#i think the alpha me would be named Hymn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vriskadyke · 4 months ago

Note

(first of all oughhh thank you!!!! i've actually been meaning to rewrite that fic for a looong time maybe i will soon ^_^)

2nd. anon please come to me i literally curate homestuck fic recs recreationally, i have some great little gems in my bookmarks. here are some recs (note: im a himejo, so a lot of these are gen or femslash). i also have some other homestuck fanfics of my own you can browse @ lonelyghosts on ao3! that said, here are my very long list of recs (BOLDED ARE FAVORITES):

gen:

hugbot- dirk builds himself a hugbot. its sad.

morbid obsessions: john meets a vampire in the woods.

the collected tales of our glorious originators: a collection of myths on earth c. alternates between the myths themselves and how they Actually happened. supplemental to kittyquest, a fanventure about javepeta's child. similarly, pilot light, pale rapture is a jade-focused prequel to kittyquest with lots of focus on the crockenglisharleyberts and davepeta/jade! i love this series.

detective pony. one of the most comprehensive dirk character studies of all time and absolutely foundational.

likewise, theatre of coolty. both this and detective pony were clear influences for the epilogues and for homestuck 2.

who could ask you be unbroken or be brave again: vriska and rose talk to each other.

light without effulgence: jake and rose bond in a ski lodge.

think about staying alive: have you ever thought about what rose would be like if raised by bro instead of mom? this fic is for you.

it is important to highlight that during adolescence: jake english, on alcoholism, sexual trauma, and cycles.

a mirror i built myself: vriska and terezi teach june how to play flarp. background vrisrezi.

i know what you think of me: vriska and jake work at a fishery together. they are friends.

betty and the witch at the end of the world: a longfic examining jade english's upbringing.

untimely ripped: aradia resurrects her older sister damara in a humanstuck au.

if i cannot move heaven, i will raise hell: LOTR au w/ aranea & vriska as boromir and faramir.

a reply to vriska's invitation to talk after this is all over: tavros sends a message.

the lady and the tiger: nepeta isn't afraid of aradia. she's just unsettled.

the sea witch and the five fold maid: feferi tries to be a good empress, and fails. we all become our ancestors eventually.

on par: bro and mom are both bad parents.

more gen:

june: june coming out fic. very sweet.

last one asleep's a cracked egg: rose and june have a talk at the pesterquest jade route sleepover.

all the corpses stare back: what happened to damara during the game, and how did it change her? THEE ultimate damara fic. (vastderp does excellent alpha trolls).

maid of honor: roxy tries to cope with being a recovering addict at rose and kanaya's wedding.

love song no.31: rose and karkat discuss quadrants; background rosemary. i go back and forth on how i feel about quadrants, but this truly presents a fascinating picture of ashen romance.

the fizzcourse: the human kids discuss what, exactly, a soft drink should be called.

gnothi seauton: magic, secret places, and what it means to be a transgender girl on the internet growing up.

wisdom is my dump stat: terezi tries to DM a dungeon and dragons game. it goes bad.

diig iit.ppt: aradia gives a presentation. there is a rampaging horde of skeletons.

Don't you see? We were meant to 8e 8est h8friends forever: THEE ultimate rose & vriska friendship fic.

your name is: jade harley struggles with identity postgame.

tanglebuddies: possibly the sweetest jade & rose friendship fic EVER. rose joined the tanglebuddies website 9 months ago, and no one can Ever know.

all is well: feferi is the best empress alternia has ever had.

the greenhouse glass is broken: jade english, leaving home.

restructuring: communism is over. meenah peixes killed it.

10 troll names to know in music: band au told in the form of a listicle!

Fed: an interesting + nonconventional take on spidermom.

a hymn of empire: THEEEEE feferi fic. a wonderful interesting take on what her life would have been like pre-game.

once & ever after: jane and dirk are both kids brought in & kicked out of other people's stories.

m/m:

DIRK TAKES A PISS: dirk accidentally drops his packer in a public bathroom. meet-cute ensues.

super salad: dirk and jake have a heart to heart in a cafe.

the calm is terrifying when the storm is all you've ever known: dave strider is being raised by an anti-troll terrorist. the rest of his family would quite like to get him back. karkat gets involved entirely by accident. really good (although i get :/ on the characterization of rose & beta mom's relationship).

m/f:

i thought you were gone: aradia dies, comes back, humanstuck style.

gold: the psiioniic is the only person on earth who will never be able to hurt the condesce.

f/f:

one more night (your ex-lover remains dead)- jasprose moves in with june. one of the best explorations of jasprose as a character and what it means to be a copy, lalonde-style.

the ennui of too little and too late: rose explores her old house with kanaya and tries to work through her childhood trauma.

early june: june retcons her own gender, and causes an avalanche of other problems. i haven't finished this one yet but i liked what i did read!

soulbot record: a grad student taps into the memories of an old aradiabot

how to make friends when you want to be left alone: terezi pyrope is disabled and tired of other disabled support groups.

prima facie (the exit strategy remix): terezi is a prosecutor. rose is a defense attorney. the conclusion to this trial is foregone.

CHARGING THE VOID: rose n terezi, transgender space epic style.

bitter: rose and jade have coffee. over and over and over again.

we face back all the way: a fallen london rosemary AU. probably won't be terribly coherent unless you've played fallen london.

insert breaking benjamin reference: a few pages from jane crocker's journal post-canon.

and now my heart stumbles on things i don't know: yet another vrisrezi meteorstuck longfic! i can never get enough of them. this one is a particular favorite. by my friend katia @chronotopes

lilith and the morningstar: janeroxy demons & angels au.

monsters ascendant: in-universe poetry rose writes for kanaya.

we are the reckless: aradia is a helmsman. vriska is a pirate.

terezi: synchronize: vriskanroserezi spend an evening in doing steven universe fusions and being gay.

in carne veritas: redglare/mindfang, before the trial.

the gospel bright and tenebrous: a multi-installment longfic eldritch-horror AU about the lalondes, kanaya, and sollux gets in there as well. possibly My Favorite Rosemary.

if venus shows all phases like the moon: aradia and jane go into a cave, and find something they really shouldn't have. horror.

it's something of a peril of the job: jane's a hardboiled noir detective. roxy's a dame reported missing.

the lies we led around (the winnipeg debug): the condesce is dead, but jane is still crockertier. roxy tries to find a solution- barring that, a way to live with things. (MY FAVORITE JANEROXY FIC EVER.)

the other end of the rope: roxy and jane have a phone call, censored by the bots monitoring jane's line.

the witch's gambit: how jade english and alpha rose met.

backstage ii: rose on the run: metanarrative about the role of homestuck women (specifically rosemary) in fanwork. i also recommend reading the prequel, backstage.

the neon bible: janeroxy cyberpunk AU. jane is the heiress to the condesce, roxy is her secret revolutionary bodyguard.

more femslash (tumblr has a characters per block limit):

give back the june egbert tag dude: junedave go mall.

eldritch pleas: calliope wins a week with her favorite band and decides to create a documentary while she's there.

tell the survivors: terezi on the meteor in GO timeline.

la petite morte (x2 combo): a terezi that killed vriska, and a terezi that didn't.

interrogating the text from the wrong perspective: rose lalonde is a big name fanfiction writer. calliope is a big name fanartist. they hate each other. told in the style of a wank report. idc if you dont like rosecallie. read this.

addict's alchemy: rose lalonde is an alcoholic even in the retcon timeline. genuinely a must-read.

anything that burns: roxy is jane's bodyguard, and an ex-revolutionary.

salting the ruins: non-sgrub au: aradia finds out she's a time traveler by accident.

the slowest spark is a breather: roxy lalonde is a hacker with her team, trying to recover an asset from the condesce.

we whispered names to the things in the dark: an urban fantasy vrisrezi AU, with spirits, the dead, and magic.

watch the roots: feferi peixes decides to inherit early. recommended by seth dickinson.

i would sell my sorry soul: terezi has the retcon powers instead of june AU.

with the door wide open, no one can leave: kanaya is hurting. jade and rose try to help her.

big mating party: roxy and calliope try to sext. cultural barriers fail.

one more look at the ghost: postgame, rose relapses into grimdarkness.

into this sea of air: vrisrezi pacific rim au, team charge incident flavor.

don't need no halloween: vriska is the ghost haunting terezi's house.

to praise the mutilated world: bloodswap; terezi is a cobalt, vriska is a teal.

all flesh is grass: vrisrezi zombie AU.

an earth shattering confession: rose comes out as trans to kanaya and then the rest of her friends.

waiting for the front door to splinter: vriska tries to help terezi postgame.

love letters in digital ink: rose runs an occult blog and has a crush on both the new girl next door and the green text in her inbox. identity porn ensues.

storms and saints: outsiders on vriska and terezi.

we defy augury: the moments after terezi kills vriska. SO good.

heroic: aradia and vriska, in the timeline where jack kills everyone else.

***SONG OF THE PYRE***: THEEEEE VRISREZI FIC OF EVER. sadly unfinished but genuinely the best fanfic of all time.

miscellaneous:

vinbre the novel (and its associated sequels, aivide the prequel and vinbre the epilogue). set in a climate apocalypse on an earth c colony planet so old it doesn't even know it's an earth colony planet.

this post is so long im so fucking sorry.

do you have any homestuck fic recs?

OH MAN OH MAN. I actually haven't read any homestuck fic in a few years now !!!!!! I've been trying 2 slowly pick my way through detective pony for a while bc everyone says that's a classic but it's soooooo long and I don't rlly have the brainpower for it so I wouldn't necessarily recommend. HOWEVER . a couple years ago I went on a huuuuuge davekat kick so my one solid huge super cool recommendation is THIS collection of fics by itsdave. they understand dk soooooo well. augh. I love them a lot

gonna toss this over to @intertexts bc I know they have some good ones saved and may have some better suggestions .

and also if you're into dsmp. my other beloved mutual @anachronistic-falsehood has a long running fic called dreamstuck that is VERY good (and also has some cool art in it :]c )

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stockholmdolly · 3 years ago

Text

EASY PREY (BEWARE OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD) 12

Pairings: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, graphic description of a electrocution? hahaha

Word count: 5,332

Author’s note: Hello fanfiction world, it is me! Stockholm Dolly. Chapter 12, today’s the day Y/N was being meticulous planning, will everything go according to plan? Or did she underestimate Steve? Happy reading...😈

CHAPTER 12/26 DAY OF...

“La, la, la, la, la, la, la La, la, la, la, la, la, la… Know that you could set your world on fire If you are strong enough to leave your doubts” –Kerli, “Walking on Air”

I read once or heard once that a human can drown in just two inches of water. I had water, Asset #33, which I used on Day 33. And hence, the full name of my plot, “15/33.”

I woke as usual at 7:22 a.m. Asset #14, the television, told me this, as did Asset #16, the radio. I made the bed as I always did and waited, sitting on the white coverlet until 8:00 a.m. for breakfast. At exactly 7:59, just on time, the floorboards rattled, and thus approached my punctual jailer. He unlocked the door and handed me the tray with the chipped toile china plate—chipped because I purposefully dropped the thing one day before—for fun. Blueberry muffins from the Kitchen People. And, of course, the milk, and the cup of water. I hate blueberries, but the butter-sugar top looks good.

- Thank you.

Whole extra water routine.

He left.

The bored conductor yawns as he waves his wand through rote motions. Awake! This orchestra will soon play the rock version of a practiced hymn; a solo crowd will be shocked. Ratchet up the pace, maestro.

After the field trip to the ditch, which at the time I consciously blanked from my memory, and up to this day, Day 33, I had peppered my regular routine with screaming and crying fits, all for the sole benefit of my captor’s weak ego. In addition to these well-planned spells of emotional acting, I truthfully increased my internal resolve. I also sped up the timeline. I had planned on waiting two more weeks, two more rounds of Kitchen People, so I’d be beyond question in my calculations and practice. So, I’d have plenty of water. But what with the trek to the pit of horror, I chose to cut to the finish. I allowed three days to pass so as to ease him back into a safe routine and reduce his agitation, trick him into a sedate trust, by giving him what his demented state needed: wailing, crying, a subject who treated him like an Alpha, moon-eyed him from beneath his knees as a person of power, a mighty man rising from the earth, a pillar, a ruler, a Pharaoh, the first Avenger, the self-sacrifice man out of time, the only king of my world. Fucking inbred.

Tricking someone into thinking he has power is the ultimate power play.

The execution of my plan would have to wait for the delivery of lunch on Day 33 because 7:22 a.m. - 8:00 a.m. did not afford enough time for the set-up. I ate the muffin quickly and waited until 8:30 for his return. Sitting on the edge of the mattress after my meal, I flossed my teeth with thread I’d pulled from the hem of the comforter. Mashed muffin crumbs beaded in a saliva chain on the make-do floss, as I forced the string in and out of the tight joints of my teeth. Moving from molars to incisors, I did find it curious to be so fixed on the blood my rough dental care produced.

I’ll need to see the dentist when I’m out of here.

I found it humiliating to have to perform such private work in a bedroom—how uncivilized to treat my sleeping space as a bathroom.

I’m better than this.

I checked my nails, displeased with jagged cuticles. Waiting. Preening and waiting.

Fortunately, he fell into my trap and came on cue.

Strike the rumbling kettledrum.

He opened the door. I handed him the tray.

Whole wash my face, body, teeth, and drink from faucet routine—this time by just splashing water. I wasn’t about to use the nasty washcloth anymore.

The orchestra shifts closer to the edge of their seats, gripping strings and filling lungs. A violin joins the drum to heighten the passion. Anticipation crawls up the spine of the stiff-backed pianist.

I waddled back to the room. I considered this phase of 15/33, successfully completed, check.✔

The minutiae of this day is so ingrained in my mind movie. Microseconds of actions and observations are burned so deeply I practically see them play out now: seventeen years of replay. When he thrust me back into my confines after the morning bathroom trip, the iciness of his grip on my forearm was so cold I thought he might stick to my skin, like lips on an icy glass. Slowly I craned my neck to see a stain on his chin, stuck within the stubble he’d failed to shave. The yellowy blotch looked to be egg yolk, which I presumed he’d horked down after giving me my muffin and before picking up my tray.

He gets protein in a hot breakfast but gives me empty calories in a cold pastry.

I wanted him to have the decency to wipe his face before being in my presence. I wanted him to have the grace to apologize for thinking he could enjoy a meal while I was in the same house as him, for having no warmth in his touch, for not seeing the plan unfold around him, for his blindness, his stupidity, his existence, and his past, a past that made me a victim—trickle-down torture.

He’s out of my hair for a good three-and-a-half hours. Get to work. Phase II.

I really didn’t need three-and-a-half hours. I needed perhaps an hour for the set-up. With the extra time, I practiced. I must stand here. I stood there. I must drop this then. I pretended to drop a cord. I must pick this up and push, right away. I practiced with the floorboard. I must unhook this as I leave the room. I didn’t practice this last part for fear of squandering my coup de grace, my grand finale, my triple insurance for death.

The hour approached. If I were a ballerina, I’d be on point, my toes, my legs, my whole body in a stiff cement posture. The children growing inside me turned; their foot moved across my belly. 10 toes and a 2 heels were visible from them pressing within. I love you, babies. Hold on. Game time.

A fast wind rustled through the treetop outside the triangular window and in its wake, the sky darkened, and a sudden shower fried in a flash.

The team of flutes sounds like swarming bees, the violins are in a fury, kicking up a cyclone, the grand piano is on fire, the ivory practically pounds to dust.

Minutes later, the sky remained gray and dripping, not fully giving up on rain, but not raining outright either. If the air had been warm, the day would have been steamy, like summers in Savannah at nana’s house. But since the air was cool and we were on a non-exotic, flat farm, the wetness was the kind to chill bones, crack marrow.

My children will not be born here. They will not enter the world, cold and damp. My children will not be taken.

My condition, this condition, propelled me to action. Because I was a full eight months then, I could not afford to physically attack my captor, even though he’d given ample opportunities. I could have jabbed a dagger of broken china or the sharpened end of a TV antenna into his neck. I could have dismantled the baseboard and beat him with a bedpost. Trust me, I thought of all of these options. They were ruled out though because they would require agility and lunging and jumping, abilities I lacked in my late condition. Besides, I might miss. I could not do the necessary deed entirely physically, and I did not want to stress the baby with a foolish attempt. Instead, I used as many assets as I could, the power of physics, basic biology, systems of levers and pulleys, and unbridled vengeance.

My father is a physicist and a black belt in jiu-jitsu, trained by the navy. With these two industries, he taught the benefit of using an aggressor’s weight and movement against him in battle. I knew from my mother, a hardened cynic, “You should never underestimate a person’s stupidity or laziness.” Any opponent will eventually slip up, and thus, to her teachings, “Never waste an opponent’s moment of weakness. Do not hesitate in slicing an exposed jugular.” She meant it figuratively, but I tried in vain to apply it literally.

My captor displayed numerous moments of weakness, of stupidity, of laziness. I’ll sum them up: the van, the Kitchen People, the pencil sharpener, the setting and following of patterns, the inability to fight his own weakened ego, the decision to put the barrel of a gun on my unborn babies, the offers for more water, the TV, the radio, and finally, the act of leaving his ring of keys in the door whenever he unlocked it to enter.

By Day 33, I was secure concluding the Kitchen People would be absent until Day 37. Banner and Black Widow shouldn’t visit, for I had shown no signs of labor—nor would I have shared them with Steve anyway. Ransom, I presumed, had been successful in flying the coup.

It will be him and me alone, just as 15/33 requires.

The dangling radio said it was 11:51, nine minutes to showtime. I stood in my designated spot and tried to fix upon the time, suspended in the air on the radio which spun on the rope to which it was tied. The minutes were so slow then, and so was my heartbeat. I believe the only anxiety I felt was the anxiety of getting this gig over with. The practice I’d had to this point was as though I’d memorized a passionate love speech, one that at first writing might have elicited trembles of heartbeats and perhaps even tears, but after ten thousand recitations had become a mass of words, disconnected to human feeling—much the way a President might read from a teleprompter or a bad actor might deliver lines when reading straight from a script. “I love you” is said as three robotic words, no dip of voice or shoulders, no hand extended on the “love,” no pupils dilated, no crease of the forehead to emphasize the point. “I. Love. You.” is simply said while the speaker simultaneously checks the time on his watch. There is no love with such a declaration if he checks his watch; but love is felt, indeed the room pulses, when he says as much and fights his knees from sinking to the ground or fails to blink from the blinding light invading his widened eyes.

And so, much like the tin man declaring love, my practiced hand itched to complete the task. I probably could have killed him blindfolded and asleep at this point, the actions I planned had been repeated so often.

At 11:55, I signaled my star, a bag of bleach, to take its place in the spotlight. Bleach is corrosive. I once read an article in which Scott Curriden of Scripps Research Environmental Health and Safety was quoted as saying, “Bleach can drill a hole through stainless steel.” So I waited as long as I could to pour my ¾ gallon of bleach into the flimsy plastic bag and pinch the bag by loosely tying the top with some of the red yarn I’d unraveled. Next, standing by the door, I pulled the other end of the yarn, which was thrown over the beam closest to the door, along with another cord holding another item—wait for it—so the pouch of bleach rested beneath this other heavy item. Both objects dangled directly over Floorboard #3.

Bleach is corrosive, as I’ve mentioned, which we know from scientists. And bleach burns like a Mother You-Know-Whater when it’s splashed in your eyes or your mouth or your face, which we know from common sense.

The clock ticked to 11:59 and the sun simultaneously flared, sending a beam to cut through the dust particles in the air. The smell of my own sweat fogged me in the tight space I quarantined myself to, firm against the wall by the door. I’m sure my odor hadn’t increased due to any nervousness, but rather was abundantly apparent as I prepared to say goodbye to all the details of that horrible den.

An ever-so-slight tremble began. The floorboards rattled. Lunch. I plastered my back to the wall, solid in the designated spot by the door. Outside, he placed the tray on the floor. The click clack of plastic against wood signaled me to stand rigid and ready.

Keys jingled and metal scraped within the keyhole.

The door opened.

He opened it wide, just what I needed, just as always, just as expected, as planned.

After collecting the food from the floor, he bent without looking up and stepped to the exact spot he always did, just as I had marked and measured three times a day since Day 5. Floorboard #3. He looked straight ahead at the bed, which was now a contraption of death. What did he think, expecting me to be sitting there waiting for lunch but seeing…the mattress tipped, wedged between the bed frame and the wall, and the box spring on the floor, cut open and hallowed, lined with that plastic, and filled with water, and thus, transfigured into a literal pool. A ditch with cotton sides in the house, only steps from the door. In the second of insight I allowed him, I hoped he saw a ready canvas, waiting only for its main subject, him, and thus would be my completed masterpiece. I hoped he would chastise himself for giving me plastic on that box spring, chastise himself for being too lazy to remove it and properly place the bed on slats. His vision would be of that box spring now expertly layered in the plastic, half-filled with water, and the standing mattress against the wall, like an opened lid to this well, waiting to close once he entered. The wood frame of the bed, he should have noted, had several skinny rungs missing. Did he wonder where those had gone? And hanging and twirling and singing in the sky above was the radio on a rope made out of a red knit blanket. The radio’s plug was in the socket at the foot of the bed.

Did he connect water with electricity? Did he feel the rising zap in the room, coming from the socket, my plan, my head? Did he sense the tension so high in the blaring opera above the bed, so high I thought bolts of lightning flashed around the room?

I’m sure if I had allowed another second to pass, he’d have cranked his head to see me standing to his left and by the opened door. He’d have asked a bewildered and grunted How? I never gave him the opportunity, of course, but I have a chance now for a quick explanation.

On that working night from Day 4 to Day 5, I used the razor from the pencil sharpener, which had been summarily dismantled by the sharp end of the bucket handle, and cut the plastic covering and the fabric on the inside of the box spring. The cutting is what took so long. I had only the razor to work with and it was small. Even a microscopic tear might foil the plan, so I worked methodically, like an art restorer to a damaged Rembrandt, precious square inch by precious square inch, ensuring each cut was surgeon-worthy straight. I kept the plastic on the sides and bottom of the box spring and secured it in place with the flat tacks, collectively Asset #24. I’ll explain about the tacks in a minute. I lined the box spring between its now exposed support boards with the cut plastic and secured the inner well—now an empty pool—with more of the flat tacks. I reinforced certain spots with a patchwork of pieces of my black raincoat, which I had torn apart. He never noticed it missing.

“Your opponent will often be blind to your design, being consumed with his own. Do not subconsciously seek accolades of your ingenuity and thus call attention—be sated by your own approval. Be confident you will win,” so said the quote, scrawled on a napkin and framed in my mother’s home office. My father was the author, having written the inspiration before jumping from a plane in his navy wetsuit to extract some kidnapped figurehead from an island prison. Such were the subjects of our family dinner conversations, even after mother’s trial wins became the norm and even after my father retired to a full life of science.

On Day 33, he likely could not believe the spectacle of this box spring well, filled with the lukewarm water he offered me at every meal—by the way, when I guzzled water from the bathroom faucet, this is how I got the hydration needed for my condition. Above the bed-pool hung the radio, plugged in to the outlet on the wall by the headboard. A symphony of unparalleled voracity blared.

Wild notes. Oh wild melody. Rage on.

Just before my captor arrived on Day 33 to deliver my lunch, I marveled at this scene myself. When I said, “Thank you,” each time you offered me more water, I meant, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me drown you, electrocute you.”

The band is beyond divinity at this point, so furious I can no longer hear a single note. What music, what rapture. I am overcome.

One second after he entered the room and stepped in the place I had studied for weeks, I let go the pouch of bleach (Asset #36), and also the ultrasound machine’s extension cord (Asset #22), which held the TV suspended above his head. The pouch hit first and burst, only to be squished further a millisecond later by the crash of the television. Both missiles hit squarely on what was once the soft spot of his newborn skull.

The bleach must have reached his eyeballs because instead of cradling his crushed head, his weak arms, weak because he was passing out, went to his eyes as he gave out a high-pitched moan. I hold freeze-frames of his actions from this point on. Frame-by-frame, he rocked his left eye with the back of his left hand, while his right arm did the same with his right eye. Even in memory, I do not hear, as I did not hear in those microseconds, what must have been spitting swears and screaming coming from his wide-open mouth. I heard that radio offering praise from an opera. I heard a violin scream a high note of approval. And I heard the crackle of urgent electricity, seeping from the socket and anxious to play its part. Water in the box spring rippled from the sudden thud of the TV when it crashed to the wood floor, after falling from his head to his right shoulder and bouncing off his back. A metal corner gouged somewhere along his neckline, releasing blood to run down his spine—like a ribbon on a balloon.

Before his complete collapse, I moved on to my next weapon, which I picked up in the same motion as when I released the bleach and TV. The loose floorboard in my hands became a battering ram. I laid it flat against his back from his left side where I stood. Using his falling motion, I pushed the requisite force—based on his weight and height—to drop him to his knees, propel him forward, and insure he’d fall headfirst in the water—which he was primed to do anyway. He splashed into my ditch, and I slipped out behind his now fallen feet to the hall, looking in. Simultaneously, I unhooked more of the red yarn, which I’d braided to form a rope, from a nail by the door. I fashioned the rope out of the yarn from the red knit blanket, Asset #5, which I began unraveling, as you know, on Day 20. He never noticed the uncoiling because I folded the blanket on its own disembowelment every single morning at dawn. The once dangling radio hit the water where his bleached and crushed head and torso lay, submerged. The crack and the sizzle of electrocution filled the room. Me outside, him within.

All of this took less than ten seconds, about the time he took to nab me from my street.

Now that, my friends, is justice. Cold, hard, burning, skull-splitting, electrified justice.

15/33 consisted of a three-part escape plan: TV, with unnecessary but added bonus of bleach pouch, electrocution, and drowning, each of which could have caused his death. If the TV missed, I still would have picked up the floorboard and pushed, expecting him to likely trip. If necessary, I would have mustered physical force and whaled him with the floorboard until he collapsed, then I’d turn to my fail safe and shoot him in the eyes and neck and groin with the bow and four arrows in the holster strapped to my back.

Arrows and holster? I had so many assets. The bow was constructed of the elastic from the attic and my trusty now unbent bucket handle. The arrows were sharpened rungs I had removed from the bed frame and whittled with the ends of the TV antennas—the rungs and antennas being falsely re-secured each morning into their intended, decorative/sort-of-functional spots. The holster was the sleeve of my raincoat, pinch-tied at the bottom with more of the yarn, the strap made out of wiring I ripped from the guts of the ultrasound machine. Thankfully, the arrows were superfluous, then, which is why I didn’t fret over the inability to use them in practice. Praise God and his black angel butterfly, for I had the positional advantage, the element of surprise, and from my relentless study, I knew his movements, patterns, gait, steps, height, and weight so precisely, I very well could have metamorphized into the man.

What about those tacks? You’ll remember, on the first night in the van, I slept less than he did. It’s funny what sweat will do to duct tape and that van was hot and I had extra pounds. I felt the magic of my heat on the tape all of Day 1, and slowly but surely, my thin wrists loosened within my confinement. Finally, while he snored, I tested how far I might pull an arm free. Sure enough, fifty minutes into his slumber, my right arm slid out. Unsure of how long I had, and since the olive oven barred the side sliding door and a chain barred the back doors, I was likely out of time to free my left arm and legs—although I continued to fiddle. I bent to the backpack, retrieved the tacks—a commercial-sized pack of one thousand so stuffed the tacks didn’t rattle—and pocketed them in my lined, black raincoat. He stirred. I sat up straight. I put my hand back through the duct tape, slouched, and pretended to sleep. He yawned and turned in his chair. I felt him look at me.

- Stupid fucking whore, he’d said.

Idiot. I will kill you with these tacks, I had thought.

Thirty-three days later, I froze outside my jail cell as his sizzling and muscle-jumping body rounded out. When he fell, his body was limp, his legs collapsed and sprawled on the floor in pigeon-toe, but his torso lifted to slump over the low bed frame and in the water in the box spring. The oddest part of everything was how his hips kept rising with every zap of electricity and banging the side of the bed—as if he were dream-humping the long board while sleeping submerged in the water. The water appeared blue with yellow streaks, swirling and spilling around him and to the floor. Sparks poured from the wall socket, threatening to catch and burn the whole joint, but didn’t, given that they burned to black dots on the floorboards. Pops accompanied the sparks, as did bubbles of his breath when his body settled into death and the angered electricity calmed. I waited until all popping stopped, like when you microwave popcorn, those last, slow seconds of one, two-three, silence, a fourth and final kernel pops. “Ding!” the microwave blares, “All done.”

A drone of dying lights sent a warping over the house: the electrocution had shorted the electricity. Although midday, the musty hall fell dark and a quiet dropped a cloth of eerie silence. I reached for an arrow on my back, standing as still as a stone statue in the park, mid-step, sword unsheathed. No noises came from his chamber of death. No footsteps fell behind me, above me, below me, or anywhere. I was outside my room. I shut the door and locked him within. I took the keys.

Silence.

My heart beat loud in my ears.

A swallow fluttered by the window in the stairwell, a herald tweeting, “The coast is clear.”

I hope you enjoyed your swim in my little pool, motherfucker. I spit on the door.

I went downstairs and entered the kitchen. I had imagined it so often with the floral print fabric, wood worktables, white sink, and apple-green mixer, I felt deceived to find something wholly different. The truth in the vision winded me. Instead of a country kitchen, before me were two long stainless steel tables—commercial-kitchen style. The stove was big and black, the mixer, boring egg-white. There were no colors in this room. There were no aprons with pink piping. No fat cat lounging on a rug. And, there was another surprise for me too, so they didn’t live here, just leave me with Steve, I know why he hates me so much now.

Upon the steel table closest to me, I found a second china plate of food. This was surely not mine; mine was shattered upstairs, under the electrified remains of my perpetrator’s feet. This plate was wrapped in plastic with a Post-it on top. Beside it was an identical mug of milk and cup of water. I stepped closer. The note said, “T.” I looked in the trash. On top, plain as day, was another piece of saran wrap with a Post-it, but this one said, “Y/N,” my first initial. How did I not see this before? We were not alone in the building. Another girl. And her name begins with T.

Still, this diversion was not a part of my plan. Stay focused, finish 15/33, and then re-plan. I found some envelopes with the address and a phone, dialed 911, and demanded the chief of police. I got him.

“Listen to me carefully, write this down. I will talk slow. I am Y/N Y/LN. I am the pregnant girl who was kidnapped a month ago. I am at 77 Meadowview Road. Do not come in a cop car. Do not put this on the radio. Do not make a scene. You will jeopardize me and another girl they’ve taken. Come in one regular car. Come quick. Do not put this on the radio. Do not make a scene. Are you following this?”

- Yes.

I hung up.

Now I could attend to this other victim. I stepped outside. Finally, the full architecture. For once I was right, it was white. As I had noted previously, the footprint housed four different wings, three floors to each with a common attic adding a fourth level. A faded sign on the side said, “Appletree Boarding School.” The kitchen was so new though; the peeled paint of the exterior seemed misplaced. I thought of the scene in Romancing the Stone when Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas visit Juan to get a ride in his “Little Pepe,” a truck. Juan’s house was a run-down shack on the outside, but a virtual palace on the inside.

The girl, T, might be anywhere, and I was not about to go climbing all sorts of stairs looking for her. I wasn’t going to yell either. Fortunately, something caught my eye. In the far-left wing was a matching triangular window, at the same height as mine. I walked around the whole structure. There were no other windows like them. Instead, all of the other windows were large, some taking up the whole wall of a room. I concluded that had she been in any of those rooms, there would be curtains. I looked up again at the triangular window and I swear the black butterfly fluttered in the pane, as if pointing the way.

I opened the doorway of this far-left wing and climbed three flights of stairs. The stairwell matched mine exactly. The third floor housed the same bathroom, in the same spot.

I rattled the floorboards outside a locked room.

- T? I said.

Nothing.

- T, what’s your name? I just escaped from the other wing. Is someone there?

A loud crash, something fell.

- Hello, hello! Please, let me out! She screamed this phrase repeatedly, frantic she became, as I clawed through the ring of keys, which I had collected from my own locked door, and found the right one. Interestingly, her lock was antiquated, a simple turnkey lock so unlike my titanium upgrade. Why was she so trusted? Underestimated? I would have picked this lock on the first night. As her door opened, a blond girl struggled to sit on her bed. A pile of books was strewn along the floor, so I presumed they were the source of the crash. T wore a purple dress and one black Converse All Stars sneaker; her other foot was bare. I wondered again where my shoes were, as I scrunched my toes in the gifted, too-large Nikes. Why was she allowed to keep her shoe? This T was very pregnant, just as I.

- The cops are coming. They’re coming right now.

As I said this, the sound of tires and an engine rumbled outside.

Why didn’t I hear cars pull up in my wing? She must have heard whenever the Kitchen People arrived, Banner, Natasha, Stark, the Girl Scouts and their mother, Ransom. Did she scream for help each time? They must not have heard her.

- My name is Tery S. Rodriguez. I need a doctor.

A car door slammed. That can’t be the cops yet. I called 3.5 minutes ago. Must be the cops. Someone is walking around outside. Where are they going?

Beads of sweat dotted her pale face. Her eyes drooped in sickness, not lethargy. One of her legs was swollen and red; her right shin appeared as though it would burst. Her hair was matted with grease, the bangs pulled aside by one bobby pin.

Where are they?

Tery’s dungeon mirrored mine in many respects: wood bed without mattress on the bottom slats, just resting in the frame, plastic covered her box spring, the beams were the same, the window, the wood floor. But she had no TV. She had no radio. No pencil case, no ruler, no pencils, no paper, and no pencil sharpener. And I guessed, no tacks. She did have two assets, however, that I did not: knitting needles and several books.

Screaming began in another part of the building. My wing.

I tried to lift Tery, get her to move.

A door slammed. Again, my wing.

- Come, Tery, come now.

She froze.

- Tery, Tery, we need to leave, now!

Running feet outside the building below us.

And up the stairs.

Tery pasted herself to the wall behind her bed.

I pulled her arm.

A floorboard rattled behind us in the hall.

That’s when I accepted my colossal miscalculation.

Taglist: @cjand10

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fraidy-farfelle · 3 years ago

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Hey, for the ask game. Maybe 19 with either Frankie or another character of your choice? Thank you and hopefully this ask is good and helpful

Ok so I got WWAAAAAYYYYYY too carried away with this. Thank you for the ask! I’ve only ever written for a female reader, so I hope that this is okay. I’m still working out if I want to take the time to write out Frankie’s lines with his accent or not, so any feedback on that would be appreciated! I hope you enjoy it!

“Where would you Mark me? Could you point it out?”

It was a crisp morning in Toria. Autumn had made its debut; biting winds carrying the colorful leaves in beautiful patterns. Frankie turned up his collar and huffed in annoyance at the latest breeze. Why, he wouldn’t even be out if not for-

“Frankie!~” He instinctively snapped his head in the direction of the voice calling for him. ‘Ah yes, the Dame of the hour…’ He thought to himself, a smile disguised as a smirk made its way onto his face. A woman came into his vision, running towards him with a radiant smile, her cheeks red from the cold. He couldn’t help but muse over how angelic she looked with her (h/c) hair flowing behind her, almost looking metallic in the pale sunlight. She screeched to a halt before him and took a moment to catch her breath.

“Whaddaya think ya doin, runnin around like a chicken with its head cut off?” Frankie said, gently brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “I had to swing by my place to grab some stuff, and Jack decided he was in a talkative mood. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long!” She said once she finally caught her breath.

“Ya gotta learn how to tell people to fuck off, (y/n). You certainly ain’t beholdin’ to that striped bastard.” He said with a frown, taking the backpack that he noticed slung over her arm from her. She reached to take it back, but he gently batted her hand away. “You know I’m too nice to do that. Besides, we both know what he’s capable of. It’s better to be kind to him.” He nodded his head in reluctant agreement, and busied himself with buttoning up her coat. He opened his mouth to chide her for trying to catch a cold, but she rolled her eyes and held her arms up to accommodate his mother hen nature.

“Ya still ain’t told me where we’re goin, love.” He said, finally satisfied. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” She said with a giggle and took his hand. “Ready?” “You lead, an I’ll follow.”

After walking through the woods for a bit, they came to the shoreline of a lake. Frankie had been to this lake before, but he noticed something new. “Has that cabin always been there?” She laughed and shook her head. “No, you haven’t missed anything. This is what I’ve been working on this past month. Shall we say, somebody owed me a favor?” Frankie was in awe. The cabin was small, but had a covered porch and the timbers seemed to fit seamlessly together. He didn’t get much time to think on it, as she tugged him forward. She used a strange looking key to unlock the door and they stepped inside.

The inside of the cabin was a single room; a kitchenette on the left side, and a bed and wardrobe to the right. A rustic fireplace dominated the back wall, with a door on either side. “(y/n), what exactly is this?” A bashful look adorned her face, and she held his hand in both of hers. “Well, in the simplest of terms, I built it for you. I know how hard it is for you to live at Hookman’s and I also know we can’t just go on vacation. (He opened his mouth to apologize, but she squeezed his hand to silence him.) I knew what I was signing up for when we started dating, Stitches. It’s okay. But, I see you getting so stressed out. Between Jack, Will, and now Issac, and all of the jobs Bell sends you on, I had to find you someplace where you could get away from everything. I didn’t find one that already existed, so I decided to make one! I called in favors for the materials and the actual cutting of the logs, but I brought them here myself. You and I are the only people who know about this place.”

She looked down nervously, unable to meet his gaze. Frankie dropped the bag unceremoniously to the floor, and pulled her into a warm embrace. (y/n) immediately melted against him and held on to his jacket. After a moment, he pulled back and cupped her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. He had happy tears in his eyes that fell as he tried to blink them away. “Thank you, (y/n). I love you. So much.” He then pressed a gentle kiss on her lips to drive his words home.

Later in the day, after they had caught their food from the lake and had a fire roaring in the fireplace, they spent the day walking in the woods. Unfortunately, (y/n) had tripped and fallen on a tree root, and had managed to bring Frankie down with her, leaving them both covered in cold mud. Laughing at themselves, they made their way back to the cabin.(y/n) made her way to the door to the right of the fireplace, motioning for him to follow. Behind was a small bathroom with a shower, and the room was heated by the bricks of the fireplace. “Oh! Um, you use blockers so I can’t really tell. You’re not nearing your rut now, right?” “No.” “Just checking! That means we can share. If you’re comfortable, that is!” Her face was now tinted red in a blush, unused to speaking so candidly. He smiled and ruffled her hair. “It’s alright with me if it is with you.” With that, they shed their clothes and hopped in.

“Sorry, the hot water doesn’t last long. This way we won’t freeze to death.” She said, starting to lather up her hair. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I may be an Alpha, but I can control myself.” “Woah!” (y/n)’s foot suddenly slipped, sending her face first into Frankie’s chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her. “...I have to admit, this does make it more difficult.” Frankie quipped. (y/n) knew she should apologize and right herself. But with Frankie holding her so closely with nothing between them, she finally could make out his scent. Notes of sandalwood and leather completely enveloped her. With the warm water coming down on them and the warm feeling of Frankie’s skin, she couldn’t find it in herself to pull away. Frankie made no move to push her away. The contented sigh he heard from her made it impossible. He closed his eyes and relished in this moment, while doing his best to not get too excited.

The Omega in his arms suddenly spoke. “Frankie?” “Hm?” “We… we are going to be mates, right?” “What brought this up?” She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “I’ve wanted to be your Omega for some time now. I just… didn’t want to push you. I figured since you lost Amy, bonding with someone would be too painful. But, I love you more than anything! I’ve noticed your jobs have been more dangerous lately, and now I’m terrified that I’ll never have the chance to be with you!” Frankie was stunned into silence. He could see the worry and love in her expression clearly, and he realized he hadn’t been good at conveying his feelings at this point. The stress of her emotions was causing her to emit a sweet smell subconsciously, and it made his mind reel for an answer. “I… didn’t mean to make you feel so anxious. I’m sorry. You’re right, as usual. I was afraid. I love you more than I thought I had in me. I’d be proud to be your Alpha.”

Squealing with joy, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Oi! Careful, it’s slippery in here!” “Where?!” “Where what?” “Where would you Mark me? Could you point it out?” “I’ll just show ya.” Frankie said with a smirk and lowered his face to the left of her neck. He started leaving open mouthed kisses between her neck and shoulder, until he found her sweet spot. She sang his name out like a hymn and with a triumphant “There!” he gently broke the skin just enough to leave a love bite. Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I promise to make it official once we’re done here.” “Well then, what are we waiting for!” She exclaimed and happily hopped out of his arms, nearly making him lose his footing. “Jesus Christ, Woman!” he yelled out, but could only shake his head when all he got in response was laughter.

#anonymousstinkkat001 #frankie the undead #frankie creeps

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hollyhomburg · 5 years ago

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so y/n can’t conceive anymore in empireverse? how sadddd 😭😭😭

i never said she couldn’t conceive- only that she hasn’t had her heat yet. her heat is connected to her omega- as is her inability to speak- the mental blockage caused by her trauma and the fact that she hasn’t fully healed yet. once she reconnects with her omega- she’ll be able to conceive again.

let me remind you that omegas can’t shift in this au- or at least- they shouldn't be able to. (Also tw: for more implied assault, sexual language, violence, and gore, also murder? but like- y’all will be glad abt it)

I think it’s like a good day for you when it happens- you’ve recently taken to exploring out into the outer compound- tired of being in the same gardens as always. and it’s not like it should be dangerous, because you’re just walking with Jimin through the taller older trees when you happen upon them- they’re the sons of some royal family, not too high up in the social ladder of the city but not far off either. they’re the kind of boisterous Alphas that take first and ask questions later, their status only making them more inclined to do so- because which omegas could say no to them.

the second they see you and jimin they start whistling and saying explicit things that would make most omegas blush. jimin pulls you closer- and tries to ignore them. but when they pass they step in front of you to stop both of you on the woody path- wondering where you’d be going- surely two omegas in the royal compound didn’t have anything better to do than entertain a few high alphas. “you should be honored- pretty things like yourselves” jimin slaps his hand away, “let us pass- or- or I’m warning you”

jimin tries to bow out- tries to bring attention to his priestesses gear but that only makes things worse- then they’re gearing- talking about how jimin should let them show him how a knot feels like- they swear the experience is heavenly- they swear he’d turn into a stupid cum slut the second he had a taste of alpha cum. one of them tries to grab you- and you look up at jimin so scared- and jimin sees red- steps up toe to toe with the alpha and snarls, shoving you behind him- using his body as a sheild between you and the alphas.

because jimin- jimin knows he can survive whatever they could do to him- but you- he knows you’ll never come back if they carry through on their vulgar threats.

he’s deathly calm when he whispers, “I need you to run okay? go back and get the others and make sure you’re safe before they come and find me alright?” Jimin hears you turn, hears the crinkle of leaves as you dash through the woods. one of the alphas snarls “always did like a chase” and tries to run after you but jimin elbows him in the stomach sending him sprawling. The others regroup as he wields his hidden dagger, a tiny thing- ceremonial and dotted with sapphires- but it will have to do- holding it out in front of him to defend himself as the alphas circle him. “you bitch- you’ll pay for that-”

jimin swipes with the dagger- misses, and takes one hit to the stomach before he finds himself sprawled in the autumn leaves, heaving for breath, the wind knocked out of him. He’s scrambling back, the alphas stalking towards him and yanking him closer by his ankle when he hears the sound- a growl that seems to shake the forest floor.

Jimin looks up and his blood runs cold,

The wolf in front of him must be an alpha- there is no other reason for their size. only the strongest betas and alphas can shift- the larger the wolf the more deadly. jimin has only seen namjoon shift once- and even this wolf with it’s white fur wirey and matted with blood- seems larger than the leader of the empire.

The wolf dwarves even some of the trees, rising taller than Jimin's head when he stands. whats more is that it looks mauled- great rents torn in its side. scars lacing over its muzzle. it’s underbelly look like it was shredded at one point- now scared over. it’s missing part of its tail, a black and bloody cavern where one of its eyes should be. Some of its wounds even seem fresh- spilling black blood onto the forest floor.

the wolf shouldn’t even be able to stand with how injured it is- and yet- it growls, and Jimin sees his assailant's faces go pale. One of them tries to take a step backward, and the massive wolf zeroes in on its first prey- pouncing- leaping clean over Jimin who tucks his head and hides in the leaves, keeping one eye open on the carnage.

The wolf bites the head of one of the alphas clean off- felling the other with a quick lunge breaking his spine with a crack and the third- barely gets his knife out- managing to slash once at the wolves face before he’s being shaken like a rag doll in its maw- sending blood splattering everywhere- even over jimin, The warm liquid hitting his face. Only then- only after that does the wolf turn its eyes on jimin, eyes full of furry, chest heaving, panting into the open air.

Jimin starts to hear feet running through the woods and thanks to his lucky stars- you’d made it to safety because the others are coming- Jungkook and his elite assassins can’t help but make noise walking through the leafy forest floor.

The wolf might be bearing down- about to kill him but he knows at least- you’re safe, and an eerie calm hovers over him as the wolf walks close- and jimin closes his eyes- feeling peace settles over him- because at least he’d saved you- even if he’d never been able to tell you how he feels- he’d saved you from this. He waits for the flash of pain, taking in a final breath, the wind whips his robes- carrying Jungkook, Yoongi’s, and Namjoon’s sent on the wind, as the men shout when they see the wolf, swords drawn

but also your scent- it’s so strong- it’s almost like you’d never left.

jimin opens his eyes, and the massive wolf is face to face with him. it licks at his face gently, letting out a low whine, cleaning him of the blood. wet nose nudging his cheek, “Jimin” it’s Jungkook’s voice, “I need you to back up very very slowly okay?” Jimin can see in his periphery- one of his assassins cocking an arrow in his crossbow. “don’t shoot- Jungkook it’s- it’s” you look up- making eye contact with your pack, it’s Yoongi’s voice that punctures the silence, half worry and half disbelief

“Y/n!?”

and in the next breath, you're shifting with a pained whimper, bones, and tendons cracking, more blood spilling onto the forest floor with the force of the shift. jimin is surprised there isn’t more on your clothes when you finally fall forward into Jimin’s arms, he rises despite the pain in his side to catch you. his hands are urgent- little sobs hurling out of his lungs as his hands search in your blood-stained clothes- only to find not a single wound on your body- all except for a small scratch on your cheek.

his body sagging over yours when he realized- you’re not mortally wounded- not like your wolf- that could only have been your omega and now- now that he’s seen your omega face to face- he can’t imagine how you survived your trauma if that's what your soul looks like.

he teeters- unsteady, and namjoon rushes forward to catch you both.

it’s only namjoons hand on the back of his neck shouting jimins name has him looking away from you, the alphas crowding around both of you clinging to each other- “Jimin- are you hurt? did they hurt you anywhere?” and then jimin is shaking his head, tears spilling over his cheeks, his limbs shaking,

“yes- they just- they were going to-” “I know baby I know” jimin barely lets himself shiver at the pet name before he’s pulling back, jimin can’t let go of you- won’t let go of you but that dosent mean Yoongi dosent lean in close cupping your cheeks and checking you for injuries. Jungkook shouting at the warriors as the rest of the pack runs through the woods accompanied by more soldiers, he looks panicked as he cups your cheeks, you rub at your eye (you’d gotten blood in it) “are you hurt my love? are you okay?” “I’m fine my head just hurts” you answer.

and everyone- even Jungkook’s soldiers- turns and looks at you.

“What- what did you just say?” Yoongi says, words stressed, his shoulders slumping, you seem to realize it- your hand reaching up to touch your mouth opening it, tasting the words- eyes wide, “I said-” you giggle at the sound of your own voice- kinda a little rough after so many months- but all the others laugh too, all of them pressing close. Yoongi pressing his nose to your cheek and crying, “Jung-kookie- yoongi- Namjoon” you say, and he honestly starts sobbing, all of them do because- you’re here- you seem more lucid than you’ve been in months. you make eye contact with jimin, a small smile playing on your lips, “Jimin i-”

Jimin almost wants to sigh- your voice- he’d often wondered what it would sound like- if he’d ever hear it- and now he can, and it sounds better than music, better then bird song in the morning, better than hymns spoken on the holiest day of the year.

You make eye contact with jimin, a small smile playing on your lips, “Jimin i-”

they think you’re going to be completely okay- until you suddenly grip your stomach- leaning over and vomiting into the leaves. Your eyes rolling back the next second as you pass out- Yoongi supporting your body, the next few minutes are tense and scary- Jimin too- is a little too in shock to make the walk back to the compound but Namjoon carries him- Jimin's head lolling to look at where you lay in Yoongi’s arms,

the shouts of the others as they join- Namjoon yelling for them to bring the doctor. Seokjin’s panicked words “what happened to my pups” Jimin passes out from stress sometime after namjoon leans down close. “we’ve got you- you’re both going to be okay”

when Jimin blinks open his eyes, he finds you curled up tight close to him and a sharp stabbing pain in his side, The doctor informs him that he’d broken a rib, and is on stiff bedrest for the next few weeks. you’re fine as well- as far as they can tell- you’ve only stirred since you’ve passed out- but the doctor gathers that the shift must have taken a lot of energy out of you. the shift- it barely hits jimin- a shifting omega- he asks the others- and yes- you’ve never shifted before today.

The rest of the pack files in. all of them bowing before jimin, he’s barely sitting up before Seokjin is dashing forward and folding himself in between the two of you- “thank you Minnie- thank you so much- you saved her- you saved her twice and we’re never going to be able to repay you” the older omega is sobbing and all jimin can do is comb his fingers through his hair as he presses close. the elder scent marking him.

namjoon- the leader of the empire- presses his forehead to the floor in front of jimin, “we will forever be in your debt, there is no limit to what we will do for you park jimin” jimin is tired, feels his heartthrob with the knowledge of the day, before jimin can respond, you turn, blinking your eyes up at him, and Jimin’s attention is diverted, glad he has another focus other than the alphas devoted looks that make a blush rise to his face.

“Y/n- are you- can you” you blink your eyes and open your mouth you get out a single syllable before your throat is closing around the words and Taehyung is jumping forward, “don’t strain yourself- they’ll come back when they come back” but it is better- “I want- can we all sleep in here tonight?” jimin asks, looking shyly at namjoon- it’s bold for him to ask, even though he has actually slept in the same room as most of them before- he’d been well on his way to integrating the alphas back into bedtimes with you before today- the only one he hasn’t slept next to is Jungkook and Hoseok. and the others easily agree when you turn, nodding your head up and down rapidly.

“well I guess we don’t have a choice” yoongi giggles, hand coming out to run down your hair and through it- you leaning into his hand, you try to talk again only getting out “yoon-” before you break off again- making a frustrated noise before taehyung is leaning forward to press a finger to your lip. “don’t strain yourself baby, you haven't talked in almost a full year-” taehyungs smile is boxy and happy as he stands up “I’ll get you some tea for your throat- and call for dinner”

dinner is a sleepy affair, somehow, jimin ends up with his back up against jungkook’s shoulder, the young alpha supporting jimin and his broken rib with a thick but gentle arm around his waist. You sit across namjoon’s lap and letting the alpha feed you pieces of sweet meat and hot vegetables. you leaning over sweetly to feed Taehyung and Seokjin and each of them- Hoseok shouting loud when you accidentally drop a piece onto his expensive silk robe, and that night- jimin gets to curl up in the middle of a pack pile, his nose pressed to the nape of your neck, Yoongi’s nose pressed into Jimin's hairline the same as yours, his body in line with jimin hot and steady behind him, your nose pressed into Jungkook’s chest, the hand of the young alpha resting over your body to hold Jimin’s softly.

Jimin wakes late into the night, pain licking up his side, he hears the soft voices, the sound of kissing and dosent shift to listen but hears regardless- it’s Seokjin and namjoon, kissing in the candlelight. jimin hears the shifting of cloth, a low chiding noise, “when you offered that to jimin this afternoon- did you hope he would ask to stay?”

“I did” namjoon sounds like a scolded pup- and Seokjin’s answering giggle makes the fear ease out of Jimin’s chest- he looked like he was about to combust puppy- wolves court for a reason silly alpha” Jimin’s eyes close so quickly as he feels Seokjin’s stiff fingers comb through the curls on the back of his head. “let him rest- before you give him any more anxiety okay? now he’s healed her- I have a feeling we’re going to need to heal him.”

“You really think he’s going to be apart of our pack one-day Jin?”

“I’d bet my life on it Joonie”

Jimin's heart feels like it’s going to jump all the way to the moon.

(only after this happens- can she have her heat again and therefore get pregnant)

#packtan au #bts omegaverse #abo #bts abo #bts werewolf #Anonymous

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itsalwaystimeforwine · 4 years ago

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Nothing is more beautiful than the Italian anthem

I know, I know, another post on F1, but unfortunately these are racing weeks here in Italy, and between home and work they keep me company.

On Sunday the race was run in Monza. First of all, let me I say that I’m very sorry I couldn’t attend in person, but because of Covid there was no audience allowed.

And I'm even more sorry because it really was a crazy race, one as beautiful as we haven’t seen in a while.

Ferrari - and consequently the driver I prefer most - unfortunately did not finish the race. To say how disappointing this team (not the drivers) has been this year is to say little; race after race things get worse, but there was someone else who made us hear the Italian anthem this year, a guy who let's face it, not even he would have imagined to be on the top step of the podium.

We could talk about how the history of the team that won has evolved: based in Faenza - and therefore Italian -, it was once Minardi, historical name in racing, then Toro Rosso, and from this year it’s Alpha Tauri. We could talk about how 12 years later a driver has won for the second time a grand prize for this team - a team that’s usually from the middle of the ranking. We can talk about anything, but I want to talk about the one who won it: Pierre Gasly.

I don’t usually like the French, but Pierre is the exception. I love Pierre as if he were my younger brother. Thanks to Pierre I felt moved because of a winning, and I was even while I was watching the reruns.

Pierre deserved that race, and the compliments from all of the motorsport world and his colleagues are proof of it.

Two years ago, Pierre ran in Toro Rosso, his first year in F1; he had had a good season, which led him to be promoted to Red Bull, one of the 3 strongest teams on the grid, but in Red Bull things were not so simple.

The races were going badly, the pressure was great, the points were few. To the point that in Red Bull they did what they always do, exchange drivers with Toro Rosso. Starting from the GP of Belgium, Pierre returned downgraded to a minor team and Alex Albon got promoted to Red Bull. And with hindsight, we just have to thank this exchange, because it gave new life to Pierre.

That Grand Prix of Belgium was cursed. He raced again with the Italian team that always supported him, there was less pressure, it was more psychologically relaxed. It's a pity that on that Saturday, fate took away one of Pierre’s dearest friends. We all witnessed that accident, helpless in front of the TV. The accident occurred during the F2 race, Anthoine Hubert left while doing something he loved, leaving an immense void in the hearts of those who loved him. That Sunday, before starting the F1 race, Pierre approached Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver and also a great friend of Anthoine, and simply told him "win for Tonio”; and he did, Charles won his first F1 race in Belgium, on that track that had taken away a dear friend of his. Very poetically we all think that Tonio from up there celebrated that victory with them. A year later, Pierre still drives the Toro Rosso, or rather Alpha Tauri, and when he arrived in Belgium the first thing he did was to bring flowers to where Tonio died.

And after Belgium comes Monza, the Grand Prix of Italy. Pierre has now moved to Milan, driving a car based in Italy. Nobody would have ever bet that it would have been his turn to make us hear our hymn; 12 years before it was the turn of a very young Sebastian Vettel, at the time he drove a Toro Rosso, he was 21 years old, and under the flood he won in Monza his first race, and the first race of the Faenza team. He had made us excited, the one who had as a mentor “a certain” Micheal Schumacher.

A crazy race, sometimes even absurd, but because of a breakage of the brakes of his Ferrari, Vettel was forced to retire after seven laps. On lap 19 Pierre is called for the pitstop, then a series of events shuffles all the cards on the table. Magnussen stops at the entrance of the pit lane, the safety car enters, two drivers, including Hamilton who is currently the best driver on the grid, make the pit stop and take a penalty that forces them to restart from the bottom. Charles Leclerc goes to the wall with the other Ferrari and the race is interrupted with subsequent resumption... and Pierre finds himself there, in front of everyone. And he wins, struggling to keep in front of Sainz who was about to surpass him with the McLaren until the very last corner. He won it like that. We all cheered for him, because he deserved it, we were not present at the circuit, but everyone from home on the couch was there with him, under the podium to celebrate him. He too was incredulous, 12 years later he brought the Faenza team back on the top step, 12 years later to what is his reference driver (yes, Pierre is a fan of Vettel).

Charles at the end of the race went to hug him, just as he did a year before in Belgium, and everyone else went to hug him too.

And the next day you think about it, and you notice that he won because the pit call on lap 19 was providential. And 19 was the number that Anthoine Hubert had when he ran in F2. It's probably a coincidence, but who knows...

He won for himself, he won for Tonio.

And I'm still here, I'm still moved when I see the images of Sunday.

Thank you Pierre, you made us remember why we love this sport.

#pierre gasly #formula 1 #italian gp 2020 #italian gp #alpha tauri #ah19 #anthoine hubert #monza 2020 #monza #toro rosso #ferrari

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

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Five Fics Friday: April 10/20

SPECIAL EASTER WEEKEND EDITION: FIFTY FICS FRIDAY

Hey, everyone!!

Well, I asked on my Twitter and here if y’all wanted to see a special edition 5FF for the Long Weekend since we’re all stuck inside (and some of you stuck with family I’m sure you’d like to avoid or are just tired of seeing), and it was a unanimous YES, because who doesn’t love to curl up all weekend with a good book or fanfic??

So here we are: Fifty fics either pulled out of my ass, recently read, recently bookmarked, or recently Marked for Later! Each section has a count so you know how many are in that section (and it’s for myself when I go to double check the count, LOL). I hope you guys enjoy these!! <3 Love you all, and happy reading :)

As always, read-more will appear on the third reblog. Sorry mobile, please don’t hate me :(

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@johnlockficclub APRIL NOMINATIONS (5)

A Beginner's Guide to Apiology. by VictoryCandescence (M, 10,952 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement AU || Friendship, Love, Bees & Beekeeping, Old Age, Dreamy Sexytimes, Angst, Soulmates, Grumpy Sherlock, Magical Realism) – John and Sherlock meet for the first time as old men in Sussex. (to read)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds (“WINNER” fic)

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching, Mycroft is Dying) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock's five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Crimson Hymns by brilliantlyburning (E, 48,982 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S3/TAB, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction, Unhealthy Coping Methods, Demisexual Sherlock, Boxing, Pining, Sensory Processing Issues, Drug Use, First Kiss / Time, BDSM, Mary is Not Good, Parentlock, Proposal, Happy Ending, Beekeeping, Violence, References to Addiction, Poetry) – He laid his head over John’s heart, eyes level with his silver-rough scar, and listened to the crimson hymns beating beneath the surface. He imagined flowers blooming in his own chest: veins weaving intricate patterns on petals of thin muscle engorged with blood, sinew for stems and tendons for roots—the flowers would be poppies, maybe (addictive) or foxglove (deadly yet useful)—twining gleaming blood-red around the porcelain bone of his ribs. In his mind’s eye the gruesome bouquet all tied together on the left side of his chest, the stems bound together in heartstrings and the flowers fed by the rhythmic contraction of ventricles. It’s yours, he imagined saying to John—from the vena cava to the mitral valve to the arteries it is yours.— Or, the Love Song of W. Sherlock S. Holmes. (to read)

RECENT RE-READS (5)

Five Times John Watson Remained Oblivious (K+, 1,154 w., 1 Ch. || Five and Ones, Romance, Friendship, Asexual Sherlock, Queerplatonic Relationship) – ...And one time he didn't. asexual!Sherlock/John.

Linger by orphan_account (E, 4,879 w., 1 Ch. || Lingerie, Fluff and Smut, BJ / HJ, Switchlock, Sherlock in Lingerie, Come Play, Dirty Talk, Anal Fingering, Anal/Oral, Implied Shower Sex, Neck Kissing) – Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour, Three Garridebs) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

NEW MFL’s THIS WEEK (11)

Guardian and Assistant by I_Have_No_Clue (M, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Blow Jobs, PWP, Alpha Sherlock/Omega John, Mentions of Heat) – In this A/O world, ever Alpha, Beta, and Omega have a Type to them that describes the traits they have. John tries to figure out Sherlock's. Part 1 of the Types series

Bonneville Black by HollyShadow88 (E, 3,362 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Motorcycles, Motorcycle Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex) – John discovers that Sherlock has a motorbike. He also discovers that he finds Sherlock on a motorbike to be unreasonably attractive.

Code 221b by whitchry9 (T, 6,528 w., 11 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant, Medical, Paramedics, Hurt/Comfort, Outsider POV) – Sherlock Holmes is well known to the paramedics of London. So when John Watson comes into the picture, it seems like a fantastic solution. Someone would take care of Sherlock and prevent all those problems. Of course, they didn't think about what would happen if John was hurt. (They really should have.) Part 1 of the The Patron Saint of Idiots series

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Sex Shop Quartet Series by testosterone_tea (E, 28,180+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || First Kiss/Time, POV John, Sex Toys, Sex Talk, Anal Play, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Awkward Sexual Situations, Rimming, Inexperienced Sherlock, Oral Sex, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, PWP, Bondage, Handcuffs, Praise Kink, BDSM, Kink Negotiation, Edgeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Ice / Wax Play, Blindfolds, Emotional Love Making, Teabagging, Riding Crops, Impact Play, Intercrural Sex, Roleplay, Spanking, Collars) – Sherlock goes undercover at a sex shop but finds he has no idea what any of the toys are for. Cue John Watson, awkward sexual conversations and some unfortunate incidents involving too much plug and not enough lube. But all's well that ends well and Sherlock gets the best happy ending of all.

Roll Away Your Stone by foxxcub (E, 39,463 w., 1 Ch. || Downey Holmes || Boarding School AU) – Seventeen-year-old John Watson is set to finish his final year of school with a flourish, until the headmaster assigns John as a "tutor" to an arrogant, yet brilliant new student named Sherlock Holmes. Holmes is not about to be put in his place by this popular rugby football player with the too-blue eyes, and John isn't going to let this impulsive fifteen-year-old get away with anything. Neither expects to become friends, but a series of unexpected events and a possible murder mystery bring them closer together than either of them thought possible.

I Believe in Sherlock Holmes by Ranowa (T, 63,038 w., 10 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Hurt Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Homeless Network, Alcohol Abuse, No Mary, Bit-Not-Good/Angry John, Protective Mycroft, Angst with Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Forgiveness, Sherlock’s a Mess) – John's been angry at Sherlock since the day he turned up wearing a fake mustache and a tuxedo. He's still angry, even as he moves back into 221B, and he never hesitates to let Sherlock know it.One day, Sherlock stops saying sorry, and walks out instead.One day, Sherlock wakes up handcuffed in the boot of a car, and John doesn't know, because John's been angry at him for so long he's forgotten that he's not the only one that's hurting.

I'm coming home, John. -SH Series by Ranowa (M, 67,247 w. across 3 works || Post-TRF, Angry John, Idiots in Love, No Mary, Drug Use/Substance Abuse, Emotional Rollercoaster, Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, PTSD Sherlock, Recovery, Sherlock’s Violin, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Sherlock) – In the two years after Sherlock throws himself off the roof of St. Bart's, crunches into the pavement below, and dies in John's arms, John starts texting.He doesn't know that his text messages are being read.

Roommates are for little people by alexxphoenix42 (E, 69,042 w., 14 Ch. || Teen/Unilock || Forced to Share a Bed, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Relationship, Sherlock is a Prick, Drinking, Inadvertent Drug Use, Family Wedding, Footballer John / Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Frottage, Slow Burn, Mild Dub Con, Cuddling While Sleeping, Slight Homophobia, Posh Boy, Dirty Dancing, Endearments, Nosy FAmily, Bathing Together, Mild Angst, UST/RST, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff) – John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Scheherezade by sgam76 (G, 197,576 w., 45 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF/Pre-TSo3, PTSD Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Humour, Protective John, Papa Lestrade, Big Brother Mycroft, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Aftermath of Serbia, Past Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Drunk Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts / Attempt) – Sherlock is home, he and John are returning to cases, and all's right with the world--right? But a series of minor mishaps and injuries makes two things very clear to his friends and family: first, Sherlock's time away wasn't the grand adventure everyone has assumed it was; and second, that time has left Sherlock with a legacy that's bleeding into his life today. Sherlock is Not Okay, and it's not going away. Part 1 of the Scheherezade 'verse series

POSTED THIS YEAR [WiP’s & Full] (19)

A Bowl of Comfort (Store-Bought is Fine) by tepidspongebath (T, 763 w., 1 Ch. || Food, Comfort, Domesticity, Fluff) – “When did you last eat?” “What day is it?” “Oh, for god’s sake - you can’t keep skipping meals like this, Sherlock.” “It’s Lent.” “And since when do you care about Lent?” “Since you get chocolate eggs at Easter.” (to read)

End of the Curve by doctor_not_your_girlfriend (T, 833 w., 1 Ch. || COVID-19, One Shot, Medical Realism, Major Illness, Recovery, Optimism, Disability, Needles) – July, 2021. Mycroft has a special delivery for Sherlock. Inspired by Proving A Point by elldotsee, J_Baillier. (to read)

Love Is A Smoke by J_Baillier (T, 3,617 w., 4 Ch. || Heavy Angst, Pining, Romance, MCD) – It's spring in 2036. John and Sherlock are no longer together. Sherlock attempts to cope — or doesn't. (to read)

A Study in Beard by Loveismyrevolution (T, 3,810 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff and Humour, Experiments, Beards, Idiots in Love, Quarantine) – Sherlock has to face the consequences of using up all of their shaving foam. Which turns out to be more fun than expected. Boys being boys, nothing can go without a challenge. Although, being isolated presents a problem. How will they determine the winner? Part 2 of the Hairy Situations at 221B series (to read)

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 3,926, 3/4 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B. (to read)

Sherlock's Solution by PipMer (T, 4,125 w., 1 Ch, || Fluff, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Isolation/Quarantine, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss) – Sherlock and John are stuck in quarantine. Against all expectations, John is the one who goes stir-crazy first. Sherlock has a unique solution to the problem. (to read)

The Unexpected Threat by J_Baillier (T, 4,283 w., 1 Ch. || Military AU / Pacific Rim Fusion || Established Relationship, Medical Conditions, Coronaviruses, Doctor John, Bratty Sherlock, Romance, Science Fiction, Futuristic Medicine, Ghost Drifting AKA Telepathy, Medical Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Healing) – The kaiju are not the only threat to the security and well-being of the staff of PPDC's Chard's Rift base. It's the year 2050, and a coronavirus epidemic sweeping the planet has reached The Azores. Part 4 of the At The Edge of Our Hope (to read)

Quarantine by wendymarlowe (T, 6,444+ w., 20/? Ch. || WiP || COVID-19, Forced Isolation / Quarantine, John’s Blog, Humour) – John and Sherlock are stuck at 221B together due to coronavirus concerns. Sherlock slowly drives John barmy. (to read)

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Attentions, Experiments, Oddnesses by hubblegleeflower (E, 6,383 w., 1 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Experiments, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Kissing, First Time) – John is behaving oddly, and Sherlock hopes it means what he thinks it means, but he has several theories and could well be missing some of the facts. (to read)

Casualty by Silvergirl (E, 12,051 w., 4 Ch. || Canon Compliant Until T6T, Mary’s Dead, Trauma/Comfort, John’s a Good Friend, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss/Time, Sherlock Learns Teamwork, Parentlock) – Sherlock renders assistance at a hit-and-run and is left deeply shocked. When the accident turns into a case, John moves back in to 221b to help—and finds that Sherlock has way oversold his image as an emotionless thinking machine. (to read)

The Night Riviera from Paddington to Penzance and Back Again by Iwantthatcoat (M, 12,918 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Hurt/Comfort Emotional Hurt/Comfort, BAMF John, Devil's Foot Adaptation, Hallucinations, Oral Sex) – Mrs Hudson has decided her boys need a little vacation together (after the events of S4) away from London and has booked them an inordinately (per Sherlock) long train ride from Paddington Station to Penzance. (to read)

A Gossamer Dream by CarmillaCarmine (E, 15,985 w., 4 Ch. || Writer/Teacher AU || First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Writer John / Teacher Sherlock, Fluff, London, Holding Hands, Online Friendship / Romance, Phone Sex, Anal Sex, Happy Ending) – Sherlock had never realised one could care so much about someone they'd never met in person. Now he is about to meet the friend with whom he's been chatting online for months and his anticipation is reaching a crescendo. (to read)

Contrition by sussexbound (E, 18,556+ w., 5/? Ch. || WiP || Post-S4/TFP Didn’t Happen, Rosie Doesn’t Exist, T6T/TLD is Canon, Year After TLD, Light BDSM, Soft Dom Sherlock / Sub John, Punishment, Light Bondage, Light Masochism / No Sadism, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Tenderness, Aftercare, Forgiveness, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Frottage, Communication, Sexual Negotiation, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Head Injury, Anal Sex) – “You’ve been tense ever since we got back, itching for a fight, all your usual tells, but why…?” The truth strikes like lightning. “Oh… Oh! You’re not angry at me. Not this time. Well—maybe a little. But mostly, mostly you’re angry at yourself. Why? For falling behind? For not being there in time. For not taking Wilkes down fast enough?” Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t really matter.” He lifts a finger to his swollen cheek and cut eyebrow. “You blame yourself for this. And you offered to fix it. But I wouldn’t let you, and… But that’s not what you really want, anyway, is it?” John looks stunned, a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry, frozen, waiting for the lethal strike. “You don’t want me to let you help. At least not right away. No. What you want, what you really want is—punishment.” (to read)

Feeling Seen by jadztone (E, 30,177 w., 9 Ch. || Ballet!Sherlock / Rugby!John, Demisexuality, Virgin John, Experienced Sherlock, Toplock, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Background Molly/Irene & Greg/Sally) – Rugby player John is starting over at a new university, with the help of friends Molly and Bill. Few people know that John is demisexual, but ballet dancer Sherlock Holmes deduces right away that he has no interest in sex unless he’s fallen in love. John finds this strange genius intriguing and would like to get to know him, but Sherlock has a self-cultivated reputation for only wanting casual sex. John has reason to believe that’s not really true, but he’s not sure he wants to risk his twice-fractured heart to find out. (to read)

Sanguineous Serendipity by CarmillaCarmine (E, 34,783 w., 14 Ch. || Vampire AU || Alternate First Meeting, Turning a Character, Vampire Sherlock, Captain John, POV John, Feeding, Blood Drinking, Crossdressing Sherlock, Genderfluid Character, Sherlock in Heels, Transphobic Behaviour, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Soulmates, Romance, Happy Ending) – Vampire Sherlock meets a dying John in a field hospital in Afghanistan and gives him a whole new life. (to read)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Next Right: Welcome to Westbound Rest Area 818 by elwinglyre (E, 59,874+ w., 13/15 Ch. || WiP || American Unilock AU || Bunk Beds, Anonymous Sex, Homophobia, Closeted John, Roommates, Angst with Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Music, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt John, BAMF John) – Sherlock Holmes dreams of escape from his smothering family and space to breathe. Studying chemistry at the University of Michigan, he's almost far enough away to fill his lungs. Almost. While John Watson dreams of being a doctor, he also dreams of being with another man. John knows that with hard work and study, he can make the first a reality, but he's certain the second can never be. Until a secret encounter in the dark at Rest Area 818 changes everything. When Sherlock meets his new roommate, John Watson, he sees a man in the closet. Sherlock hides from no one. Except from his own family, a detective inspector who wants his evidence returned, and his secret encounter at Rest Area 818. Thank you to recently folded who lovingly beta’d chapters 1-5 and helped with an important plot point that deeply enriches this story. Also thank you to hotshoeagain for beta'ing the rest of the story.Setting late 1970s, Michigan, USA. POV third person alternates between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. (to read)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

ANYTHING GOES – JOHNLOCK (5)

Talk by illwick (E, 6,364 w., 1 Ch. || Dirty Talk, John’s Giant Junk, PWP, Light BDSM, Size Kink, Oral / Anal, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Rel.) – Sherlock was never much for dirty talk... until an unexpected visit yields unexpected results. Part 20 of Unwind

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV/S3 Fix It Fic, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

ANYTHING GOES – INEFFABLE HUSBANDS (5)

All Roads Lead To You by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel (T, 2,549 w., 2 Ch.|| Pining Crowley, Oblivious Aziraphale, Love Confessions, Feelings, Resolved Romantic Tension, Rescuing, Happy Ending, Snake Crowley, Magic Bracelets, POV Aziraphale) – It had taken Aziraphale quite some time to find the presence he had been looking for, but here he was, in the Reptile House of the London Zoo. As an angel, Aziraphale shouldn’t have been finding amusement in the discomfort of another, but he couldn’t help but do so as he was glared at by a very familiar snake. “Oh my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “how ever did you end up in this situation?”

The slowest moving object in the universe by chamyl (G, 4,996 w., 1 Ch. || God POV, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Beach Day, Games, Light Humour, Tenderness, Embarassed Crowley, Soft Idiots, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Crowley and Aziraphale have had feelings for each other for a very long time. It takes a date at the lake and a round of 36 Questions That Lead To Love to give them the final push.

Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture (M, 10,134 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, First Time, Love Confessions, Body Swap, Wing Kink, Idiots In Love) – Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

Souls In Creation by Dragonfruit112 (NR [M], 23,110 w., 6 Ch. || Aziraphale was Raphael, Hurt/Comfort, Angst With Happy Ending, True Angel Forms, Memory Loss/Amnesia, Seraph!Aziraphale, Cherub!Crowley, Moments of Time, Pining Aziraphale, Deaths, Disasters Through History, Whump, Taking Care of Each Other, Friendship, Mates to Friends to Mates, Bed Sharing, Sick Crowley, Healing Powers, BAMF Aziraphale) – They knew each other before the Fall. They loved each other before the Fall. They were creation's first soul mates. But the Fall changed everything, and now Aziraphale is forced to live in a world where only he remembers their shared past. Burdened by pain and grief, he hides himself under the guise of a clumsy Principality until he can make his love remember once more. Only, he doesn't know how long that'll take.

Any Way You Want It by LieutenantLiv (M, 27,585 w., 5 Ch. || Holidays, Slow Burn, Fluff, First Time, Eventual Smut, Swimming, Dreams of Dancing, Kissing in the Rain, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Crying Love Confessions, Soft Crowley, Clingy Crowley, Virgin Aziraphale, Romance) – Saving the world is exhausting work. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, it seems as good a time as any for Crowley and Aziraphale to take a proper break. Neither one of them predicts the direction their holiday takes.Who'd have thought that sharing a cottage in Scotland would be quite so romantic?

#johnlock fic recs #good omens fic recs #five fics friday #times ten lol #my fic recs #long post #e-rated fics #coronavirus #quarantine

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 4 years ago

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15th May >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saturday before Ascension Sunday

Saint Isidore the Farmer.

Saturday before Ascension Sunday

(Liturgical Colour: White)

First Reading

Acts of the Apostles 18:23-28

Apollos established from the Scriptures that the Christ is Jesus.

After staying in Antioch some time, Paul left and traveled in orderly sequence through the Galatian country and Phrygia, bringing strength to all the disciples.

A Jew named Apollos, a native of Alexandria, an eloquent speaker, arrived in Ephesus. He was an authority on the Scriptures. He had been instructed in the Way of the Lord and, with ardent spirit, spoke and taught accurately about Jesus, although he knew only the baptism of John. He began to speak boldly in the synagogue; but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him aside and explained to him the Way of God more accurately. And when he wanted to cross to Achaia, the brothers encouraged him and wrote to the disciples there to welcome him. After his arrival he gave great assistance to those who had come to believe through grace. He vigorously refuted the Jews in public, establishing from the Scriptures that the Christ is Jesus.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 47:2-3, 8-9, 10

R/ God is king of all the earth. or R/ Alleluia.

All you peoples, clap your hands; shout to God with cries of gladness. For the LORD, the Most High, the awesome, is the great king over all the earth.

R/ God is king of all the earth. or R/ Alleluia.

For king of all the earth is God; sing hymns of praise. God reigns over the nations, God sits upon his holy throne.

R/ God is king of all the earth. or R/ Alleluia.

The princes of the peoples are gathered together with the people of the God of Abraham. For God’s are the guardians of the earth; he is supreme.

R/ God is king of all the earth. or R/ Alleluia.

Gospel Acclamation

John 16:28

Alleluia, alleluia. I came from the Father and have come into the world; now I am leaving the world and going back to the Father. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

John 16:23b-28

My Father loves you because you have loved me and believed in me.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Amen, amen, I say to you, whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you. Until now you have not asked anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete.

“I have told you this in figures of speech. The hour is coming when I will no longer speak to you in figures but I will tell you clearly about the Father. On that day you will ask in my name, and I do not tell you that I will ask the Father for you. For the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have come to believe that I came from God. I came from the Father and have come into the world. Now I am leaving the world and going back to the Father.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Saint Isidore the Farmer

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Saturday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

Either:

First Reading

Acts of the Apostles 4:32-35

The community of believers was of one heart and mind.

The community of believers was of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common. With great power the Apostles bore witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great favor was accorded them all. There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the Apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading

Revelation 3:14b, 20-22

I will dine with him and he with me.

The Amen, the faithful and true witness, the source of God’s creation, says this: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, then I will enter his house and dine with him and he with me. I will give the victor the right to sit with me on my throne, as I myself first won the victory and sit with my Father on his throne.

“Whoever has ears ought to hear what the Spirit says to the churches.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading

Revelation 19:1, 5-9

Blessed are those who have been called to the wedding feast of the Lamb.

I, John, heard what sounded like the loud voice of a great multitude in heaven, saying:

“Alleluia! Salvation, glory, and might belong to our God.”

A voice coming from the throne said:

“Praise our God, all you his servants, and you who revere him, small and great.”

Then I heard something like the sound of a great multitude or the sound of rushing water or mighty peals of thunder, as they said:

“Alleluia! The Lord has established his reign, our God, the almighty. Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory. For the wedding day of the Lamb has come, his bride has made herself ready. She was allowed to wear a bright, clean linen garment.”

(The linen represents the righteous deeds of the holy ones.) Then the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who have been called to the wedding feast of the Lamb.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading

Revelation 21:5-7

To the thirsty I will give a gift from the spring of life-giving water.

The One who was seated on the throne said: “Behold, I make all things new.” Then he said, “Write these words down, for they are trustworthy and true.” He said to me, “They are accomplished. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give a gift from the spring of life-giving water. The victor will inherit these gifts, and I shall be his God, and he will be my son.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Either:

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 1:1-2, 3, 4 and 6

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord. or R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord. or R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Blessed the man who follows not the counsel of the wicked Nor walks in the way of sinners, nor sits in the company of the insolent, But delights in the law of the LORD and meditates on his law day and night.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord. or R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord. or R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

He is like a tree planted near running water, That yields its fruit in due season, and whose leaves never fade. Whatever he does, prospers.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord. or R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord. or R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Not so, the wicked, not so; they are like chaff which the wind drives away. For the LORD watches over the way of the just, but the way of the wicked vanishes.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord. or R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord. or R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Or:

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 15:2-3a, 3bc-4ab, 5

R/ The just one shall live on your holy mountain, O Lord.

He who walks blamelessly and does justice; who thinks the truth in his heart and slanders not with his tongue.

R/ The just one shall live on your holy mountain, O Lord.

Who harms not his fellow man, nor takes up a reproach against his neighbor; By whom the reprobate is despised, while he honors those who fear the LORD.

R/ The just one shall live on your holy mountain, O Lord.

Who lends not his money at usury and accepts no bribe against the innocent. He who does these things shall never be disturbed.

R/ The just one shall live on your holy mountain, O Lord.

Or:

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 16:1-2ab and 5, 7-8, 11

You are my inheritance, O Lord.

Keep me, O God, for in you I take refuge; I say to the LORD, “My Lord are you.” O LORD, my allotted portion and my cup, you it is who hold fast my lot.

You are my inheritance, O Lord.

I bless the LORD who counsels me; even in the night my heart exhorts me. I set the LORD ever before me; with him at my right hand I shall not be disturbed.

You are my inheritance, O Lord.

You will show me the path to life, fullness of joys in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever.

You are my inheritance, O Lord.

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 23:1-3, 4, 5, 6

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. In verdant pastures he gives me repose; Beside restful waters he leads me; he refreshes my soul. He guides me on right paths for his name’s sake.

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.

Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for you are at my side With your rod and your staff that give me courage.

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.

You spread the table before me in the sight of my foes; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.

Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for years to come.

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.

OR: --------

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9, 10-11