offered a new chance at life seven years ago and for whom you worked incessantly for to balance out the ledger, to repay your debt. And as you arrived at your shop, started the flame and opened up, you saw people pouring in, faces old and new, but all of them you could help and you would, for in Zaun everyone knows the one rule: "we never give our own people away".

But everyone forgets its second part: "we always help our brothers and sisters if we can".

You didn't, and it was the one motto you lived by, day by day, muscles flexing and clenching, sweating at the flame's heat as you fixed, as you created, and today wasn't an exception, and neither was the next week. Silco seldom talked to you, his stomach healing slowly but surely as he begrudgingly followed your advice of staying in bed while you wondered what he was thinking about that had his eyes glaze over, staring into the nothingness and his ears deaf until you metaphorically shook him awake. You took on no new mission of your own, your mind not up to sabotaging the Piltie pigs or the Sump leeches while the man you now shared your life with was still healing, although while his stomach was getting along quite well, the rest of his body seemed to degenerate. You had told about him to your landlord, telling him and his family how you've come to have an unwilling roommate and revealing who he was, knowing that you didn't have to plead for them to keep their mouths shut and you couldn't be more glad to be a Zaunite.

News in Zaun could travel as fast as lightning or as slow as the rolling of the clouds bringing it forth. It had taken two weeks for you to hear from a client that Piltover's council building had been attacked the night you saved Silco, and that three councilor had died, Councilor Hoskel, Councilor Kiramman and Councilor Bolbok, aswell as Viktor, a fellow Zaunite and one of the brilliant minds behind hextech which revolutionized technology on topside. Your heart grew heavy as you were revealed the Perpetrator: Jinx, Silco's daughter and the one who nearly killed the man she called her father. The rest of your day was spent pondering how you could break the news to the man, his daughter had probably been so guilt stricken she destroyed the world and herself alongside it, yet you couldn't lie to him, even less if it's about the only person he loves. So that night, you pass by a food stall, getting food that you bring upstairs with you to Silco, stubble had filled his face, the marred side patchy and irregular. His eyes were tired and glossy, and when you sat down on your chair next to your bed and placed the warm bag on the bed, they dragged lazily to you instead of snapping as usual. His shivering curled up form on the bed, his jaw locked tight as if in immeasurable pain, he wrapped himself deeper in your blanket, trying to maintain a cold façade even after everything.

He was ashamed and you knew it, ashamed of his near death at the hands of his daughter, ashamed at his weakness in this whole ordeal, control slipping between his fingers like sand. But it looked like something else was at play, he was flushed, sweaty and sensitive to sound, touch and light since the day he woke up, the condition getting worse as time passed, and you knew you would never be able to get information as to why if you didn't drive a good bargain, so sighing you straighten up.

"I have knews of your daughter." Was what had him sit up, doubling over in pain yet it wasn't his stomach that he held but his eye. "But I will only tell you if you tell me what's going on."

"So you've finally decided to execute your power over me?" His voice wavered as he tried to force it to unleash venom, spittering and acidic against your skin as he got close to your face, his tired eyes looking particularly frenzied, the braziers of hell flickering dangerously in a way that had you narrowing your eyes in confusion.

"No, but there is something you're not telling me that's ailing you and I can't help if you don't let me."

"Why would I?"

"Because you want to know about Jinx." Cut through the fast paced hissing tone he had set for the conversation. "Don't you?" You tilt your head, secretly hoping that in his exhaustion he'll bite, because as much as you wanted him healthy you also knew of how comandeering and stubborn he was. And if his rough sigh, partly sounding like a growl, was anything to go by? You had won your bet against yourself.

"My eye. It's a source of constant pain, migraines, blurry vision at times, others it's depth perception being messed with. Those I can deal with usually, but this.." He stops, taking a deep breath, hand covering his bad eye. "I get episodes. My skin is rotting, so are my nerves, slowly but surely. I usually have a medication for it, but I have not the injector nor the serum."

There it was, and as you observed just how bad his condition was now, you knew he had been hiding his pain better than anyone else could have in his situation. Skin looking so much paler and its flush so much redder, the sweat gleaming all over his flesh, the marring across his left cheek running deeper, the gray flesh looking darker and like it was conquering more of the sickly territory of his face. That's when you realized that the flickering of his eye was a very persistant and visible pulsing of the organ. His flesh had been rotting before your eyes and you have no idea on how to help.

"What serum?" Your voice rushes, eyes looking at him as your hands measured the temperature of his forehead, burning.

"Shimmer." His voice croaked, no longer the energy for an angry growl. You take a sharp breath

"And the injector?"

"Made to deliver the shimmer directly in my pupil, it had a circular tubing around it to help place it around the eye." He pants a bit, closing his good eye to try to focus on anything but the pain. "I normally need one injection per day" And at that you were back up, telling him to eat without you.

"You still havent told me about-" He starts, scrambling on the bed to reach you, his voice breaking, tears clinging to his lower lashes, yet you cut him off.

"I'm not letting you know news about your daughter while you're agonizing, I'm not a monster. But just know that for now, she's a fugitive."

Closing the door behind you, you rush as much as your twisted ankle can permit you, stinging pain eating at every single one of your steps while youcut through town, goin to see an old connection of yours. Samira was a pharmacian, one of the rare ones down here in the Undercity, her pharmacy more akin to an apothecary shop yet her products were proven to help and provided whatever relief you seeked. If anyone had to have proper uncut shimmer, it was her. And you were right, as you explained your conundrum to Samira she nodded and handed you a dozen of vials. "Free of charge" as the eye of Zaun had died, she had said huffing out a laugh at the Irony, but as you shoved them in your coat pockets hurriedly she asked if you were alright.

"I'm managing." Was all you answered before high tailing it for your shop, leaving her in the dust.

The hearth was burning bright as you lit it, pondering how to go about making his injector. You couldn't make one from scratch, it would take too long and you shivered as you thought back of the fact he had hidden the fact his flesh was rotting away. He had been in horrible pain, adding up day after day, effects piling up as he curled up on his own. And you felt for this man, although it was misplaced pride he was still clinging to the last thing allowing him control: himself. And there, in your bed, weak and helpless albeit still fighting for the last shred of his integrity, you had recognized the man you admired as a child, the look in his eyes as you mentionned his daughter had been fiery. Even if he was in pain he was still doing all he could, although he couldn't move, he was still holding on. And as you picked spare parts in the back of the shop and set them on the anvil, you decided that as long as he was with you, you'd provide him with all the help he needed. Even if he never came back to the young revolutionary he once was, even if he remained the stubborn mean bastard he was now, even if he left, what you saw today was a lonely man. His eyes, his voice, you knew that look more than anyone. It's the one you had, surrounded by people yet never truly feeling like you fit in no matter what you did.

So as you heated up the metal parts and assembled them together you allowed yourself to think back to that loneliness. The one that makes everything feels transactional, like you can only be loved if you provide, the crippling pain of seeing others have friends and family while companionship of any kind terrifies you to the core, like it was a starved beast ready to gnaw you alive, from your skin to your flesh and even your bones. It's that loneliness that mixes with the sleepless nights, haunted by visions of horror as if you were in a fancy Piltovan cinema, locked in a theater of your own demons while the film rolled indefinitely. The one that leaves your throat and skin raw as you scream and claw at your skin, hoping to wash and expell away any ounce of pain you feel, but it's never enough, so you never scream again and encase your heart in molted iron, letting it cool into a spiked shell. The look Silco had in his eyes, the tone in his voice, you felt for him because you were the same, and you knew he'd reject you, but you were willing to try to help him. It was selfish, you knew as much, but you had been someone good for others for almost a decade, shaping yourself into someone accepted and beloved yet nothing could bring you close enough to your people no matter how much you loved them and how much they loved you. Because there was always a part of yourself you hid, an ugly past that you didn't wish to unhearth in fear of your house of cards crumbling down. Yet the need for emotional closeness intrinsic to human beings ate at you day after day. And maybe it was foolish to think that by helping Silco you could help yourself too, and it disgusted you to think that you had maybe expected something from him after all even if unknowingly, but you were willing to try, even if he was the only one benefitting from it at the end.

A couple of hours had passed by the time you finished the injector, rushing back home ignoring your own pain again in favor for helping the man in your appartment, as you have done for the past two weeks. Door slamming open and shut as you hurried your limping form upstairs, Silco crumpled on the bed, curled up on himself. And when you touch his shoulder he reels back, as if your touch had branded him. His eyes were angry, confused and pained, cheeks painted with bitter sweat and salty tears as blood dripped from his bitten lips, his arms and ribs marked with half moons. He had been hurting himself, to forget the pain you wager, of his condition and of how in the span of so little time all he has worked towards for crumbled to dust. And as one of your hands goes to your coat pocket to retrieve the injector and one tube of shimmer.

"I did all I could, do you want me to let you do it on your own?" You say softly, hand caressing his before raking some of his sweaty, messy bangs back to the crown of his head and away from his eyes. As my hand leaves his burning face he grabs it and sits up.

"What happened to Jinx?"

"Silc-"

"What happened to her?!" A gasp escapes him at his own raised voice as he falls back on the pillow, writhing in pain yet tensing to not let it appear quite as much, the concern and anger in his tone and mannerisms still very present.

"She..Shot the Council, three councilors dead, a Zaunite civilian aswell, the co-creator of Hextech I believe, she's now considered an enemy of Piltover and will be hunted down. It happened the day you nearly died." I sigh, my hand turning in his, entertwining our fingers and squeezing, hoping to bring any measure of comfort. "Silco you're torturing yourself, take the shi-"

"I need to go back to Jinx, she needs me." His voice cracked, his waning strength pushing you away as he stood up, knees buckling under him before you caught him in your arms, his extra weight making you taste the violent crack in your ankle.

"Haven't you done enough Silco?" You ask gently as you set him back down. "That girl is already haunted enough as it is, don't you think it's better to not appear to her again, that it's time to let her go? You'd be another ghost to her, and in the state you're in now you'd die in front of her again by the time you got to her."

"You don't know what's best for-"

"I may not know what's the best for your daughter but you do, and you know as well as I do that coming back will only hurt her further. You have nothing anymore Silco, how can you expect to be someone she falls back to? How can you expect to be a good father if you're not even the man she knew?" His anger is evident on his face, and you're understanding of why, it wasn't the lack of refusals towards him in the past few years that provoked his rage, no it was that he realized how the little control he believed he still held had been gone, and that the words you uttered were nothing but the unfortunate truth.

"I don't mean to hurt you, all I want is for you to be back up and running, and happy if that's even possible, but let me ask you that. Is your past life really worth you rushing back to? The senseless violence and drugs you dealt to your own people, an empire brought forth by our brothers and sisters you've subdued, greedy, stupid and distrustful collegues that wait for any occasion to stab you in the back no matter how loyal they may seem. We've all heard of Jinx, if we haven't dealt with her first hand, do you really believe a good father would have weaponized his daughter, Silco? Had you been a good father, would she have even been there and done what she's done? You've been the best father you could be, but blinded by your own trauma and ambition you've used the girl's affection to further your own agenda. Look at yourself, alone and destitute, and no one brought it upon you other than yourself, Silco."

"We've grown up in a world were there was never enough for everyone. I was trying to pull us out of the depths Piltover dragged us in but I don't expect you to understand, child." He all but spits.

You sigh, placing the injector and shimmer on your desk, sitting on the bed next to Silco who was shaking, rage and a maelstrom of other feelings emanating from him, swirling like a destructive tornado as his eyes ripped you apart.

"We've grown up in a world where there wasn't enough to go 'round for everyone, but have you made it any better? Or have you just capitalized on our pain, profitted on the fear and violence you brought forth? All you've done was make Zaun an enterprise and still saying it was for all of us, but you lost all of that years ago haven't you, you fought for all of us even when you've lost the plot. You're a lonely, terrified and pained man hiding behind a façade of control you've carefully built over the years, but that pain only grew hasn't it? So you tried to make yourself into the monster every Piltie sees in all of us so their attention is diverted to you, you shouldered all of the responsabilities in Zaun, you've raised a child, and you've still failed in all of those! Your façade terrifies even your own people, your empire toppled over and your child's crazy! You make everything worst by clinging to it, trust me, sometimes it's better to just let go. "

You breathe heavily, gulping as your hands gripped the bed, sheets crumpled in between your fingers. A thud resounds through the room and looking behind you, you see Silco sitting up with his back against the wall, his bi colored eyes looking to the copper tool and the glowing purple vial. The rage softening slowly, the chipped teeth showing from his angry snarl now hidden behind the curtain of his lips. He breathes heavy and shivers, pain mixing with emotions he seems too overwhelmed to even try to understand. But then his good eye opened a bit more, no longer hiding the tumultuous ocean within his teal iris as it looks from you to the table on which are placed the objects he needed. A silent invitation, you decypher. And so you nod, your lungs heaving as you bring the shimmer and injector to the poor man beside you. Your eyes meeting his again, all the energy and the fight had left him, there sat Silco in what you surmised was his purest form, tears flowing down his cheeks, eyes so pained you felt like you were about to double over. His jaw was clenched and his lips pulled in a sneer, the usual rage nowhere to be seen, it was something more visceral this time. And as you went to give him the material he shook his head, his arms crossing across his chest, nails digging to the sides of his arms.

So you approached slowly to not agitate him any further, he looked troubled enough as is. You looked at him every step of the preparation, putting the vial in the contraption, unlocking the needle cap, and placing the cylindrical apparatus to his eye to stabilize your hand, giving him a chance to back down everytime. But he never did, and once you injected the product, his form crumpling in pain, you realize just how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be. Your thumb wiping away a purple tear, the same purple tainting the burning orange of his ruined eye, before he slaps it away and turns his back to you, laying down. His body was no longer shivering and from what you had seen neither was the unblinking black and orange gem adorning the left side of his face. Understanding he needed space after that, you left the vials and injector and went downstairs, showering before you crumpled in the couch you've been sleeping in for the past two weeks, curling up on yourself.

The days are long after that, no more words uttered between you two, a tense and overwhelming silence taking over your appartment, he still only ate whenever you were away and you grew more restless but you understood. He needed time, to digest the hard truths, to take a good look at himself and wonder what he was doing to himself, what he had done to himself, and what he would do with himself later on. You knew that confusion better than anyone, and as you remember the feel of your bruised and ruined hands, the sounds of screams and cheering, the stench of corpses, booze and sweat, the taste of blood and tears. You've become someone good, helpful and, you hoped, worth knowing. But in whichever future you imagined it was always lonely, no one waiting for you at home, no friends close enough to you to know everything, a void still ripping your chest apart. He had lost himself for some reason, but you could only imagine the crippling loneliness he felt was why he clung to his dream so hard even after diverging from it, why he clung to the comandeering façade he had created, why he clung to his daughter like a lifeline. Because they were the only thing that reminded him he was alive and human at all. Just like helping people no matter the cost has been what kept you going.

One day after work, your body heavy and dragging as you moved, you brought up his dinner as always, expecting him to barely look at you, chilling eyes sizing you up as you left. But when you began to retire his hand caught your wrist, dragging you to the bed, tray discarded on your desk.

"Would letting her go truly be the only good thing I can do?"

His voice, rough from unuse, breaks the silence. Its low rumbling leaving a crackle of electricity behind it.

"I believe so." Is the simple answer you give.

"I would have nothing left."

You shake your head, freeing your wrist and laying your hand upon it on the bedsheets. "You'd still be alive, there's a chance for you to build something. You've forgotten yourself Silco, you've locked who you truly are away for too long. I think it's time for you to redescover yourself."

"Do you know who you are?" And at that you chuckle and shake your head again a soft "no" escaping your lips, your eyes gently raking over his form which was much healthier now that he had his medicine. "Then how do you-"

You interrupt his angry inquiry. "Because I know what I'm not. Do you?" And he freezes, his scowl softening as do his eyebrows, his eyes looking past you and through you to see something you cannot.

"The Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, they're gone." He breathes out roughly, one hand dragging through ink black and soft silver, and when arrived at the back of his head the hand tugs as if to bring his focus back. You nod, they had died a month ago, both of them, and as his eyes looked down to your linked hands you feel like that realization finally weighs in on him.

"You asked me when you woke up what I wanted from you. I've said that I only wanted you healthy, but I suppose I can't in good conscience continue to lie." He freezes and his eyes snap back to yours, hand gripping yours in a vice, not in anger, in something deeper, more all consuming. And you know that from the way the air shifts and his face twitches, like a child terrified of getting struck. "I did want your health to return to you, but I suppose I also didn't want to be alone anymore. People suffer in Zaun, that much is a fact for all of us, but I have seen things and done things, I've lived through events that molded me against my will. Events that most would not understand no matter how much they care. So I remain surrounded but alone, never truly myself with anyone. I guess, knowing parts of what happened to you, deep down...I hoped we could be friends. So I decided to be good to you no matter how bad you could be to me, as I always do, and even if you end up leaving I'll be glad if you at least felt cared for. Because I believe that no matter how well you hide it, you feel alone too."

Eyes lock and his hand relaxes, his eyebrows twitch and his eyes flutter around your face, digging for any hidden viciousness, for any burried intentions, but he finds none. You can see it in the drop of his tense shoulders, in the slow breath coming out of you.

"And you think I'd understand?" He drawls softly.

"I know you would, whether you want to or not. But you have a choice to stay or leave, I will never keep you against your will. As soon as you're good to go, feel free to do whatever you want."

"I'm not a good man."

"People can change, the question is whether they're willing to or not."

Silence ticks by, food untouched as you shift on the bed thinking the conversation is over, yet Silco's hand drags you back down.

"And you're willing to try?"

"Of course."

"It would be rotten work." The words spill from his lips before he can even think of a less emotive answer and your head shakes yet again. You set yourself next to him on the bed, enjoying the plushness of the mattress for the first time in weeks.

"Never to me. It's my job to fix things after all, no matter how battered, broken and unusable, no matter if the process is long, complex, or if I get hurt in the end."

Your hand quits his as it and its twin burrow in your pockets, procuring a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You place two rolls of paper and tobacco between your lips, lighting them with a flick of the thumb, opening the silver rectangle which provided a large flickering flame. You take one cigarette between two fingers and show it to Silco, asking for a truce of sorts. His hand hesitates, yet shivering fingers find your question and accept its terms, the filter that had previously surrounded by your lips now enclosed between his.

"I don't think I ever had a friend." Your voice softly says, expelling smoke as you broke the comfortable silence, eyes looking up at the ceiling. You see him nod from your peripherals, his head leaning back to do the same as you.

Everyone needs to be drunk on something to stay alive.

And albeit differently, for the both of you it was affection.

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[pitchsidestories]

underneath your clothes II Cata Coll x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1687

a/n: based off the cute request here. We're really craving a tattoo on our own now after finishing this oneshot. 😂

You knew tattoos were your passion since you had gotten your first one aged eighteen. So by opening your own tattoo studio with your best friend, you had fullfilled one of your life goals in the last year.

It was not always easy but you loved your job, especially when you could make your clients happy with your artwork. But at the moment, business was slow.

You were focused on wiping down the counter when your best friend and coworker Carla grinned at you: “Your favourite customer is back, y/n.”

Surprised, you looked up and saw someone walk towards the door of your studio: “What? Oh, she‘s not my favourite customer, Cata has been her only once before.”

“She‘s still your favourite.”, Carla shrugged with a smug look on her face.

You grimaced at her: “I don‘t have favourites.” Turning to your customer, you greeted her: “Cata, hi.”

“Hi.”, the goalkeeper smiled at you.

“You‘re here for another tattoo?”, you asked politely.

She nodded: “I am.”

“Do you have something specific in mind?” You noticed her gaze linger on the inked skin of your left arm.

“Uhm, yeah…”, she replied, catching herself and looking back at your face.

You bit back a smile as you thrust your arm in her direction to show her the floral tattoo wraping around your forearm: “Liking this one?”

Catas cheeks reddened: “I do. It‘s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”, you replied. You could feel Carlas eyes on you.

“But I actually wanted to get something for my sister today. Maybe next time.”, Cata explained.

“Oh, that‘s sweet.”

The football player continued while she gestured towards her upper arm: “Yeah, I want it to be on my arm. I was thinking about a wave or something.”

“Is there a meaning behind the wave?”, you asked curiosly while simultaneously trying to picture the perfect tattoo for her.

Cata nodded with excitement: “Yes, we grew up in Mallorca…”

“Thats is adorable. I love when people tell me the meaning of their tattoos.”, you happily replied while getting your sketchbook.

“Ever been to the island?”, Cata asked while she watched you starting to draw different kinds of waves.

Without looking up from your work, you explained: “Actually, yes. My mother was born there and part of her family still lives there so we spend all of the vacations in my childhood there.”

You could hear the astonishment in her voice: “Wait, you did?”

“Yes.”

“That‘s a funny coincidence.”

You slid the sketchbook in Catas direction so she could have a look: “Who knows, maybe we‘ve met each other before without knowing. So which wave do you like best?”

The goalkeeper looked thoughtfully at the drawings in front of her:” I like that one.”

With a dreamy smile on her lips Cata continued: “This is a nice thought actually. That we might have already met before.”

“I agree.”, you responded in a warm tone.

“I’m going to the coffeeshop, would you two like an iced coffee?”, Carla chirmed.

“Sure.”, you nodded.

“Nothing beats iced coffee on a warm spring day.”, the Barcelona player confirmed.

“So true.”, you agreed.

After Carla left the coffeeshop Cata promised you with a wink:” Next time, I’ll bring you an iced coffee before I show up.”

“You want another one already? Don’t you get into trouble for it from your coach or something.”, you raised an eyebrow at her.

Confidently she waved it off: “Oh, no. If it’s done in my free time, he can’t say anything about it.”

“Okay, good.”, you sighed relived.

“Don’t worry. I won’t get in trouble.”, the professional athlete replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Also, it’s just a small one.”, Cata reminded you while you were drawing the wave on her skin with a needle.

For a moment you looked up from your work:” Right.”

Meanwhile Carla had returned, bringing the coffees immediately to both of you:” Hey girls, I’m back.”

“Thank you, Carla.”, you answered sincerely.

“You’re welcome.”, she mumbled.

You quickly took a sip from the coffee before asking her:” What do you think of Catas new tattoo.”

After your friend took a closer look at your art piece, she whistled: “Oh, this is nice.”

“It symbolizes my sister.”, Cata explained beaming.

“How cute.”, Carla smirked.

While they talked for a bit you added the finishing touches until the tattoo was done:” Now you’re ready to go, Cata.”

“Thanks. I love it.”, the goalkeeper told you happily.

“My pleasure.”, you said and meant every word whole heartedly.

She stood up excitedly:” I’ll call you soon for a new appointment.”

“Alright.”, you answered.

After Cata has left your best friend declared dramatically:” That poor girl.”

“What?”, you frowned at her.

“Oh please, don’t play dumb.”, Carla begged you groaning.

This was the moment you realized what she has been hinting at:” Don’t worry. Next time, I’ll ask her out.”

Normally you didn’t open to customers like you did with the Barcelona player. Even though it was you who was the person who has seen her upper body without clothes, her dark eyes seemed to have seen right through you.

“You should.”, your friend grinned.

You couldn’t help but to blush as you thought about Cata:” She’s so cute, Carla.”

“I could tell that you thought that.”

Guys! Cata has a crush on her tattoo artist!“, Claudia yelled full of excitement.

The other Barcelona players looked up from their team dinner with varying degrees of curiousity and surprise while Catas cheeks turned red. A minute ago, she had just shown her new tattoo to Claudia and Patri but the youngest midfielder had immediately caught on as she heard the way Cata talked about her tattoo artist.

“Oh, that’s why she’s getting so many tattoos recently!“, Ona exclaimed with laugh.

“That’s not true.“, Cata tried to defend herself.

Mariona just smiled sweetly at her: “That’s so cute, Cata.“

“Guys, stop.“

When Alexia finally spoke up, Cata had hoped that she would call her teammates back to order but instead she just tilted her head: “So, when are you going to see her again?“

“Whenever I get my next tattoo?“, the goalkeeper shrugged.

Patri raised an eyebrow: “And that’s soon?“

“I mean I do have an idea for the next one.“, Cata admitted with a small smile on her lips.

Salma shared a knowing look with Patri: “Guess this means very soon.“

Cata was back at your tattoo studio only a few weeks after her newest tattoo, this time with an iced coffee in hand. You caught yourself smiling subconsciously as you watched the football player walked in.

“Hi Cata.“, you greeted her and gratefully took the drink from her that she handed to you. “Thank you for the coffee.“

Cata smiled as you took a sip: “Told you, I’d bring you one.“

“Appreciate it.“

It was the perfect mix of sweet and bitter. Exactly how you liked it. You set down the coffee on the front desk and thoroughly looked at the goalkeeper: “But you know that you don’t have to get tattoos all the time to ask me out on a date.“

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

Cata looked at you dumbfounded: “Wait, what?“

“Cata, would you like to go on a date with me?“, you asked politely.

Her face immediately lit up: “I would love to.“

“Great.“, you said and had to bite back a laugh as Carla pumped her fist in excitement behind Cata.

But the goalkeeper caught your attention again: “When is your shift over?“

“At 5 pm.“, you replied truthfully.

Cata nodded with a big grin on her face: “I’ll pick you up then?“

You nodded happily: “Yes, okay.“

“Perfect.“

Cata left the studio without a tattoo this time but she did leave the feeling of butterflies in your stomach instead.

At exactly 5 pm, Cata waited for you in front of the studio. From what you saw through the window, she looked great in her button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to showcase her tattoos. You could barely wait to close the studio.

When you finally locked the door behind yourself, the two of you awkwardly smiled at each other and you had to admit that Cata looked even better when she was right in front you.

You pointed at the picnic basket she was holding in her right hand: “Where are we going?“

“Just trust me, follow me.”, the goalkeeper replied warmly.

You didn’t know why but you trusted her immediately. Walking along side Cata made you feel safe and welcomed. When you reached the destination, you stood there in awe: “Oh my god, the view is stunning.”

“It’s, right?”, she grinned at you.

Truthfully you told her:” Yes, I love it.”

“I hoped you would.”, the player answered satisfied.

Watching at Barcelona from a distance made your worries surrounding your tattoo studio look small in comparison and you felt lighter in the company of the other woman, so you mouthed into her direction a heartfelt thank you.

“Here’s some food.”, Cata hummed, handing you some antipasti to eat.

Closing your eyes you mumbled:” It’s delicious.”

“Wine?”, she asked you, proving to be the perfect gentlewoman.

“Sure.”, you nodded, as the goalkeeper filled your glasses and you both took a deep sip.

“You know I would have come by to get a million more tattoos just to spend time with you.”, Cata confessed with a wink.

You looked into her eyes amused:” I do, so I had to save you from yourself.”

“That’s sweet. But I still want some more.”, the goalkeeper smirked.

Quickly you promised her:” You can get them one at a time.”

“I will.”

With that said you went forward to kiss her, she gladly replied to the kiss, pulling you closer to her, to fully embrace you in her strong arms.

A few weeks had gone by, and Cata and you were officially girlfriends. You were in the tattoo studio when Carla excitedly exclaimed:” Y/n? Thanks to your girlfriend a lot of her teammates have asked us to do their tattoos!”

Hearing that you hugged your girlfriend gratefully:” Love!”

“You’re welcome.”, Cata whispered.

[cyber333angel]

Jj making you feel better on your period !

caution ⚠️ - period s*x!

“alright babydoll let’s roll.” your boyfriend says, ready to go to the connivance store to get all the snacks and extra pads you need. “jayj my tummy hurts real bad and my feet too! can’t you just go for me..” you say in a glum tone, already in your sweat pants and jjs sweatshirt. you were all ready to go until your cramps snuck up on you and putting you in a agitating and painful mood. “baby you know I would but you won’t tell me what you want, plus I don’t know what size pussy you have so you gotta come with me to check.” he says shrugging his shoulders and trying to be funny, you look at him with an unamused face. “oh c’mon mrs. grumpster, we’ll be quick all you have to do is walk and point out what you want.” he picks you up placing you on his shoulder for a moment, walking to the outside of your apartment door and placing you down, forcing you to actually walk to the car, you mumble “that’s exactly the problem! you never listen t’me my feet hurt and-“ you go in grumbling a bunch of nothings and the two of you reach to the car. driving on the way to the store jj puts his hand on your tummy, rubbing it in circles, it relives the pain a bit. he sees you sigh at the relief, “that feel good babycakes?” you nod taking his hand and putting it below your waistband, directly on top of your pelvis. “your hand is so warm jayj..feels nice.” he’s just happy to help you get rid of some of that pain, resting his hand there for the rest of the ride. arriving at the store the two of you enter and walk around, grabbing all your cravings, pain killers and pads.

jj pays for it at the counter and puts the bags in the trunk. your sat back in the passengers seat moaning and groaning at the sudden pain, your back hurts and everything is just overwhelming you! “mmm jj I can’t do it! everything hurts so’bad! ugh..!” your crutched over the seat, your tummy in your lap, jj takes his hands and rubs your back. “im sorry sweet girl..don’t worry we will be home soon.” he says disheartened at your pain, knowing he can’t really help much. you and your boyfriend get home, jj unpacks the bag and you run to lay down on your bed, shriveling and rolling around in pain. after jj is done packing the bags he comes up to to your room watching you perform the scene, upset at the fact his baby is in pain. “you know..I saw on the internet that masterbation and sex can help relive period cramps.” you stop rolling around the bed, wondering if you actually heard what he just said and look at him astonished. “what! I just saw it somewhere, s’not like I made it up.” you huff at the rash suggestion, “jayj you don’t think that’s gross? s’all bloody down there..it would be very messy.” he steps closer to the bed, shaking his head and sits next to you, “babydoll nothing about you is gross, it’s very natural and I want to help you. trust, there’s worse things I’ve eaten. like once I ate this moldy bread with-“ you interrupt him, “yeah I know how gross you are! but if your really fine with it then I guess we can try..”

“you know I am mama.” you shy away at his eagerness and nod, and he gets up to fetch you a towel to place under you. you clean yourself up a bit and lie down on the bed, sliding off your sweatpants and panties leaving only jjs sweater to cover you. a little nervous of how this will go, your boyfriend sits on the bed applying a condom. he has you in a missionary position quivering under him, he calms you down. “baby I promise you it’s alright. the only thing I want for you is to feel better. you could do that for me right?” nodding but still a little anxious he lifts your thighs up, putting them on his shoulders and lines his cock up to your reddened hole. “im going in alright princess?” you squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in, his hand on your lower waist, pressing down you feel an intense pressure. arching your back you mewl at his prick prodding at your walls. “mmph jayj,.! feels so strange..” he thrust back and forth very slowly, “a good strange or..?” nodding at him, “s’good jayj just feels so deep!” your boyfriend loves that response providing deeper strokes to distract you from any cramps. “oh shit babycakes, you feel so fuckin warm..” you sit up on your shoulders and watch his cock go in and out, making such a mess of your pussy. you breathe hard through your nose and cringe at the pace. “jj i wanna cum..!” he looks down at you wrapping his arms around your thighs “you want me to go faster?” you nod frantically, “please!” jj pulls his hips back and thrust back in at a fast pace. your cunt squelching from mix of blood and arousal, pap-pap-pap. “hngh wait jayj s-slow down a bit!” you cry at the stimulation, “which one is it you want me to go faster or slower hm?” your unable to answer a the intensity, you feel a quiver in your stomach making you wince. “aw cupcake you feel like y’gonna cum? daddy making you feel good?” nodding, he rubs circles onto your cunt making you clench around him. “angh! feels so’good jayj..m’gonna cum!”

“c’mon baby..oh theeere it is good job.” you cream around his length, squealing and catching your breath from the orgasm. your boyfriend finishes in you and pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. “so how’s the cramps now mama?” sniffling, you tell him, “feels so much better jayj, thank you!” getting up you fling yourself on him to give him a hug. “no problem, anything to help you baby.” he smirks at you, “let’s get you cleaned up now sweet girl.” he takes you to the bathroom giving you a relaxing bath, doing all of the work for you. he drys you off, helps you into your pajamas and slides on your bonnet. giving you a painkiller with some water and tucking you into bed. “good night babydoll. tomorrow we will try some yoga, I heard that helps too.” you huff and grumble at the tiring sounding activity, “no m’sleeping tomorrow jayj!” he laughs at your lazy reaction and snuggles you closer to him.

[celaenaeiln]

Okay but you can’t just say “I'm not going to get into their brother relationship because that involves how Alfred treats Dick as a son rather than a grandson and is opening a whole new mansion of stuff so I'm going to wrap this up here” and not follow up with another post because that’s just cruel 😔😞 (aka this is me saying I really like & enjoy reading your interpretations and I need more of them HEHE)

😂😂😂😂😂😂

Thank you!!!! <3333

I love thinking about how Alfred treats Dick more of a son than a grandson because their relationship is different from Alfred's relationship with the other kids. Furthermore, it also explains a bunch of his actions.

First of, I know when everyone saw that Alfred had left Dick his entire inheritance they went "What the fuck." There were a bunch of jokes and questioning about why Alfred would do that and a lot of people have wrote it off as Tom Taylor's writing. But here's the thing. Tom Taylor has done a lot of stupid stuff in terms of characterization but he's done quite a few things right and one of them was adequately explaining Dick and Alfred's relationship.

I don't know how many people can read cursive but it says, "I invested much of this wisely and ethically...In fact, I planned to come to you for advice. Like Bruce, your mind is astonishing. You are a problem-solver and the world is full of problems." (There's actually panel during one of Dick and Slade's fight I have saved so lemme know if you or anyone is interested in Dick's innovativeness and how it makes his a terrifying opponent.)

Let me pause right there. This is Alfred's life savings. It's every piece of penny he's saved and every minute of his life is in that money. On top of what he says about Dick's intellect-and I agree and can prove it-he must've loved and trusted Dick an extraordinary amount to do this.

Alfred goes on to say, "I couldn't think of better hands to leave this fortune in. I believe you will see this, not as a personal gain, but as an opportunity. Because I believe in Dick Grayson."

He continues praising him and- HERE IT IS- "I am so very proud to call you my son."

DICK IS ALFRED'S SON.

This is the cleanest, clearest panel where he explicitly says it.

Hold on-this is the cleanest panel that says it? Wait a minute, let me retract that:

"Master Bruce was my son for a while. And then there was you."

THIS MOMENT HAS BEEN BUILDING UP ON US FOR YEARS. Tom Taylor wasn't doing lip service, he was just writing the inevitable!

I swear there's a panel where Dick refers to Alfred as his dad...

*Record scratch* WHAT DID ALFRED CALL DICK? WHAT DID DICK CALL ALFRED?

THIS IS WHY I LOVE THEM!!! THEY ARE GLORIOUS, BRILLIANT, UNDERRATED, AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THE FULL EXTENT OF EITHER OF THEIR ABILITIES, LOVE, OR DEPTH OF EMOTIONS.

THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL.

Take the Ric Grayson arc for another example.

Background context: Dick-Ric-was sleeping on the counter and all of a sudden he was startled out of a nightmare thus accidentally ending up bumping into the guy next to him who was drinking. Of course the guy doesn't mind only because it's Dick but anyways, here Alfred makes his entrance. Another thing I love about about this interaction is this is one of the few times Alfred has ever admitted to being in the military. The only other time I can think of him openly saying that is when he's slapping Bruce around.

The worry in the man's eyes for his wayward son...when Bea is snarking with Dick about his tab Alfred decides to pay for him instead.

LOOK AT HIS EYES AS HE SAYS GOOD NIGHT! THE AMOUNT OF EMOTION HE HAS IN THEM IS PURE PERFECTION. THE MAN JUST WANTS HIS SON TO COME BACK.

Not to mention, Alfred adores Dick in a way he didn't even with Bruce.

"For a long time I would dread coming down to this dark hellhole. But the advent of young Grayson has forced an alteration in my attitude. The masters have made much progress in these few short months. I was opposed initially to the recruitment of the lad in Master Bruce's self-appointed 'War on Crime.' But I am prepared to admit my error. Master Richard has mad a difference for the better to our lives."

This is HUGE. Coming from Alfred, this is massive because Alfred LOATHES Bruce's "War on Crime." How much?

So much that he slapped Bruce bloody for it.

The pseudo-father and son beat each other to pieces over it. So after years of Alfred hating Bruce for what he's done, for him to say he only accepts it because of Dick-because of Dick's personality-is enormous praise and accomplishment.

Alfred loves Dick in a way he doesn't love anyone else. And before I get flamed by people for suggesting Alfred loves Dick more than Bruce, I want to say he loves Dick as much as Bruce but in a different manner. He doesn't see Dick as a grandchild who needs to be coddled and softened, he sees Dick as a son he can spoil and cherish.

Him paying off the tab was not only an act of kindness, but it mimicks the way a rich father gives everything to his youngest son. Bruce was the first born he raised but Dick was the baby of their family. This also ties in with how Bruce doesn't see Dick as just him son like he does with the others. To Bruce, they are just as much brothers as anything else.

When Bruce fires Dick from Robin after two-face, Alfred couldn't take it lightly. Dick wasn't just the light of Bruce's life, he was the fucking sun to Alfred's.

I started crying when I read this because the emotions and the pain he's feeling is so visceral. A man who has been MI5 and SAS (Special Airforce Service), who has fought wars, who has fought his son, lost his best friends, is breaking down alone at the top of the stairs over not having Dick as Robin.

You might think that's not all that sad. Worse things have happened. You're overreacting.

Tears are literally streaming down my face as I'm writing this review. Rudolph nose and ugly bloodstained eyes complete with it.

Can you ever imagine loving someone so much?

Crying in silence with a steady voice to never let them know your sorrow?

But sure, sure, he's cried when others were killed like this so I'll go into other special things.

Some of his best moments are with Dick:

The pure adoration in his eyes as he watches his young son go 'flap' 'flap' 'flap' with his older brother's too big cloathes.

He's laughing! Do you know the only times he laughs or grins like that?

That's right-with Bruce! With his other son.

With Dick, he laughs, gets angry, and actually shows interest in things not related to people's health. Dick humanizes Alfred.

Who is the only other person Alfred has gotten mad at? Oh yeah. Bruce.

There's another panel where Alfred just sits by his bedside holding his hand.

It's the little things that matter is a lie. When it comes to Dick, Alfred does things in fighter jet air shows level of affection which he learned just for this during his SAS days.

Their shared interests & mutual understanding

People always think Dick and Alfred have nothing in common between them. Dick is excitable, bouncy, and some other adjective while Alfred is calming, stoic, and butler-y. They actually forget that Dick and Alfred canonically bond of plays. Dick, as I said before, is a massive theater nerd. He loves plays. He really wanted to see that shakespeare play and Alfred said he would take him because he knows people there and then went on to complain about how his brother didn't even drop by to see him. I love their interactions because Dick brings out a different side to Alfred.

Das Rheingold was a German musical drama that was performed as a single opera at the National Theatre Munich. This is the link if you're interested in reading a short synopsis of this complicated play by the Metropolitan Opera. It's like a mix of "The Lord of the Rings" and "The Rings of Power."

Also the fact that Alfred is tying his tie like a father would tie his son's.

I know they make a crack out of it by using Bugs Bunny (Bugs Bunny is a fantastic cartoon! I grew up on it!) but Alfred knows that Dick loves opera and theater and is only asking if this particular play will suit his interests. Okay, great, we know Dick likes theater. You've said that and posted about it before. But how do we know Alfred likes it too and not just because he's British and posh and whatnot?

He has preformed at the London Theater, and this is another way he connects to Dick emotionally. When Dick complains about being Batman, Alfred is the one that tells him:

This is something Alfred understands about Dick that absolutely no one in the family does.

The two of them are show people. They know how to play the role they were given, and they know how to play it well. No one suspects Alfred the Butler of ruthlessly using firearms and no one suspects Dick the Light of the Universe to ruthlessly to manipulate allies.

Dick knows this about Alfred too and never presses for any answers. When Alfred's pulling out a bullet from Dick and performing high level medical techniques he should know nothing about, Dick asks him, "Where did you learn all this, Alfred." To which Alfred responds, "You would be amazed at what you can pick up by watching the Discovery Channel." Dick just gives a pained laugh retorts about his wonderful bedside manners.

They know.

What Alfred sees in Dick is a pure goodness that can't be emulated. He loves his son for how absolutely good he is and is devastated when Dick can't be with him. Of everyone, Dick is the one Alfred is closest to. Other members have their moments with him but no one continually seeks out his presence just for the fact they like him aside from Dick. The rest treat him as an important side character, not a parent. And Alfred responds to that devotion with overwhelming love of his own.

Alfred and Bruce's optimism comes bundled up in the form of Dick. It's stunning how it's always Alfred of all people who admits this. Alfred who isn't supposed to show favoritism or bias is the one that consistently acknowledges how important Dick is to the family and him. This solidifies the fact that Dick is Alfred's favorite.

Other moments that differentiate Dick and Alfred's relationship:

We're pretty familiar with this and many of us have laughed it off when Alfred scolded Dick (also Dick looks hot af here). But can you imagine even anyone else playfully mocking Alfred? THIS. BOY. IS. SPECIAL. Alfred doesn't even blink twice at the address, indicating how typical it is for Dick to act that way with him. You only do that to people you're best friends with.

Casual comfort, the two of them.

Dick and Bruce were brothers and how that ties into Alfred:

Adding to my "Light of Bruce's life" Robin Dick canon, Alfred told Dick that Bruce "would have self-distructed if he hadn't met me and learned responsibility. I made him laugh, and he was like the greatest big brother you could ever imagine...it was our town."

Bruce and Dick are so damn codependent.

Bruce would not have survived without Dick. That's all there is to it.

Robin Dick was the light shining through rain clouds, the glitter in the air, the angel with golden wings, the giggling sweetheart to Alfred and Bruce. He was sunshine, love, and joy and the men both adored, thrived, and cherished him for it.

And if Dick and Bruce were brothers then Alfred was Dick's father and he was Alfred's son.

[volturiprincess]

Better than a cup of coffee

Alec Volturi x human mate Warnings: Just pure fluff A/N: This one is short and sweet, i apologize to anyone who does not drink coffee but as I was writing this I was drinking coffee and I'm a coffee person anyways. I wasn't sure if I was going to work on this today but I needed some fluff and well here is it. There will be a second A/N in the end. Enjoy 🤗

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☕️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(My love🖤)

I have never been a morning person, just the thought of having to wake up early makes me want to cry. I applaud the people who wake up early. But when I meet my mate Alec, mornings have officially become my favorite part of the day. What makes it so special, is Alec wakes me up with a fresh cup of coffee that he made just for me. I'm not sure how he picked up on how to make coffee or how to make it how I like it but I guess he really does pay attention to my every move in the mornings.  I have told him before that for me to function as a human I need a cup of coffee or else I will not be a delightful person to be around.

He unfortunately witnessed that side of me and has made it his mission to have that cup of coffee ready for me when I wake up. But that's not what makes it special, when he wakes me up, the first thing I see is his face. He has this small smile and his eyes are full of warmth and love that makes me feel like i'm in a dream still. He's like my personal fallen angel that I have the honor to call mine. 

This morning did not start any differently, the sunlight was gazing on me with its million mini rays hitting my face. I heard a small thud hit my nightstand, and I opened my eyes slightly to be blessed by the sight of my stunning mate looking at me already with his face slightly having that unhuman sparkle. His burgundy eyes also already having that intense but loving look he gives me whenever he looks at me, even if I probably look like crap he never fails to lose that look. 

With his small warming smile already on his face, he again blesses me with his soothing voice “Good morning sunshine, the earth says hello”

I make “grabby hands” toward him and he comes closer to lay on top of me with laying his face on my chest. I bury my face into his hair and mumble groggily 

“Someone’s been paying attention to the movies I make them watch”

“Always my love”

He tilted his head up and gave my neck multiple kisses, the temperature difference between his cold lips and my warm skin made me feel that familiar feeling of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Being like this with him makes me forget there is a real world out there, almost makes me feel like we are the only two people on this planet. These small moments we share I hold dearly to my heart because I am the only person that gets to see Alec in such a vulnerable and relaxed form, not even Jane has seen him like this, the honor I have. While he continues to give me now soft kisses instead of multiple, I run my hands through his dark locks. I'm glad he has kind of long hair so I am able to run my hands through his hair. So soft and silky, makes me slightly jealous he has nicer hair than me but he tells me it's a vampire thing. The way his soft kisses leave me in a state of bliss that makes me mumble nonsense 

“Better than a cup of coffee”

He lifts his face to looks up at me with a pure astonish look and exclaims 

“Are you serious? But you said you always need a cup of coffee to be human”

I pull him into a deep gentle kiss that he reciprocates, I pull away and say with a small sleepy smile 

‘Your my cup of coffee now”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So cuteeee. I like how I did a little reference of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (2005), its actually my alarm sound 🤭. I just wanted to say that Im working on a Caius one-shot, this one is taking a bit longer to get done because its longer than my usual ones and I was thinking of doing a 2 part to it. But also I have my finals this week so I wont be posting to often, I may have part one of my Caius one-shot out this week but I been having some small difficulties with it and I keep changing my mind in how to write it plus studying keeps me occupied the majority of my day. But I.m happy to have gotten this one out in the open because its so sweet and adorable, I almost made it a Carlisle one-shot but as I kept thinking about this it just screamed Alec.

[exercise-of-trust]

everyone clap and cheer for my beautiful daughter who has every disease 🥰 her name is þerindë because her wheel is made out of an embroidery hoop; she is entirely handmade and boy howdy does it show

a whole bunch of things have stopped working since i took that video last night and i'm not sure how much more wherewithal i have to keep messing with her, but i did manage to spin about two feet of something before then! so i'm showing her off a bit now, and if i can figure out what-all i fucked up maybe you'll see more of her in the future. some process and progress photos under the cut (not a tutorial. do not do this. i cannot sufficiently stress how bad of an idea this was and is*)

(*if you are going to do this and have questions not answered here i am always happy to answer them, inbox and dms are open etc, but like. i would strongly advise against it)

here's the hoop! it's about a foot across, with a groove carved out with a speedball. this ended up being way too shallow (who'd'a'thunk) so the final version is a lot deeper than what you're seeing here. the paint stirrers are held in with straight pins because i was worried regular nails would just crack the hoop lmao. my girl is so deeply and profoundly scuffed <3

the flyer is made from three cedar shingles glued together because i didn't have a solid piece of wood large enough. astonishingly nothing broke while i was sawing out the rough shape and it whittled down pretty nicely! the hooks are scrap 2mm copper wire, the orfice is a couple inches of plastic drinking straw, and the pulley wheel is also hand-carved, which is why it looks like a fucked-up oreo and has the weird hitch at the top of the spin that you probably saw in the video 🙃 frankly i am astonished it works as well as it does

the wheel frame is. man. the axle supports haven't broken yet but frankly it's a miracle they're still in place with how much strain they're under every time. the original base was that weird little bit of paint stirrer, which (shocker) did not work out in the long run; it's been replaced by an offcut from the frame and is significantly more sturdy now. it's surprisingly level, though, and turns pretty smoothly all things considered!

the frame was a nightmare start to finish; i've never done any serious woodworking before in my life and the whole thing was just kind of slapped together without a plan or any sort of concrete measurement. it wobbles so fucking bad and every few hours i have to push a couple of the parts back together where the nails are sort of drifting out of the wood. you may observe a weird post sticking out the left side of the mother-of-all; that is supposed to be for scotch tensioning. does it actually do that? sort of! the belt is a length of cotton crochet thread that is, after much fiddling, just the right size to not slip out more than once every three minutes.

treadling was another pain to figure out and i think i probably made it way more complicated than it needed to be. it still doesn't work very well and i can't tell if that's something i can fix hardware-wise or if i just have to suck it up and practice a lot more. turns out feet are not as coordinated as hands! i would say "now i know for next time!" but frankly i am never doing this again. you couldn't pay me. speaking of which, i did the math and at my current pre-tax hourly salary i could've bought two brand-new ashford travelers with the number of hours i spent building my awful rickety daughter. at the end of the day, do i love her? immensely. is she "good"? by no stretch of the imagination.

anyway. this was a terrible use of my time <3 but i do finally feel confident enough in all the parts of a spinning wheel and what they're for that i can brave the dangers of facebook marketplace's "spinning wheel" category without getting too badly scammed! which is pretty valuable in its own right, i guess.

[xthescarletbitch]

Do take requests? If you're willing it'd be nice if you could write the ladies of bg3 on the recieving end of a strap on for us tops? It's hard to find content for us Minthara loving tops and I like your writing 😭. We're starving!!

i'm technically not taking requests for bg3 at the moment, but i couldn't resist. thank you so much for your kind words. i hope these are to your liking. <3

bg3 ladies receiving the strap (x reader)

18+, minors do NOT interact

cw: reader!giving strap-on

word count: 1700+

author’s note: i'm experimenting with formats at the moment, and i think this one is becoming a favourite (making it pretty is also a lot of work so i am refraining this time lol). also, i struggled with karlach's. i'm sorry in advance.

lae'zel

lae’zel generally likes to take your strap the same way she gives it: rough. on those occasions, she’ll urge you to pick up the pace and fuck her good, even wrapping her legs around you to pull you in deeper.  “say please,” you tease, showing her that you’re the one in control.  it’s a risky game to tease a githyanki, but you know that she’ll relent–you’re the one with the strap attached to your hips, after all. you have the option to give her exactly what she wants if she chooses to comply. “chk,” she grunts, going over the options in her head. as if deeming the circumstances worthy of this very rare word, she mutters under her breath: “please.” you slow down, getting a bit theatric with the next words that leave your mouth: “please, what?” you can see her expression go from one of frustration to one of desperation. she needs this. you smirk, knowing that she’ll give in. “please,” she pauses, astonished that she’s actually begging for something. “please fuck me harder.” your smirk grows as you lift one of her legs over your shoulder, picking up the pace and giving her exactly what she begged for. the erotic sounds leaving her mouth only prove that you’re doing an excellent job… that, and the claw marks on your hips. she’ll never speak a word of it to anyone, but lae’zel also enjoys the slower, more passionate episodes of sex. she relishes in the moments of your bodies slowly grinding together, a pool of sweat shared between the two, your heartbeats in sync as the tempo remains consistently moderate. she wants her hands in yours as you stare deeply into her eyes, giving her the kind of strokes that make them roll back. words of affirmation are definitely welcomed here–she likes to hear that she’s taking you so well.  lae’zel isn’t satisfied until she has came at least three times from your strap. she wants to be soaked in sweat, covered in marks, and out of breath by the time you’re done. it takes a lot to tire this githyanki out, but she makes it so worth it with her beautiful reactions. when she reaches that final orgasm–when she can’t possibly take it anymore–she’ll grip your shoulders with a passion, pulling you close to her, groaning in your ear as she is taken over that edge. her legs will shake before giving out under you as the mess between her legs gets all over her thighs.

minthara

minthara makes it clear that you should earn the right to fuck her with the strap, turning it into a little game. the little game usually involves you eating her out until she’s wet enough to take you. what she won’t tell you is that the end result will always be the same: she’ll gladly let you take the lead. while she does love topping you on multiple occasions, she also enjoys it the other way around. she can’t help the small smile that comes across her face when you offer to top her. she’ll stand there envisioning the scene in front of her, hoping you take no mercy on her.  it should be said that she won’t be silent–and i mean that in terms of the sultry sounds coming from her mouth, as well as the string of commands that she’ll throw at you. it is really hard for her to just sit there and take it, and sometimes it becomes a game of power and control–one you’ll happily play. “faster,” she directs, grabbing hold of your hips and aiding you in doing so.  it is at that moment that you move your hands to be on top of hers, quickly grabbing and pinning them above her head. she’ll smirk and try to wiggle free, but you don’t allow her to. you make it clear that you’re the one calling the shots right now, not her. she loves the power struggle and won’t fight you too much. she’ll just note the incident for when she fucks you next. the struggle continues, and she loves every moment of it. sure, being in control is fun and standard for her, but there’s something exciting about letting another person take the reins. her favourite display of power on your part is when you tie her up or use other means to restrain her. she goes crazy for that. cast a spell to have her stay in place as you pound into her pretty pussy and just wait for her to give up completely.  “that’s it,” you tell her, admiring the sight below. “you take me so well.” she looks so good under you, a sentiment you remind her of constantly. she’ll smirk and hide her embarrassment by assuring you that she fucks you better–urging competition… and well, you opt to change her opinion on that, giving her more of what she wants. never will you see those cheeks blush, but you know in the other ways her body reacts to you that you’re hitting all the right spots.

shadowheart

shadowheart gets very playful when taking the strap–a display that drives you crazy (in a good way). when you’re fucking her good, her moans will be unapologetically loud. she doesn’t care who might hear; she’s doing it. her face will twist in pleasure as you hit her g-spot, followed by a chant of your name. and she does all of this as erotically as she can, knowing that it’ll only entice you to give her more. there are also moments where she’ll get embarrassed easily, depending on her mood, but she’ll enjoy it all the same. you have to tease her about it, though. a little humiliation here and there never hurt anybody, right? if she’s trying to be inconspicuous about how much pleasure she’s in, she’ll cover her mouth and/or face. she wants you to play along.  “no,” you say, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the bed. “i want it all.” her cheeks flush a bright pink as she attempts to wiggle free of your grip, but she can never quite do so. you take the time to pull out of her slowly, looking down to see the strings of wetness connecting her pussy and your strap. she follows your eyes, taking in the sight before her. a small groan escapes her lips, but is quickly interrupted when you slam the strap back inside of her. she throws her head back and moans loudly, giving you just what you wanted. she likes it when you’re a bit rough, after all. be prepared for a game of her testing just how rough you can be with her. she will savour it all. when she feels herself getting close to her climax, shadowheart will grab your face and drag it down to hers, crashing her lips against yours with fervour. she takes your bottom lip between her teeth, applying more pressure the deeper you get. she releases it when she’s really close, her incessant moans escaping into your mouth. with each brush of the strap against her g-spot, she holds onto you tighter. she wants you as close to her as you possibly can when she cums all over your strap. body worship is also a must when she’s being fucked by you. admire her out loud and allow your hands to roam her body. call her a good girl, and tell her that she’s doing a great job. she’ll get much wetter for you anytime words like that come from your mouth. she wants to feel sexy and adored (which is easy when she’s with you).

karlach

karlach will ride you anyday, anywhere. she loves the feeling of how deep you are inside of her as she bounces on your strap, her hands on your abdomen to hold herself up. she also enjoys the extra stimulation of your hand strumming her clit, inching her closer and closer to her orgasm (one of many).  she’ll take you in various ways. aside from riding you, karlach really has no preference. she just likes each session to be as passionate as possible. she shows a lot of her love physically, and wants to be shown the same. she wants your hands on her as much as the situation allows. the feeling of your skin against her own just makes her feral. she can never quite consume you as much as she wants to, though. being able to give up control and be vulnerable with another person is big for karlach. luckily, it’s so easy with you. she’ll let you do whatever you want with her, happily taking all that you give her. she takes it like a champ, too. remind her of that. you’ll hear karlach curse a lot during sex. she struggles to find the words to describe how she really feels, so a string of profanities will escape her mouth at any given point. “fuck,”she moans when the strap continuously brushes against her g-spot. “oh my fucking gods.” her head will be thrown back, her hands squeezing whatever is beneath her to keep her grounded in this plane of existence. she’ll beg for more, asking you to go deeper inside her.  “please,” she pleads. “i need more.” and more you give her, without any hesitation. you like to admire the way her face contorts every time you bottom out inside of her, resting there for a moment (at her request) before pulling back out and repeating the process.  clitoral stimulation is also big for her, as hinted at before. if your hand isn’t on her clit, hers will be. she’ll rub circles as you thrust into her, moaning at the sensation she feels when her fingertips brush against the strap.  karlach also likes to watch all that’s going on. she’ll angle herself in a way to see the strap go in and out of her, feeling herself grow wetter at the sight. a moan or two may also escape her mouth.  and when she cums, she cums hard. she grips you tightly as her pussy clenches around the strap, wanting you to stay inside her as she goes over that peak. she’ll recover quickly before asking for more.

[nonbinaryeggrolls]

When Someone Tries to Touch Your Hair

JJK men x gn black!reader

I had this idea for a little while and I absolutely love it. As someone who has to literally fight off ppl with a stick to keep them from basically "petting" me, I thought it would be so cute to write about the JJK men sticking up for you

Warnings: Fluff!, no nsfw but MINORS ARE STILL NOT ALLOWED GO AWAY, angst in Gojo's, specified braids/locs/twists in Toji's, unwanted physical touch, I think that's it!

Starring: Nanami Kento, Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

Nanami Kento

Of course he remains calm, he's always calm. but trust, inside he is BOILING with anger

Kento adores your hair, it sounds weird but he loves watching you on wash day care and tend to your hair with such detail and precision. Apart of it is so he can learn to do it himself one day so you won't have to spend so much time doing it yourself

He's always buying the best products for you no matter how expensive he knows black hair care products can be.

Design Essentials, Creme of Nature, Mielle, jojoba oil, tea tree oil, hair masks, curling cream-- you name it (or even glance at it in the store) he's already bought it for you

So seeing someone disrespect you by even attempting to touch you makes him absolutely livid

Kento: "I don't know I didn't think it was all that great, the plot didn't really make a lot of sense." Kento said as you two walked out the doors of the movie theater.

Y/N: "What?! I thought it was good, you're always hating on superhero movies you're like an old person. Oh! the boba place closes at 9:30 did you still wanna--

"Oh my gosh I just have to ask who does your hair? It's so pretty!" A young woman around your age popped up from behind you guys, her intensity kind of startling you a little bit

Y/N: "Oh, thank you that's so sweet! I actually do it myself" you smiled and she looked at you in astonishment

"Really? Wow it looks like it was done by a professional, I bet it takes you so long!"

Kento's eyebrow raise and body stiffen in an almost defensive way, he was already anticipating what was coming next

Y/N: "Yeah, sometimes it can. It kind of just depends on how tired I am that d--

Your body leaned back as she reached out to grab the top of your head. Kento wrapped his arm around you and pulled you back by your shoulders, shooting daggers at the woman as if she had just committed an unforgivable act

Kento: "Please step back. You don't need to touch them to compliment them." he reprimanded and held a firmer grip on your shoulder. He wasn't going to yell at a woman he didn't know but he sure as hell was going to get his point across

"O-oh Im sorry I didn't mean anything by it. I just think it looks really ni--

Kento: "Then you can think it's nice from a distance, they're not a dog. Have a good night." Kento intwined your hand in his and led you away to the car. You looked up at him and a small grin grew across your face

Kento: "Don't look at me like that."

Y/N: "You're like a guard dog. Like a snappy little golden retriever." you giggled before planting a kiss on his jaw which he returned with one on the top of your head

Kento: "Cmon lets go get boba."

Toji Fushiguro

Rage, Rage, and more RAGE

The anger that fills this mans body when someone tries to touch you is immeasurable, ESPECIALLY if its a man

Sometimes you have to calm Toji down when someone tries but its no use, he's already out of his seat and practically ready to kill

Toji is definitely someone who values his personal space, so he completely understood your frustration when you talked about how crazy it is that some people think its okay to try and touch you without permission

He's only seen it happen a few times, thankfully most people had common sense. But there was always that one asshole that crosses the line

You and Toji were out on a late night supply run getting items for Megumis science fair project. You roamed through the aisles of the arts and craft store filling your basket with acrylic paint, styrofoam blocks, construction paper and glue sticks

Toji: "What kind of fifth grader does a science project on soil erosion? Can't we just do something normal like a volcano or something?"

Y/N: "Are you gonna keep complaining all night or are you gonna actually help find everything on the list?" You turned around mad dogging him, both of you were tired and a little bit cranky and snappy at one another. Most of it was playful but some of it intended

Toji: "You look like a pig when you scrunch your knows like that." He chuckled attempting to pull you in for a kiss

Y/N: "You bitch-- Go get someone to open the spraypaints for us!" You said shoving your hand in his face and pushing his head back. Toji sauntered away to find the nearest employee to assist you guys

You stood alone in the aisle for a few minutes scrolling through instagram to pass the time until Toji came back, until a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. A random man, had approached you attempting to spark a conversation. Your eyes jotted back and forth around the area wondering where tf could Toji be and why was he taking so long to get back

"You got a really pretty smile you know that? Pretty hair too, you do this all by yourself?" He asked and took one of your (protective style)'s in his hands

Toji: "Now you..." Toji came up behind the man and planted a firm grip on his shoulder, "...are way too ugly and way too short to think they'd ever want someone like you to touch them. Don't you think?"

The man trembled in place at the vast size difference between the two

"I--"

He couldn't get a whole sentence in before Toji pulled him back by his hair then slammed him head first into the shelves next to him, making the man scream in pain. The star captured the attention of multiple employees and needless to say it wasn't long until you were being led out of the building by security.

Toji: "Did I do too much again?" He asked from the passenger seat, knowing full well he didn't regret his actions

Y/N: "We just got banned from the store, what do you think Toji?"

Toji: "Are you mad at me?"

Y/N: "Yes I'm mad!"

Toji: "Mm. The blush on your face doesn't look like someone who'd be mad at me." He grinned and you tried to hide the smile that started to form

Y/N: "Shut the fuck up."

Gojo Satoru

Gojo unfortunately was very ignorant to the topic at first

Maybe it was a cultural difference but when you told him people would ask to touch your hair he thought it wasn’t that big of a deal

“If someone admired your hair so much that they want to get close to it shouldn’t that be a compliment to you? It’s like they’re complimenting an artist for their artwork right? I don’t really see the harm in that, I touch Getos hair all the time and he's fine with it.” He said once before

Nonetheless it led to a very heated argument

He didn’t understand all the fuss around it, that was until he saw it actually happen

Seeing how physically uncomfortable you get when someone you don’t know tries to “pet” you put it all in perspective for him

Y/N: “Gojo, hurry we’re gonna miss the train!” You shouted as you ran through the subway station

Gojo: “I’m coming slow down! I don’t wanna drop anything.” He followed closely behind carrying the other bags of groceries you guys got from the farmers market

You both managed to slip through the train doors in time before it departed. You two managed to find two seats by the window, it was a preferred spot that way you both could gaze upon the countryside greenery as you passed on your way back to the city. Gojo leaned against the window and you leaned against his shoulder, the both of you trying to get some rest after a full day of walking.

The train stopped at its next spot to let on a few more passengers and a tap on your shoulder shook you out of your rest.

“Can i touch your hair?” a young woman behind you asked, but she had already reached out her hand before you could even answer. You pulled back before her hand could touch you

“Oh, um no please don’t do that…” you awkwardly said and turned back around. You looked over at Gojo who you know heard everything but was undermining the situation yet again

Gojo: “Calm down she didn’t mean anything by it, go back to sleep.” He dismissed you, not even bothering to open his eyes as he still laid against the window. You let out a low scoff and laid back against your seat instead of Gojos shoulder like you were before

The next few minutes we’re quiet as you dozed back off until you heard a loud camera click and could hear the girl frantically trying to turn the volume down

Y/N: “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Oh it wasn't a bad one I was just sending your hairstyle to my friend I think it’s cute.”

Y/N: “I don’t care. Don’t take a fucking picture of me if—

“I didn’t even touch you so calm the fuck down…this is why no body likes to compliment you people anyways. You take everything too goddamn seriously.” she muttered the last bit under her breath but still loud enough to pick up. This sentence being the one that finally caught Gojos attention

Gojo: “What was that?” He stood up towering over the young woman

“I-I didn’t say anyth— I’m s-sor—

Gojo: “Shut up. Delete it. Now.” His eyes pierced through her and she scrambled to reopen her camera and delete the photos. She flipped the phone towards his face to show that they were no longer in her folder

Gojo: “Now go to a different seat. And if you touch them against i’ll smash that stupid fucking phone into the fucking concrete.” The young woman ran from her seat to the other side of the train as quickly as possible and Gojo sat back down. He attempted to put his arm around you but you wanted no part in it, for the next 30 minutes you ignored every attempt he made to get a word out of you. Even on the walk home you were cold

Gojo: “Y/N if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t fix it!” he said as you entered your apartment

Y/N: “IVE TOLD YOU WHATS WRONG BEFORE. YOU DONT LISTEN!” you yelled, something he rarely heard you do, “I told you countless times before that people trying to touch me is a reoccurring problem for me and what did you do? You belittled me and made it seem like no big deal. Why did it take someone being blatantly racist towards me for you to actually start caring? Why did I have to prove the problem to you?” He looked back at you with no words just a stunned expression as he struggled to find the right thing to say

Gojo: “I…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” you rolled your eyes at his lackluster reply and turned away to the bedroom

Y/N: “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

Gojo: “Y/N, wait I—

you slammed the door in his face before he could finish his sentence

story belongs to @nonbinaryeggrolls

do not steal

[elliebarker]

you are absolutely insane. + ( e. williams )

category: lifeguard!ellie x competitive swimmer!female!reader oneshot

summary: since your school’s swim season has been let out you convince yourself to get off your couch and go to your local rec-center to get some practice in. ellie has just moved into an off-campus apartment and needs to get a night job in order to keep up with her rent. 

warnings: suggestive, implied smut, use of the word “baby”, mentions of alcohol usage, overall cringy

word count: 2.7k

author's note: as 68..1% of you requested,

“just…just give me a couple more weeks man.” ellie pinched the space in between her brows, very obviously annoyed.

“i’m not doing this again ellie,” a robotic voice came from the speaker of her phone, “i can’t keep covering for you. get a fucking job.”

“but– i’m in class all day! when the hell am i supposed to work?” ellie barked into her phone, dreading the noise complaints she’d get from her neighbors. maybe the size of her apartment was a glow-up from her dorm, but the people living around her sure weren’t. 

“i- i don’t fucking know. drop a class or something? work at night?”

that conversation is how she landed here. clocking in at 6 at a rec center not too far from campus to sit and watch senior citizens go back and forth in a pool and hope they don’t drown so she doesn’t actually have to do her job. decked out in red and white ellie propped herself up onto the towering “LIFEGUARD” chair and watched each of the seconds pass on the big red digital clock displayed on the wall. little did she know today was the day she’d meet you.

you walked, well, rather you were being pulled into the pool by your friend olivia. you guys had been on your school’s swim team together and after mopping around your dorm for almost 2 weeks after your final meet she decided you, and a couple other girls from the team, would meet up at the pool a couple days after school and just, “have fun,” as she had called it. and you decided to go along with it, you could use the excuse to get out of the house once in a while without getting absolutely hammered. you served the area of the pool: a couple lanes taken up, a brunette lifeguard scooping out the newcomers (you and your friends), a bunch of lockers scattering the west wall, holy shit that lifeguard was hot. 

you immediately turned your head back to take in the entirety of the brunette lifeguard, freckled and blush-dusted face with a set of emerald eyes. you noticed a crooked name tag that read “ellie'' before hearing your name being called by our team mates.

“coming!” you called to your friends and jogged over to grab your stuff before heading to lane 6 (the one closest to ellie) next to ashley and began your workout.

ellie was flabbergasted, astonished, she touched god. never in all her years of living had she been so…drawn…to a girl. okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but by the moon and the earth you were gorgeous. the way your hair fell on your shoulders, the way your smile shines in the echo-y pool’s fluorescent lights, the way your eyes lingered on her for the right amount of time. she was shamelessly gawking at you. i mean– she had too. it was her job!!! nevermind the lame-o senior citizens in lane 2 that were statistically more likely to drown…she just had to look at the way your arms cut through the water.

the hours lingered on, and to your surprise you had no idea what a couple weeks off would do to you. you were practically panting after each 100. and, obviously, olivia and ashley had finished before you.

“go home,” you said, “i’ve just got a cool down left.” your friends agreed and you turned around to face the flags again. a loud clash, the doors closing, made itself noted behind you before you began the last part of your set.

then, finally, after many flip turns and a few glances at the rec’s lifeguard you were done. you pulled your cap off and slipped out of the pool, gathering all your stuff and heading back. after you finished drying yourself off you looked back at the pool, all the lane lines stripped, holy fuck that was fast to see ellie rolling a cart of flippers back into the storage closet. 

“haven’t seen you around here before,” she smiled. ellie was walking toward you as you finished stuffing your (still soaking) kick-board in your bag.

“my school season is out so i’m just practicing here, when my schedule allows me, before short course starts up again.” you explain, tucking your hair behind your ear. and then realizing how fucking dorky and cheesy it was and how you totally embarrassed yourself in front of your very hot lifeguard.

“cool, cool, cool, cool” you hear her answer, and you could swear you felt her eyes scanning you. you finished zipping up your bag, its ziiip echoing throughout the large and empty pool, having been deserted by all your teammates. wait. all your teammates? like- even your-ride-home-olivia was gone. 

“shit.” you muttered.

“huh? oh, sorry!” ellie stuttered out, realizing how stupid and awkward and probably unprofessional her talking to you was. UGH! I’M SO STUPID she mentally slapped herself convincing herself that it was just her delusion that had pictured up any image of you actually acknowledging her existence.

“no–no, it's not,” you began, “i lost my ride– i– my ride left, i’m…stranded.”

“oh.”

“yeah,” you nervously chuckled

“i mean, this sounds weird, but,” she said, “i could drive you?”

“getting into a stranger's car late at night…” you questioned, like you were pondering it, “why not?”

“okay don’t put it like that,” she giggled.

“nah, man. that would actually be a lifesaver! and i’ve seen you around campus, you don’t give me any reason to suspect you’d axe murder me so…”

“alright,” she smirked, grabbing her keys from the knob of the storage closet door and heading out the door, with you not far behind.

you don’t know how it happened but what was going to a quick drop off at your place from your rec-center’s lifeguard turned into a dance party and the two of you screaming lyrics and hollering out of her window, having the time of your lives. earlier that night, when you first got in the car, ellie figured to blur any awkward silence she’d hand you the aux. turns out, you both had crazy similar music tastes and after that you guys clicked instantly. you were having so much fun and that's why when the bright familiar lights of home appeared in the rear-view mirror you kind of wished you lived somewhere else, farther away.

“thanks, again,” you looked at ellie.

“anytime,” she said, smiling at you. with regret that you didn’t say anything else you closed the car door and walked over to your front door and spent that whole night thinking over her.

unbeknownst to you, ellie would be thinking about you too, not only thinking about you but talking about you to the one person who would always lend an ear to all her girl problems: dina.

“she’s just so” “so what ellie? i need details.”

“pretty? beautiful? gorgeous? perfect?”

“did you at least get her number?”

“oh.”

“oh what ellie? oh my god you dumba–” her NUMBER! ellie thought of course! duh! i’m. so. stupid!!! 

that was her next mission. get your number, your instagram, your anything, hold onto anything to be able to get to know you better. luckily for her, it wasn’t that hard, your visit to the rec-center had not been a one-time thing, in fact you and your teammates had begun a routine. and ellie drank up every glance she got at you. she had gone over and over different scenarios in which she’d ask for your number, “if you ever need a ride again,” “thought you could use this,” and after surveying that they were all equally cringy and accepting the fact she’d never have the same confidence as she did the day she met you she realized, she didn’t have to get your number, she could just give you hers. so, it was a nice surprise to see a little yellow slip, a post-it note, atop your bag adorned with her number and a little “ellie :)” as soon as you were home, showered, and ready for bed you opened your phone, sending a quick, “hey!” and introducing yourself before plugging in your phone and dozing off. ellie would deny it to anyone she knew but she totally responded immediately after you texted her and were, to say the least, disappointed when you didn’t text back after 10 minutes, half an hour, 2 hours. ellie decided to not let her stupid crush affect her and let sleep consume her. needless to say, when she woke up to see a “new message” notification she nearly leapt out of bed.

after the whole olivia-leaving-you-alone situation ellie had offered to drive you home from practice and who wouldn’t take her up on that offer? not to mention that driving home with her was fucking awesome. you got to play anything you wanted on aux and she would always get food with you. it was like meeting your soulmate, you guys had almost everything in common you could talk about whatever you wanted. she was the yin to your yang. whatever foods or things disgusted you, she loved, and she would be happy to take them off your hands. there was no awkward stage, you guys were practically meant for each other.

it had been barely a month yet every time you walked into your rec-center you were greeted with the yelling of your name and ellie sloppily climbing off her lifeguard chair to come up and hug you. you had met dina and jesse, ellie’s best friends, and ellie had met yours. it seems that nearly every waking moment of your day was spent in her company, not that you were complaining. you were sitting on ellie’s bed while she was scrolling on her phone on the floor, back propped up against her bed’s frame.

“hey,” she began, “dina’s inviting me to a party, wanna go?” she asked, turning her head to look at you.

“sure, why not?”

“sick,” she smiled and turned back to her phone, texting back dina, you assumed. a couple hours passed and you were in the bathroom, adjusting your outfit and making sure everything looked good. ellie stepped into the door frame, keys giggling on her fingers.

“ready to go?” she asked, smirking at you. you nodded and followed her out the front door.

noise was blaring and people clambered all around some kid’s dorm. to say the party was full of life was an understatement. you and ellie made your way over to the party’s make-shift bar and poured yourself a cup of your designated drinks. you didn’t have to do much looking to find dina, who was dancing in the middle of the living room. she immediately spotted you guys, deserting the group of girls she was hanging out with, and ran over to you.

“hey guys!” she greeted. lets just say whatever-the-fuck you were drinking worked, fast, because next thing you knew you were dancing, laughing, and joking about things you never would sober. so was ellie. so much so, you don’t know how much time had passed, but you were having the time of your life on the dance floor with some random feel-good song in the background. and ellie pressed up against your back. and you sure as hell weren’t complaining.

you turned around and wrapped your arms around her neck and continued to dance (grind) into her lap. and somewhere though your drunken haze her arms were on your arms, hips, totally feeling you up. and then her lips were alternating between yours and your neck. you both stumbled from the middle of the dance floor, lips still connected, to some wall off to the side. from then on, ellie got more adventurous, for lack of a better word. hands moving every ten seconds. they were cupping your face, then your tits, hips, ass, and then your face again. you couldn’t say you weren’t, either, hands went from delicately perched on her shoulders to the back of her head to desperately grasping for handfuls of her hair. the two of you barely came up for air until–

“let’s move this,” she practically panted, “somewhere else,” pulling you in the nearest unoccupied room. and as suddenly as her hands and lips had left you, they were back on you again. she began wondering again, this time however, her hand pulled at your waistband, waiting for you to nod or acknowledge what she was trying to do. it was you who parted your guys’ lips this time.

“you.” you began, making sure to catch your breath, “are absolutely,” you continued, “insane,” you finally huffed out, before smashing your lips back together and pulling your own hands at your waistband.

(fade to black bc i can’t write smuttttttt)

ellie woke up, groaning, with an awful headache. then, when she finally regained consciousness, she surveyed the room she was in. definitely not hers. her clothes, party clothes, were scattered on the floor and the only thing that remained was her black sports bra. she didn’t even realize there was another living human being next to her until she felt the cool breeze of your peaceful sleepy breath. you were lying next to her, presumably naked under the covers. your hair was messy and knotted and taking up all of the pillow and your makeup had worn off. and you were utterly gorgeous. ellie couldn’t help but smile. bask in the moment. the little time she had left to admire before she realized you were literally sitting next to her, unconscious and topless.

“fuck.” that's all she said. that's all she could say. she was so ready to run, let her flight kick in. and she would’ve, had you not wrapped your arms around her and pulled her back down. you, unconsciously (totally), rested your head in between her shoulder and neck and sighed. yeah ellie thought i could get used to this. 

shoes squeaked and whistles blew. eveything was hectic. you were just trying to get into meet-mentality when a familiar, comforting, voice came from behind you.

“hey baby,” ellie, your girlfriend of 2 months, came up and hugged you. “came to wish you good luck,” she smiled as you turned to face her, catching a glimpse of dina and jesse waving from the corner of your eye.

“aww,” you leaned up to kiss her, “that's so sweet! thank you ellie. and i love you, but, i have to go warm up i’ll be right back.” you said.

“yeah, yeah, babe, don’t let me hold you back.” ellie chuckled and went back to find her seat next to jesse and dina. a couple hours had passed and your first event was coming up shortly. you stretched and made your way over to the blocks. and as soon as the microphone sounded, you were off, you were trying your absolute hardest. and it definitely paid off. when you looked up at the scoreboard next to your lane you checked your time. and you shaved 8 whole seconds. you could barely contain your excitement. once you were out of the water you ran to hug ellie, not caring if you got her wet. (in more ways than one iykwim lol) (im sorry) (that was uncalled for) 

“i’m so sorry baby,” ellie said.

“huh?”

“your 200? you added like, a minute.”

“what?” you were so utterly confused, “oh my god! no,” you laughed in realization, “ellie, that was my 100. it's long course season. i didn’t add anything, i literally went 8 seconds faster!”

“ohh!” ellie said, nodding, pretending she understood anything you just said but congratulated you anyway.

and for being a lifeguard, your girlfriend was a shit swimmer.

“how the fuck did you even get this job.”

“shut up.” ellie was only halfway in, red “LIFEGUARD” swimsuit and trunks on, and she was already turning a ghostly white. “i can… function… in the water perfectly fine.” she said, trying not to chatter her teeth. you reached for her hand to pull her into you.

“your hands are literally purple.”

“well maybe your just super-human and can’t feel how f-fucking cold it is.” that night after you guys drove home ellie was cuddled up by the fireplace, a little cold already forming. you had just exited your after-practice hot shower and were nice and cozy, there was just one thing– person– you were missing. you laid down facing ellie and snuggled up to her. it was the mundane nights like this that were the ones worth living for.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

when they figure out they do laundry veryy differently (like whether or not they separate colors/whites, how they fold, how often laundry is done, etc.) 🥰🥰

The end of a lazy afternoon finds John sprawled on the couch with Meatball next to him, snoring quietly as John plays some Legend of Zelda on the tv.

They're waiting for Buck to come home from a shift at West Anglia and John personally hopes he'll arrive with some news about the latest endeavors of Marge and Rosie, aka the Most Unlikely Duo as John and Benny call them. Buck isn't usually one for gossip, especially when Marge is involved, but the constant push-pull of the couple is too much even for him.

When the door of the apartment – their apartment, John reminds himself with a proud grin – opens Meatball immediately runs to Buck and John pauses the game, waiting on the couch. “Welcome back doll, how's it going?” He shoots loud towards the entryway.

Buck steps into the living room with Meatball at his heels, cheeks reddened and hair askew from the bike ride home. “S'doing well, better now here at home. Did you guys have fun? Went for a you know what?” He asks, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss John on the lips.

“Yeah, we did go to the park and shared a sandwich,” John answers, stealing another kiss. “And then we cleaned the bedroom, prepped dinner, and folded the laundry that was in the dryer.”

“That's good, I think it's just time for another round of washing. I'm gonna take a quick shower then I'll help you with the dinner, ok?”

“Sure love, take your time. Oh, any news about our favorite couple?” John teases. Buck rolls his eyes. “I'll tell you later,” he says, and with another kiss he's gone before John can complain. Sighing, he starts the game and plays for a few more minutes before Buck's voice gets to his ears.

“John, sweetheart, can you come here a moment?”

And John's blood immediately turns to ice because if there's a thing he's learnt in this past year and a half he's spent with Buck it's that when he uses pet names like this, he's just about to murder him in cold blood.

“Yeah sure doll, I'm coming!” John shouts back and goes to their bedroom, feigning nonchalance. Buck's standing next to their bed – neatly made with the space-patterned sheets Marge has gifted them for their new home – and is staring at the piles of laundry John has folded earlier.

“Yes, doll?”

“Care to explain what is this?” Buck asks pointing at the laundry.

“It's the laundry I took from the dryer and folded.”

“And why, pray tell, did you fold it like that?”

Puzzled, John looks at the folded towels. “What do you mean like that? How else was I supposed to fold them? That's the body towels pile, that's the hand towels pile, that's...”

“Are you serious? You're telling me you did that on purpose?”

With a sigh John turns to Buck. “Buck, my love, I'm gonna need you to be more clear because I understand you're pissed but I have no idea why,” he tells him – hell yeah, he's been working really hard on his communication issues.

“You're supposed to fold them by sets! The blue body towel with the blue hand towel, the green body towel with the green hand towel, and so on!” Buck exclaims, so astonished he doesn't even sound angry anymore.

“But that doesn't make sense. What if you only need the body towel?”

“It's a set! You're supposed to use them together, why would you only need one?! Who raised you, John Clarence Egan?!”

John gasps, outraged. “Hey now, there's no need for middle names! And I'll let you know, my mother didn't care about how the laundry was folded: however it would fit into the closet was just about right.”

Buck looks at him in suspicion. “You never folded your stuff once in your whole life, did you?” He asks.

“Well, not when my mom could complain about it. But the guys...”

“Oh shut up about the guys, I've seen how they keep their changing rooms and I am actually afraid to learn how they fold their laundry,” Buck cuts him off with a shudder. Then he exhales, and relaxes his shoulders just a bit. “Next time could you please fold them by sets? I promise it's more practical.”

“I'll try and remember that. I'm sorry, I had no idea you had such strong opinions on laudry,” John says, tugging Buck closer to place a kiss on his head.

“I have strong opinions on things that matter,” the other grumbles. “I'm going to load the washing machine now, do you have more whites to put in?”

“Yeah, there's your white shirt in the bathroom, I put the stain remover on that coffee stain on the wrist earlier and it should be ready to wash now.”

It's Buck's turn to look puzzled. “The what?”

“The stain remover? The one that's specific for coffee stains?”

A beat. “We don't have that.”

“Yes we do? In the cupboard? Along with one specific for wine stains and one for makeup?”

Buck still looks at him like he's grown a third eye. “Now you're just fucking with me,” he says but he sounds uncertain.

John raises his eyebrows at him. “Gale Winston Cleven,” he spells out, and smirks at Buck's consequential eye roll. “Are you telling me you don't use stain removers when you do your laundry?”

“Of course I do, but a generic one! Why on earth would I need a specific one for every kind of stain?”

“Well in case you didn't notice, all the coffee stains on your shirts have been disappearing much faster lately. And the wine I spilled on your trousers at the restaurant? Yeah that's gone too. Because I put the specific stain remover on it,” John explains.

“I'm still not convinced that we actually need that kind of stuff,” Buck says.

“Trust me, you'll see it the next time I leave makeup stains on your collar after a show,” John shoots back with a wink. Buck seems like he's pondering it for a minute, then he slowly nods. “That did go away pretty fast the last time, you're right. Wait, you're telling me you've been using your fancy stain removers on my stuff? Why?”

“Well I cannot possibly let you go around with coffee stains on all your white shirts; who would take you seriously then, Professor Cleven?”

Buck smirks at that, the nickname always hitting him just right. “I'd say from now on, you do the washing and I do the folding? So everyone's happy?” He suggests.

“Deal,” John says pulling him closer again for another kiss. “I like how we're managing this, moving in together and dividing the responsibilities. It makes us sound like two healthy adults, don't you think?”

Buck can't hide a smile against John's lips. “I love it too, coming home and finding you here, you taking care of my laundry, helping you cook dinner... maybe we actually are two healthy adults.”

“Mh, don't count on it,” is John's response, and Buck laughs at it and extricates himself from the hug, finally walking to the bathroom. “I'll leave the washing to you then!” He says closing the door behind him.

“Sure doll! I can't wait to wash all your white shirts with one of my red socks and see what happens. I bet you'd look good in pink!” John says.

The bathroom door reopens in an instant, angry blue eyes shining through the crack. “Don't you dare.”

[garden-of-gay]

Can You Feel It? It's Burlesque Part 5

Did someone say another chapter?? And on time no less!?? I actually got this chapter done on the timescale I promised and have started on Chapter 6 so it may be out sooner but I can't promise anything other than every week and a half. Anyway, I always ramble on in these updates so I'm going to shut up now and I hope you enjoy <3

Ch 1, Ch2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

Also here on Ao3

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The song came to an end and the club erupted in applause but all Eddie could focus on was this feeling of sheer euphoria—time seemed to slow as he basked in the moment—he hoped this feeling never ended. The girls on stage with him pulled him into a hug and they grabbed his hands before bowing to the club that was on their feet. They all quickly hurried back as the curtain was dropped and for the first time since he opened his mouth, Eddie was hit with the realization of what he had just done. 

“Oh my god” Eddie breathed out.

“Am I the only one that has no idea what happened?” Gareth asked

“Whatever it was—” Joyce began.

“Oh Joyce, the music stopped and I didn’t know what to do. I just had to sing, I’m sorry…” Eddie muttered out.

“You never told me you could sing like that,” Joyce said

“I tried to tell you, I did,” Eddie said with a smile.

“Okay, Okay, all right. This is what we are going to do. You guys know the songs, right?” Joyce asked the band

The band all nodded in agreement or said something along the lines of “for sure” before quieting down and looking back to Joyce. 

“So tomorrow, we’re going to rehearse all day long,” She said to the band.

“Then tomorrow night, you're going to sing,” Joyce said looking at Eddie. 

Eddie felt himself gasp and was trying to keep his excitement at an acceptable level since Joyce was still talking. 

“We are going straight through to the live shows. So any questions?” Joyce asked

“No? Okay good” Joyce said with a smile.

Joyce then turned to Eddie explaining that it would be best to go with the band and figure out the keys in which he was most comfortable singing the songs. She then stated her plans to lock herself in the office to write an entirely new show. At this announcement, the dancers and crew erupted in cheers and applause, happy over the news.

“Thanks, Joyce” Eddie cheered.

Once Eddie was out of earshot, Joyce turned to Robin.

“I’m going to build a show around him,” She said making her way toward her office and running into a scowling Billy.

“They don’t come to hear us sing” Billy snarked

“They’ll come to hear him sing” Joyce retorted

Robin approached a clearly frazzled, energetic Eddie,

“So how do you feel?” She asked him

“Amazing” Eddie practically shouted before wincing at his own volume.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Robin said astonished.

“Thanks. Are you sure Joyce really liked it? She wasn’t…” Eddie said tearing up, emotion filling his voice

“I was bringing down the curtain. She stopped me. She’s the one who let you sing,” Robin stated

“Really?” Eddie asked through tears

 “She wants to build a whole show around you,” Robin said with a smile.

Robin's smile momentarily dropped when she noticed the tears in Eddie’s eyes and the telltale signs that he was about to start crying. 

“Those are tears of happiness right?” She asked

All Eddie could only nod as he sniffled trying to keep the tears from falling down his face.

“Brava” Robin said with a big smile before walking off towards the office. 

Once Robin had left, only Eddie and Billy remained staring at each other. Billy stared a moment more before opening his mouth to speak.

“Clearly, one of us has underestimated the other,” Billy said with a vaguely malicious tone. 

-

Once Eddie had exited the dressing rooms he was met with the now familiar face of a smiling and clapping Henry Creel.

“Wow, I can’t believe Joyce has you buried in a kickline,” Henry said with a wide grin.

“She didn’t know I sang” Eddie muttered.

“Well you certainly can and you are too good to be doing it at a place like this,” Henry said

“How about a drink?” He asked

“The bar’s right over there, tell Steve I sent you,” Eddie replied with a chuckle pointing toward the bar.

-

“Where the hell did that come from?” Steve asked later once the club had been cleaned up for the night and they were just sitting at the bar. 

“I mean, who knew you could do that?” Steve said with pure astonishment and admiration in his voice.

The way Steve spoke made Eddie feel seen and special but then again that’s just the effect Steve seemed to have on people. 

“Thank Steve,” Eddie said ducking his head to hide the growing flush that he could feel, as his face heated up. 

“How do you do that?” Robin asked, thankfully pulling Eddie from his thoughts of Steve

“I don’t know, it just happens, I just do it” Eddie replied with a shrug.

“I know that feeling. I have to pee…again, so…” Vickie laughed

“We’re going to go get something to eat, you wanna come?” Barbra asked looking to Carol before looking directly at Eddie

Eddie looked first to Barbra and then to Carol who was aggressively nodding at him before he formulated a simple reply.

“Yeah, I would,” Eddie said with a nod of his head. 

The group then gathered their things and headed towards the exit, chattering excitedly about the events of the night.

“Look at you,” Robin said to Steve teasingly.

“What! What?” Steve asked

“Well, no just the way you are gazing after him,” Robin replied

“I have a fiancee, remember?” Steve said breathlessly

“Yes. No, I do. I know, she’s what three thousand miles away and you talk how often?” Robin asked

“We talk every day I will have you know,” Steve said annoyed.

“You do? About what? Let me guess, don’t tell me. Ah yes, about her. Her. And I don’t know… Oh! Her?” Robin jested.

“All I’m saying is that, that one there, is a good person on the inside as well and he is not going to be available forever,” Robin said softly.

“Wow! Relationship advice from Mrs. Falls In Love After One Date herself. That is…” Steve chuckled.

Maybe Robin was a little bit on to something, he had been talking about Eddie nonstop but that’s just because the guy was living with him, and it's not like anything would ever happen between them. Especially because Steve was engaged and loved Nancy very much, this was just a passing infatuation because he was missing Nancy, nothing more. Steve was about to say as much when Eddie waltzed his way back into the bar. 

“Forgot my bag” Eddie called out

Both Robin and Steve stared at him for a second before they both looked away.

“What?” Eddie asked

“Oh nothing, I was just telling Steve here how every opportunity has a shelf life,” Robin said glaring at Steve and motioning her head toward Eddie.

Eddie had no idea what she was getting at and figured it was just another one of those SteveandRobin things he had come to learn about. Like how they would sometimes shower together in a completely platonic manner and how they had seen each other naked more times than he could count and it just didn’t phase them. Or how they would sometimes trail off in the middle of a sentence and seemingly finish it with their telepathic connection. Or even one of the many times Eddie had come home late to find Robin there with Steve cuddling and chatting like it was 2 pm rather than 2 am. Eddie thought it was all a bit strange but was also charmed to see them have such a close relationship. Eddie was only pulled from this thought when he realized that Robin was talking to him. 

“Come and look here,” She said motioning to the mirrors that lined the walls of the bar.

“Awfully pretty, but too much” She continued, pulling up some of Eddie’s hair.

“See I like that,” Robin said in the mirror, holding Eddie’s hair to make it look like he had a bob.

“No, I’m not cutting my hair,” Eddie said softly, he had spent so long growing it out after his dad had buzzed it, that the last thing he wanted to do was cut it again. 

“Who said anything about cutting your hair?” Robin asked

“You can wear a wig,” She said with a smile. 

-

That conversation with Robin is exactly how Eddie landed himself a wig a couple of nights later. It was a close match to his natural hair and he would have never suspected it was a wig had he not been the one to put it on his head. Anyhow, that is precisely how he landed himself on stage with the new do; laying on a chaise lounge and singing.

The dress is Chanel, the shoes YSL

The bag is Dior, Agent Provocateur

My address today, L.A by the way 

Above Sunset Strop, the Hills all the way

My rings are by Webster 

It makes their heads twirl 

They all say, “Darling, what did you do for those pearls?”

What? I am a good girl

As the instrumentals of the song played, Eddie pulled up the curtain and climbed the stairs behind them, dancing the whole way up and teasing the crowd. 

Steve watched in admiration from the bar, Eddie just knew how to captivate an audience and it really was an experience to watch him sing and dance. 

Once Eddie made his way to the very top of the stairs he revealed the other dancers and they all danced along with him as he continued to sing. 

B.H I adore, Rode-O L’amore

Breakfast Polo Lounge, then poolside for sire

The Château for cocktails, the Courtyard at nine

Dan Tana’s for dinner, the Helen’s diving

You know I have found, the word’s gone around

They all say my feet never do touch the ground 

What? I am a good girl

The instrumentals of this song might be Eddie’s favorite part of the new number because it allowed for a lot of fun choreography and also allowed them to utilize the spinning mirrors behind the bar, with first Eddie disappearing behind the mirrors and then reappearing at another mirror only to have the other mirrors turn a second later and reveal more dancers at the bar. It was a great time and probably his favorite from the new material Joyce had written just because he had an excuse to dance on the bar, fall back into two of the bartenders' arms, and find himself back in the chaise he began the number in. 

I am a good girl

Ah, ooh, ah, yeah, uh

-

“Hey there big boy,” Eddie said to Steve with a flirty wave.

Steve looked at Eddie with a puzzled look.

“What do you think?” Eddie asked as he gave a gentle spin and motioned at his hair.

“I think you look…I mean it looks…” Steve began as he watched the smile on Eddie’s face fall. 

“Steve, we’re friends, for Christ's sake. It’s not like we're brothers, just say it looks nice or it doesn’t no need to be weird about it” Eddie grumbled as he got up and walked away.

Steve watched Eddie walk away and sighed before muttering “No, we certainly are not” to himself and then getting back to work, a bit upset with himself for how that interaction went down. Why couldn’t he just say Eddie looked nice—it would be the truth—so why couldn’t he just say that?

-

“I don’t understand why everyone is having a conniption over him, he is just a tacky farm boy from Indiana,” Billy snarked at his vanity watching as Eddie walked by.

Eddie stopped behind Billy glancing at him in the mirror before turning to him directly.

“And we know a cow when we see one,” Eddie said taking the bottle out of Billy’s hands and setting it back on his vanity.

“Don’t underestimate us farm boys,” Eddie said, looking at Billy once again in the mirror before he calmly walked away.

Eddie could see Billy’s shocked face through the reflection of the mirror as he walked away and that felt almost as good as performing. 

-

“Lonnie!” Henry called out.

“This round is on me,” Lonnie said placing the drinks down on the table.

“I don’t normally do this but, Lonnie, I’m doubling my offer,” Henry said handing Lonnie a piece of paper.

Lonnie immediately tucked the sheet of paper into the inside of his jacket for safekeeping. 

“It's either you or the auction house,” Lonnie scoffed.

-

“No, I am not selling” Joyce huffed

“Do you know what happens when you default on a loan?” Lonnie asked exasperatedly.

“No, hum a few bars,” Joyce said with a quick glance back at Lonnie.

“I’m not screwing around! Where’s the money gonna come from?” Lonnie exclaimed at fast-walking Joyce.

“Ali’s a hit! We can charge 50 bucks a head now” Joyce stated.

“What! Raising the admission, that’s not good enough!” Lonnie said angrily

“You have been saying that the sky is falling forever, and everything always works out fine” Joyce argued with a sigh. 

“Tell that to the people who are losing everything! I don’t wanna be one of them,” Lonnie shouted.

“And, I love this place too,” Lonnie muttered.

“No, you don’t” Joyce replied.

“I do” Lonnie argued back.

“No, you don’t,” Joyce said, her voice getting louder.

“Oh, yes, I do,” Lonnie shouted back.

“Oh no, you don’t, that a load of horseshit and you know it,” Joyce argued, eerily calm.

“Look, you have many fine qualities, Lonnie” Joyce began.

“And then you have some iffy qualities” She continued with a motion of her hand from side to side.

“But you have never been a phony so don’t start now. Just tell Henry no. I said no,” Joyce finished.

-

Steve closed the door to his apartment basking in the feeling of being home before out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie through the curtains of the bedroom doors. He didn’t mean to creep on the man but it seems that Eddie hadn’t fixed the curtains to overlap, leaving a gap, that Steve could see right through. Eddie was in the room, standing at the vanity in nothing but his boxers allowing Steve to see the tattoos that covered him more clearly. Steve walked further into the apartment, looking in through the curtains at Eddie’s lithe form. The black ink that decorated his pale skin only made the man more striking and beautiful in Steve’s eyes and he couldn’t help but try to get a better look. While doing so, however, he forgot about the candles that sat on his table and his bag knocked them over making a loud noise and drawing Eddie’s attention away. 

“Steve?” Eddie called out.

In a panic, Steve walked back towards the front door and slammed it before replying:

“Yep, just got in” 

“Great, can you come help lace me up?” Eddie asked

As Steve made his way into the bedroom had to take a second to collect himself when he saw what Eddie was wearing. Tight leather pants with silver star embellishments hugged Eddie’s waist and a matching black and silver front-lace top clung to his chest. To say he looked good was an understatement and Steve could feel his face flushing. 

“I just really miss Nance, that’s all,” Steve thought, repeating it like a mantra in his head as he made his way over to Eddie to help. 

“Hey, where have you been?” Eddie asked gently

Steve gently inhaled worrying he had been so caught up in his thought that Eddie had caught on but then he realized that the man meant it literally.

“Writing music,” Steve said softly.

“Can I hear it?” Eddie asked

“It’s not ready,” Steve and Eddie said at the same time before smiling at each other in the mirror that they stood in front of. 

“Who’s that” Steve asked, gently nodding toward the picture frame on the vanity.

“Me and my mom on my 7th birthday, she died 3 months after that” Eddie replied faintly.

“You must miss her,” Steve said delicately.

Eddie nodded at Steve in the mirror before he began.

“Every single day something happens that I wish I could tell her about, I mean, I call and tell Wayne the big things and I love him so much but …I dunno it just doesn’t feel the same” Eddie mumbled feeling himself getting emotional. 

“What happened today?” Steve asked so gently that it made Eddie want to cry.

“Nothing yet” Eddie muttered, turning to face Steve. 

Eddie studied Steve’s face for a moment, his strong jaw, his kind eyes, the moles that spreckled his face like stars, his plush lips curved into a gentle smile—just for Eddie—he was beautiful.

“He’s engaged. He’s engaged. He’s engaged, He’s—” Eddie repeated to himself in his head because he can’t be catching feelings for an engaged man who under different circumstances wouldn’t even look his way. 

As if right on cue, Steve’s phone began to ring yet, Steve kept staring at Eddie, ignoring his ringing phone. Eddie finally broke eye contact and spoke.

“You should get that, it’s probably Nancy” 

“Probably” Steve whispered as he walked out of the room.

“Hey babe, yes I know” Eddie heard Steve say into the phone. 

-

Tonight’s performance had Eddie decked out in pearls and lying on top of the piano as the pianist played. His wig was done up in short 1920s Hollywood curls—framing his face before curling out away from it. He started the performance covered by pink feathery fans held by other dancers and it made him feel effortlessly glamorous. 

… A guy what takes his time, I'll go for any time

I'm a fast movin' gal who likes them slow

Got no use for fancy drivin',

As Eddie sings, he knocks the pianist's hat off. 

Wanna see a guy arrivin' in low

I'd be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

Eddie walks his fingers along the pianist’s head, slowly pushing it down toward the keys.

… A hurry-up affair, I always give the air

Wouldn't give any rushin' gent a smile

Eddie sings as he pours the champagne in his hand into the glass that sits on the piano, he pours from up high and has to hide his surprised face when he misses the glass a bit and gets champagne all over the piano top. 

I would go for any singer who would condescend to linger awhile

What a lullaby would be supplied to have a guy what takes his time, oh

… A guy what takes his time, I'd go for any time

A hasty job really spoils a master's touch

Eddie dances around and flirts with the band making sure to hit his mark on time. On cue, he turns his back and Eddie’s pearl top flies off. He rushes to grab a feathered fan from a dancer to cover himself in a flirtation manner and happens to catch Steve’s eye; he sends him a wink and a little wave. 

I don't like a big commotion, I'm a demon for slow motion or such

Why should I deny that I would die to know a guy who takes his time?

Eddie’s pearled underwear also goes flying and he plays shocked before grabbing the other fan to cover his ass. He loves this number for that reason, he gets to play dramatic while still being flirty and fun. 

… There isn't any fun in getting something done

If you're rushed when you have to make the grade

I can spot an amateur, appreciate a connoisseur in trade, ooh

Who would qualify, no alibi, to be the guy who takes his time?

Eddie ends the number in front of some carefully placed instruments that cover his form while the fans he was covered with turn into wings that flutter along with the ending notes of the song. 

-

Later that night while the dancers got ready for the next number, Vickie excitedly climbed the stairs to the backstage with a smile on her face.

“Check it out, everybody,” She exclaimed showing off her hand where a large diamond engagement ring now sat. 

Everyone crowded her looking excitedly at the ring as she gushed on about how Dan proposed.

-

“I’m starved, you ready?” Eddie asked Steve

“I can’t. I’m so sorry. I have to do inventory tonight,” Steve replied with a sigh.

“Want me to call you a cab?” Steve asked apologetically

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get a ride with Barb,” Eddie said with a shrug.

“Sorry,” Steve said watching as Eddie replied with a sad smile and and another shrug.

“You ready?” Henry asked

Eddie turned abruptly, startled by the man who suddenly appeared. 

“For what?” Eddie asked, confused

“I’ll drop you off, Barbra left five minutes ago” Henry replied with a smirk.

Eddie gave him a further puzzled look because the only way he would have known that Eddie needed a ride home was if he was listening in and that made Eddie a bit nervous. Sensing his apprehension, Henry spoke.

“I was coming over to talk to you and caught the tail end of your conversation” 

“Talk to me about…?” Eddie queried

“Dinner. With me. Give me that,” Henry said as he pulled the bag Eddie was grabbing away from him. 

“If you ever expect to see this bag alive again…you’ll follow me,” Henry teased.

Eddie then watched as Henry started his way toward the exit. 

“Hold on a second. Where are you going? Hey!” Eddie called out as he raced toward Henry, hearing the man laugh as he climbed the stairs.

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I personally truly hate the thought of Henry/Eddie but for plot reasons, they need to be silly together. If you know the movie it makes sense since Henry is essentially Marcus but if you don't know the film, do not distress; this is only for plot.

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Taglist:

@irregular-child

@disrespectedgoatman

[linkito]

👀 this au/start of thing is intriguing, I am interested and would totally read more of it if you ever worked on it more.

-🎀

Well hello there—

Turns out I had more thoughts about the caged vex au

So, Scar introduces himself and tells Grian he can ask for anything he wants, right? And he promises he won’t cut corners or search for loopholes— he genuinely wants to repay Grian for freeing him!

I think the first thing Grian would ask is if Scar can hide him from the Watchers.

To which Scar replies, yes. If you tell me to, I’ll do it. He can’t promise whatever ward he creates will hold, necessarily, but if Grian asks for it, he’ll do it to the best of his ability.

And I think the second thing Grian would ask for?

A place to sleep.

The man is tired. He just escaped an angelic nightmare cult, scrambled away into some shady cave, and got scared half to death by a vex. More than anything, he wants a big fluffy bed and to sleep without fear of being found in the middle of the night.

“One lovely bed coming right up!” Scar cheers, and to Grian’s surprise he… conjures up the supplies to make a bed, but not an actual pre-made bed.

“I thought you said no tricks,” Grian huffs. “Do you expect me to craft it?” He doesn’t have the energy for this.

“Oh gosh no,” Scar replies, getting to work on it himself. “But I also said no cutting corners! And let me tell you, a magically conjured bed is no good. Never up to standard in my experience, no, no.”

And Grian just watches in astonishment as this ferocious-looking creature slowly and carefully constructs a king-sized bed in front of his eyes, occasionally using magic to aid him but— he’s using his hands. His sharp, scratched-up, calloused hands.

And oh my god if it’s not the most comfortable thing Grian has ever laid down on.

He almost passes out immediately, honestly, but then he notices Scar just sitting very awkwardly on the corner of the bed, fidgeting with his tail like it’s some kind of stress toy. It’s kind of adorable. A creature so scary shouldn’t be allowed to be adorable.

Grian tilts his head in question and, well—

“You, uh, only asked for one bed,” Scar mumbles, averting his eyes. (His cheeks flush a light blue when he’s embarrassed.) “Soooo I could only make one bed.”

And ah, right, of course. Scar’s magic is limited to what he’s instructed to do.

But Grian is tired and the bed is enormous and the nest of torn up clothes and rocks that Scar must have been sleeping on doesn’t look comfortable and he’s not about to ask Scar to make another elaborate bed and—

Screw it.

If the vex wanted to kill him, he’d have done it by now.

“Make yourself cozy,” Grian says instead of any direct request. A dangerous game to play with a vex. There are so many ways that could possibly be twisted and yet…

Scar crawls into the bed with Grian, offering ample space between them, and the only magic he uses is just enough to light a small campfire beside them.

And they both get to rest, falling asleep to the peaceful echoes of the crackling fire.

original caged au post here

[thatgenericwriter]

Hi! I don’t know if your doing requests or not but if you are could you right one about Shawn Spencer from psych who has a girlfriend that is a master as marshal arts and can take down anyone and some how she and Shawn playfully spar and she goes full out on accident and he just lays on the floor in shock of what just happened

I am definitely doing requests!!! Also this is such a great first request for me! Thank you so much!

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Oops || Shawn Spencer

Paring: Shawn Spencer x fem! reader

Warnings: violence? Maybe? Idk it's play fighting

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“I could take you in a fight.” 

You look up from the case file in front of you and turn towards your boyfriend who was sprawled out on the couch looking at you.

"No you could not." You scoff at him as you roll your eyes before looking back to the file in front of you.

"No seriously, I could take you in a fight." Shawn says as he stands up off the couch. You sign and sit back in your chair crossing your arms and looking at him.

"Yeah I'd like to see you try."

Shawn is now leaning over the desk you're sat at and looks you directly in your eyes. "Is that a challenge?" He quips, raising his eyebrows at you with his signature smirk on his face.

Smirking back at him, you stand up from where you're seated and walk around the desk to face him. You lean in close to his face as you ask him what he would do if it was a challenge.

He leans in even closer to your face, leaving barely a gap between your noses. "I would do.....this!"

Before you knew what was happening, Shawn was practically jumping at you. Sadly for Shawn, your many years of martial arts kicked in and had you grabbing Shawn by his arm and twisting your body in a way that sent him flying over your shoulder.

Gasping as you hear the thud of his body hitting the ground, you quickly run towards him. Apologizing the entire time while you crouch down next to him and start checking him over for any damage done. Shawn stares up at you wide eyed in disbelief not moving.

"Wow!"

This gets you to stop your apologies and checking of his body to stare at him wide eyed.

"Wow? What do you mean wow!? I just threw you over my shoulder on to the floor! You could have seriously gotten hurt!"

He looks up at you with utter astonishment. "I know that was so cool! You have to teach me how to do that!" He says while getting off of the floor and helping you stand as well.

"So you're not mad at me?" You say still scared that you may have hurt him.

"No way! I could never be mad at you. Especially for something that I started." He pushes some of your hair out of your face and smiles at you lovingly.

You sigh in relief before looking up at him with a smirk.

"See I was right. You can't take me in a fight."

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Author's Note: I don't actually know like anything about martial arts soo... My bad... But I hope you enjoyed this anyway!!!

[kalinara]

So I was reading some posts talking about superhero comics and status quos, and the static element of characterization that results.

And I've realized that I don't entirely agree with that idea. I don't entirely disagree with it either, but I think a lot of times it depends on the character and the execution.

Unsurprisingly, I'm going to bring up my favorite character. Scott Summers/Cyclops has been a mainstay in X-Men (or satellite) comics for sixty years. (Even when he's dead, some version of him tends to be pretty prominent.)

He's got some very recognizable traits, and in my experience, even writers who I'm not really a fan of, or who aren't really a fan of him, seem to be able to give us a version of the character that's mostly recognizable.

Let's take Chuck Austen for example. His run on the series is generally pretty maligned for a lot of reasons. A LOT.

But when I think of Cyclops during this time, I think of this bit from Uncanny X-Men #412:

Scott looks at this woman who is awkwardly asking after his brother, and clearly clocks the reason why. And then, with all the bluntness of a sledgehammer tells her: Alex is already in a relationship.

It's hilariously awkward and a bit harsh. But it's also a bit like ripping the band-aid off. By bluntly telling her, before she says anything too overt or embarrassing, he's saving her dignity. If only the storyline ended here.

(And we can relate it back to early X-Factor and his own difficulty with telling Jean about Madelyne. Is he doing for Alex, what he'd really hoped someone would have done for him?)

I think about this scene a lot when I think about Austen's run. I also think about Scott hiring a shapeshifting stripper for Alex's bachelor party and having her take Annie's form...you know, rather than point out to his brother that Alex probably should figure his shit out before breaking Lorna's heart and leaving her at the altar.

That honestly also feels in character. Fuckhead.

But anyway, I am not a fan of Chuck Austen's run for a whole lot of reasons. But I do think he wrote a good Cyclops. And I feel like a lot of other writers, whose take I don't particular care for, also tend to write a fairly decent Cyclops.

I remember being a little anxious about Raid on Graymalkin because Gail Simone rather infamously jokes about her dislike of Scott. But honestly, I thought her Scott was fine. And during the points of conflict, I thought he remained generally very reasonable and recognizable.

There's just something about the concept of the character that I think most writers seem to get intrinsically. At worst, he might be a bit bland or wooden, or there might be a scene or two that I don't like, but the general take is usually pretty decent.

That said, I don't think Scott's a static character at all. I actually think that he's one of the most dynamic and reactive characters in the franchise.

If we look at Scott in the sixties vs. the Scott of early Claremont, the Scott of X-Factor vs. the Scott of late Claremont/Lee era, the Scott that we had after Apocalypse, to the Scott of Utopia, the Scott after AvX to the Scott after his resurrection. Krakoa Scott and the guy we have now...

They're all very distinct takes on the character with a very clear progression. You can eyeball a distinct arc, like Whedon's Astonishing and realize pretty quickly that we're dealing with the post Morrison/pre-Utopia era version of the character.

All of the versions are consistent and recognizable, but they're all distinctly rooted in the events of their particular era. It's really fun and fascinating to me.

To be fair, though, I don't think every character is as lucky.

Poor Kitty/Kate Pryde, for example, ends up having god knows how many coming of age type stories, because they keep retconning her age back and forth. (I keep joking that writers need to remember the lesson of Pete Wisdom: be careful hooking your self-insert up with Kitty Pryde, because he may end up accidently retconned into an ephebophile.) I credit Jubilee and Shogo for why they finally stopped doing that. As long as Jubilee has a baby, she can't be reverted TOO young, and Kitty's always supposed to be older than Jubilee. But it was touch and go for a long time.

And then there's Logan. He's tricky. I think there IS some clear progression: the guy we saw in early Claremont who was incredibly stab-happy is not exactly the errant knight we see in the more modern takes. But he does tend to a lot of inconsistency.

I blame the sheer amount of content for him. Don't get me wrong, as a fan of a character who isn't Logan, I do envy Logan fans all that content. But I think it does impact the general cohesion of the character.

Does Logan approve of kids in battle or not? It generally depends on whether or not the story involves kids in battle. Is Logan someone who at least tries to be an attentive parent and atone for his failures? Sure, when the writers want to go that way. Until another writer introduces yet another long lost biological or adoptive child Logan lost track of. Is he a team player or a loner? Who's the love of his life?

Hell, does he love or hate Krakoa? You can find panels for both positions.

Now of course, you can make this work. But it's harder sometimes, and pretty much requires a Watsonian "sometimes Logan's a fucking hypocrite" interpretation to make it all function. I think it might be his most consistent trait, actually, besides liking to stab.

And it does mean that Logan, I think, doesn't get to be as dynamic as others. He's got to be recognizable across so many comics, and not every comic is going to want to reference the same events. Some writers get really attached to certain versions of the character, so we end up with lone wolf cowboy Logan during a time when all of his known kids are alive, well, on the side of good, and perfect for bonding! There's a lot of regression and it can be frustrating to read.

(Disclaimer: while I like Logan, I wouldn't consider myself a big fan and a true fan of the character may have a very different take on him.)

So yeah, I think the idea of superhero comics having static characters is an oversimplification that really depends on who exactly we're talking about.