#imagine everybody else and also their mothers bending me over and fucking me just for fucking autocorrect to do the exact same thing

[xyixxesx]

“You’ve kidding” is taking me out and ykw had I seen that right after I posted this, that just might’ve been my 13th reason.

happy birthday.

can you tell yixxes is sad?

your friends bail on your birthday and your best guy saves the day. 🥺

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.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E129 (March 16, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Matt Mercer and Taliesin Jaffe!

Matt, on DMing Luc’s Revivify: “That was weird. It’s one thing when it happens because of player action and circumstances and the choices they make. When it’s entirely on me, unintentional, and just realizing different chess pieces you’ve set up, that’s rough.” It was especially rough since this was a child NPC related to a PC. “I was hoping somebody had a spell slot left.” He kept in mind that there are two clerics in the room and that they could resurrect the next day even if the Revivify went poorly. “A good chance, since it’s his first time. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I think we’ll be okay, we’ll see how this goes. It was really stressful in the moment! I did not set out to have that happen, but when I realized what was going to happen, I tried to see it through.” He wouldn’t have prevented a chance to bring him back. “There may have been an offshoot short-run series of games to find a way to bring him back. I would have found some way to correct the circumstance so the players could feel good about moving forward with the story and there was no undue punishment beyond their control.”

Taliesin on Cad’s response: “This is a big thing if you’re a cleric. It was very much coming in like an EMT. Everything should be fine... hopefully. Just focused in and got it done. The minute things started to go south it was like, okay, that’s the next problem.”

On Yeza’s feelings: “It is a very complicated situation. I think he, much like how Veth is trying to figure out what it is that she wants, I think he’s trying to help her find that while also figuring it out for himself. I think Yeza’s also noticing that because Veth’s the more active of the two of them she also takes the weight of the responsibility and the blame for things when they go wrong, unnecessarily. Especially when he himself acknowledges that he’s partially at fault for even dragging everyone in with the Conclave. As much as he’s appreciative for them coming back for him, there’s a lot of back and forth. He’s filled with a lot of regret, too, but he’s very much trying to convince Veth that it’s a burden that she doesn’t have to keep to herself, that they can share it and work through it together.” Matt mentions that, as an actor, he really loves exploring interactions between characters first and foremost. “Especially when you don’t know where it’s going to go.” He also praises Sam as a scene partner - “I really cherish that.”

How does Caduceus feel about Revivify and Speak with Dead? “Speak with Dead is an interesting middle ground, because he knows that it’s not actually speaking with the dead. It’s really just-- it’s almost medical, really. This is just reactivating a brain at a certain point. It’s practically just a muscle twitch at this point. That doesn’t really prod him in that direction. Revivify is interesting, because it had never really come up. At first I thought of it as bending the rules, but it’s not bending the rules. You knock over a plant, you replant it, you don’t stare at it and go ‘Well, that’s over.’ This is just doing the work. No, we can bring this thing back to health. This is all part of the circle of life, that sometimes we can save something. Especially given the stress that he’s put himself through over the past year of being with these people. He’s started to think of himself a bit as a battlefield medic, and triage is just part of the deal, and it’s completely acceptable.”

Did Trent really just want to talk? “Yeah, that circumstance, as it came together, Trent would never have arrived if there wasn’t an indication that there was some kind of infiltration or attack. Even beyond that, it was Jester breaking the concentration on her charm on that one guard when she created her duplicate.” The guards’ job is to inform a member of the Cerberus Assembly, and Trent lived the closest. “He didn’t know who it was, didn’t have any expectation necessarily. The minute he saw the illusion, he knew a powerful magic user was involved.” Seeing Caleb was an unexpected surprise. “I don’t think he wanted to throw down necessarily. He was more interested in figuring out exactly what the nature of this was.” Matt had multiple battlemaps that didn’t get used. “They managed to cleverly out-maneuver him in his surprise of seeing them.” The Nein rocketed up his priority list after that very quickly. Taliesin: “We’re so fucked.”

On Cad being “Uncle Caduceus” to Luc: “It’s the thing he misses most about home, is being a juvenile shit. It’s nice to be able to express that part of him again, as opposed to the serious, life-threatening, constant intensity. I’m very at home just being a little difficult.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Beau! (_rumor_king, photography by kourtyardproductions on Instagram)

On Marion: “Like a lot of people in this whole narrative from the beginning, getting swept up in things larger than her and trying to adapt. This is a circumstance she’s avoided for a long time. She’s having a rough time in some ways, but simultaneously, she’s enduring. Like a mother would. She’s adapting, she’s making it work. Without much of a choice, you just kind of do the best you can and lean on the people around you to help you where they can. Luckily she has a daughter there. She’s probably surprising herself at how well she’s doing given the circumstances.” Matt talks about how weird it is to feel proud of character he’s created. “Of the many things Marion is incredible at, she’s a studier of the human condition. She’s seen and heard the stories of so many. That gives her a very special perspective. She can see elements of that fractured individual within Caleb, and knowing the good that he’s brought to his friends, and knowing he’s possibly saved her life from bad circumstances, she couldn’t not speak up. She very easily falls into that role of maternal comforter, because it’s one of the many things she’s really good at, she enjoys it, and she can see well when people need it.” He’s been enjoying having Marion along for this (despite the difficult circumstances) because he was always a little sad that they only got to see her for short periods of time.

On the Blooming Grove’s safety: “He’s afraid that it’s a premonition. He’s not pinned it down, but he’s happy to let his imagination wander. He at the very least feels like there’s a reason he’s having these thoughts, and that there’s a reason to go there. He’s a big believer that these things don’t just happen. He’s more likely to think that there’s a good reason to go versus a danger to go. He’s had a couple of ominous warnings lately, and he’s not used to them and not a fan. He’s more likely to read something like that as, there is something there waiting for you that you have to discover. There is something that is going to be helpful to you, even if it hurts.”

On Astrid: “While maybe not as readable in overall personality as Trent is, I still want to be careful to not discuss things that are still being discussed within the game and tossed around as possibilities. Astrid is another complicated character, as anyone would be who’s been through the life she has. I can’t say too much. I can say she’s definitely legitimately happy to see Bren/Caleb after all this time.” His reemergence definitely caught her off guard. “We’ll have to see where it goes from there.”

On Cad’s successful Divine Intervention: “He’s definitely hit the ‘on a mission from god’ stage. He’s been that way for the entire campaign of, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for. Even when it sucks a lot, it’s been nice that those things have popped up to remind him, no, no, you’re doing it right, everything’s good. Probably not going to survive the next week, but you’re doing good! Not quite 1 in a 100 chance, but I forget so often to make that roll, and it’s such a great roleplaying roll. I don’t know how at level 20 you could deal with the fact that you can do that every day.” 

On Zeenoth getting his comeuppance: the kidnapping was a concept Marisha brought up for Beau’s backstory, and Matt went with it even though it was opposed to the Cobalt Soul’s philosophy because he knew rooting it out would make for an interesting story. “I felt it was an important beat to bring to her, because it was something that she was wronged by. And to show that there are still some good people out there who are trying to make things right.” After the tentative peace, dealing with this became Dairon’s next focus. “I was glad we finally got to it. So many people don’t have the opportunity in their lives to get that sort of justice and vindication, so if I can bring elements of that justice into our world, even for our own hope, I’m going to do that. Especially for my wife’s character, especially for a character that deserves that.” Taliesin points out that if it had come too early, Beau wouldn’t have believed it.

Cad’s thoughts on the Tomb Taker betrayal? “He knew it was gonna come at some point. There was no way that was gonna last. He was hoping it was gonna last a little longer. He was really hoping they had a vested interest in getting them all the way to the end. Nope, this is apparently as far as we go, and he was not prepared for that.” He was expecting the potential for de-escalation. “Caduceus is the only character in there that doesn’t have a history with Lucien. I think he sees him a little more clearly than everybody else does. They’re all looking for this person that Clay, at least, is of the opinion that he’s just not there. This is a very manipulative, very dangerous infernal human. Just smarter than all of them. Really aware that there is no calculating what the hell is going to happen. Conversation is the only way you can deal with someone like that.”

Fan Art of the Week: An amazing Caleb closeup! (rynn_birb on Twitter)

Taliesin on Lucien: “I’m excited he’s the one that’s going to kill us all. Poetic that this is how the game ends.” Matt was delighted when Taliesin handed him carte blanche to do what he wanted with Molly’s past. “I was like ‘shit... oh, wait!’ The character of Lucien was always intended to be an antagonist so that it would have been Molly being chased by the person who wanted their body back. But then it happened that he got his body back.” Taliesin: “He’s so much worse than I ever hoped.”

Matt, on the Holy Avenger: “I hadn’t thought to initially even give that sword.” The good roll was the only reason Kima handed that over. “Well, sure, you get the sword. It was very reactionary, it wasn’t my intent originally. I was like, well, I mean, there’s two avenues she can take with this.” Multiclass into Paladin, or lean into the fact that her subclass is essentially a barbarian paladin. “This really works out in a uniquely beautiful way. Let me see if I can lay out a path for her to earn it.”

On Cad’s attempt at lying blowing up in his face: “He was like that kid that had a really bad day in high school and was like, you know what? I’m going to let loose. This is it. I’m gonna dye a streak in my hair. And then tries to give himself a haircut and ends up with half bangs. Well, okay, obviously I’m not that person. I was feeling a little distraught and I didn’t handle it well. Maybe I’m going dark... no, I’m not going dark. Nope.” Matt mentions how much he relates to Caduceus.

Matt, on the Eyes: “What can I tell you? I’m enjoying the hell out of it. The moment they began to really push to read that book, I was like, okay, this is on you. I’m excited for the point in the narrative where the march continues back to Eiselcross. I am almost impatient - not really - because we’re on the cusp of getting to more of the meat. There’s so much to learn, so much to see, so much to explore. I love instilling my players with absolute terror.”

Thoughts on Jester’s Tarot reading? Taliesin cackles. “Molly made the cards, so. Did it to himself, he did, he did.” Matt: “Once again, another example of things working out unexpectedly and too perfectly for an improvised moment. Fuck.” Taliesin: “Bless the wisdom of chaos.” Matt: “I love that even at this point in the campaign, Molly continues to fuck with people. I’m just so proud. That deeply shook Lucien, for reasons.” Taliesin: “It’s the everlasting gobstopper smoke bomb.”

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 1)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you’d probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on the prologue!! like WOW i couldn't have expected that big of a response so THANK YOU!!! As a reminder: I already have the first 17 chapters out on ao3, so I will be updating on here pretty quickly! This takes place two years after the prologue, and this is where the actual storyline starts!

masterlist || read on ao3

Anything you say can and will be held against you

So only say my name

It will be held against you

-Fall Out Boy, “Just One Yesterday”

Present Day- Two Years Later

You tugged at the handcuff that was attaching you to the interrogation table, hoping that if you glared at it enough, it would just go away. One minute, you were at your apartment and getting ready to go out with some of your friends, and the next minute Metro D.C. police were banging on your door, ordering you to go with them, no charges and no explanation.

So now you were just stuck, sitting and waiting for somebody to tell you what the hell this all was about. Law school had taught you enough about interrogation tactics, and they were pulling out all of the stops- turning down the room temperature, forcing you to sit in the most uncomfortable chair you’ve ever been in, and just making you be by yourself in the metal room. A small part of you was nervous, but mostly you were just confused. You couldn’t think of anything you’d done that would warrant your arrest.

Just as the isolation of the room was about to get to you, the door swung open and in walked two people. The first one was a petite blonde woman and following her was a younger looking man in a cardigan. You narrowed your eyes slightly at the site of them. You had expected the usual “good cop/bad cop” technique, but neither of these cops looked very intimidating.

“Hi there,” the woman spoke, sliding into the chair across from you. “My name is Agent Jareau and this is Dr. Reid. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

Her name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you knew it from. You raised an eyebrow and jutted your head towards Dr. Reid. “Is the handsome one not an agent?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

Dr. Reid seemed unphased by your question, as if he was used to that question. “I am an agent. But I also have three doctorates,” he answered.

You just smirked at him before looking back at Agent Jareau. She had placed a file on the table, the seal of the FBI practically staring you in the face. Whatever they brought you in for was an FBI matter? Oh, you were definitely screwed. You tried to keep your cool. “So are you guys going to actually charge me with anything, or are you just going to hold me for 72 hours until you find something to stick?” you accused.

Agent Jareau shook her head, and you were still desperately trying to remember how you knew that name. “The faster you cooperate, the faster we can let you go.” It didn’t go unnoticed to you that she refused to answer your question. She leaned over the table slightly to slide the file towards you and you caught a glimpse of her ID. Everything came back to you at once.

Jennifer Jareau. FBI. Business cards. “You can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU…” Holy shit, you did know that name.

You laughed softly to yourself and crossed your legs as the memories came flooding back. “Okay, I’ll cooperate,” you agreed, but you were looking directly at the two way mirror. “But only if I can speak to your unit chief. It still is Aaron Hotchner, correct?” Your voice was innocent enough to not be too suspicious, but you knew it would drive Aaron crazy. It was the same voice you would use when he had a fistfull of your hair and you were promising to be his good girl.

You could only imagine what was going on behind that two way mirror; Aaron’s team looking at him with complete and utter confusion, trying to figure out how you knew him, all while Aaron was probably clenching his teeth, red with anger. Maybe if you made him mad enough, he would bend you over the interrogation table once everybody else had left.

Jennifer and Dr. Reid shared a quick glance before looking back at you. Dr. Reid spoke first. “It would be best if we could go over our questions with you first.”

You bopped your head, pretending to think it over. “I get it, the two of you have a job to do and you have a strategy to stay in control, so I’ll give you guys a choice. You can let me speak to Agent Hotchner or I lawyer up and invoke the 5th.”

Like clockwork, the door swung open violently and Aaron stormed in. “I’ll take it from here,” he ordered, and the other two agents quickly shuffled out of the room.

He sat down in the seat across from you and you just raised the hand that was handcuffed to the table, wiggling your fingers. He was pissed, you could tell, and you loved every second of it. You leaned over the table, signalling for him to move closer to you. He hesitated, which earned him a roll of your eyes, but he eventually leaned over the table too.

“If you wanted me in handcuffs again for you, you didn’t have to go through all this effort. My phone number hasn’t changed,” you whispered, low enough so that the group watching on the other side of the mirror couldn’t hear. He refused to answer and instead just pulled back to his normal seated position. Ever the good agent, Aaron’s face went back to it’s normal, stoic look, and it made you pout. You wanted to get more of a rise out of him.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” he said cooly. “Why don’t we get started?” You realized with a sinking feeling that he was already starting to lose interest in you flirting, his attention focused back on the task at hand, attention that you selfishly wanted all to yourself.

You slipped off the heels you were wearing and stretched your leg out so that your foot could brush against his leg. If you couldn’t touch him with your hands right now, you were going to make sure he could feel you in some way. His eyes shot up to yours, giving you a warning look, as if to say “Stop right now or I’m going to make you.”

You knew that look too well, craved for it even. You just responded with a smirk and dropped your foot, relishing in the fact that he actually looked slightly disappointed that you stopped.

“How are Haley and Jack doing, Aaron?” you asked lazily, leaning back in your chair. “Visiting them more often?”

Aaron cleared his throat and ran his hand down his tie to flatten it, as if it had come out of place. He was always so put together at work. “Jack is fine. Haley passed away a while ago,” he said quickly, and guilt immediately engulfed you.

You lowered your gaze so that you were staring at the interrogation table. “Oh,” you mumbled. “I’m sorry.” And you really were sorry. Sure, your relationship, or lack of relationship, with Haley was weird. You were sleeping with her ex before the divorce papers had time to be fully submitted, and even though Aaron was well in his right to be with whoever he wanted, the two of you still found yourselves sneaking around with each other. But you never had anything against her personally- she seemed like a great mother and obviously made Aaron happy for however long they were married.

Besides, you could take a guess as to what happened to Haley. Your fling with Aaron lasted for a fun few months, neither of you ever expecting anything other than sex whenever you met up, so when you and Aaron had decided to stop seeing each other, it was completely amicable. He had explained that the BAU was closing in on a serial killer who was going after him and his family, and you did not want to be involved in that mess. The fact that Haley died right as a serial killer was chasing her… that definitely wasn’t just a coincidence.

The tension was thick in the room as the two of you desperately searched for how to continue the conversation. What were you supposed to say after finding out your fuck buddy’s ex wife was murdered?

You started talking before your brain could even process what you were saying. “Well, like told you, if you ever need somebody to help you pick up those broken pieces...”

He ignored you, electing to direct the conversation in his own direction. “You know, I read the paper you were working on,” he said casually, and that sure caught you by surprise.

“You did?” you asked.

“You piqued my interest,” he admitted. “Your professor and I worked on a few cases together, so he gave me a copy. It was good. You are much more professional on paper.”

“I could say the same about you,” you countered, and he gave you a hint of a genuine smile.

“Although I did notice that you didn’t mention The People vs. Michaelson anywhere in it.” There was something in his voice that put you on edge. You could feel yourself walking into his trap, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to know more.

You shrugged. “Well, I got some shit information about the case.”

For a split second, you thought you saw a flash of the old Aaron, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and he was business as usual. “What intrigued me even more, however,” he continued, completely ignoring your previous comment. “Was that you didn’t mention recidivism at all, which is what that case is all about. Your thesis was on jury selection. Why ask me about the case if you weren’t going to use the information for school?”

You glared at him and clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms. What a dick. He knew why you were interested in the case- it mirrored your father’s situation almost perfectly. You were 12 the first time your father was arrested. When your mom realized that your dad was involved with some shady people, she immediately turned him into the cops to protect you. The prosecutor barely even tried during the case and your dad was in and out of prison within two years. The day he was released, he came right back to your home and killed your mom out of revenge. He’s now rotting in a max security prison for life, but you were still angry that he even had the opportunity to come after your mom. It’s why you wanted to become a prosecutor in the first place, so that you could ensure these criminals were actually brought to justice.

Aaron knew all that. You realized as he began to inch the case file closer to you that he was just trying to knock you off balance. The actual interrogation hadn’t even started yet. “And you say that I’m the one who gets under people’s skin,” you snapped at him.

Aaron humed to himself, arrogance oozing off of him. If you weren’t so angry at him, you would have thought it was hot. “You’re currently interning at DuPont and Associates?” You nodded, annoyed at him brushing off your last comment. “What do you know about the recent string of murders in the area?” Aaron asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his question. “Um… Just what they’re saying on the news? Somebody has been killing a bunch of people whose cases were dismissed because of technicalities- their Miranda rights were read incorrectly and that kind of stuff. I haven’t really been keeping up,” you admitted, still unsure of why you were there.

Aaron flipped open the case files, and instead of gruesome crime scene photos, you just saw legal briefs. More shocking, however, was that they were all legal briefs you had helped write. “Each of these victims had their initial cases through duPont and Associates, and we found that you were the only person who assisted on every case. What did you think about those dismissals? Some of these people really should have been locked up, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried desperately to find the words to say. Unconsciously, you started to tug at the handcuff again, as if they would suddenly just release you if you fought it enough. “Maybe, but that’s not really my decision,” you said disdainfully. Then the fear and realization slowly creeped into you. “Wait you don’t… you guys don’t think I did this, do you?” Your voice was rough and panicky.

Aaron placed his hands on the cold metal of the interrogation table, his fingers interlocked. His FBI Unit Chief exterior melted away ever so slightly. “No, I don’t,” he said softly, and his use of “I” instead of “We” did not go unnoticed by you. You weren’t sure if you were comforted by that or not. “But you are our best lead right now, and I think you know more than you realize. We have reason to believe that the unsub works for the law firm you’re interning at and is playing out a vigilante fantasy and considering you are the only one who actually worked on every single case, we need to use you and your position at the firm to get more intel.”

We need to use you. He realized his slip before he even finished his sentence. It was innocuous enough that his team probably didn’t even notice it; He was just letting a potential witness know that they were going to be an important part of the investigation. But you knew Aaron better than that, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to figure out how to go back on what he just said.

You gave him a smirk and brought your elbows up on the table, steepling your fingers. Of course you were going to help them, whatever they needed. You’d do that even if Aaron wasn’t involved. But after being forcibly brought to the interrogation room, you figured you could make him sweat a little. “Oh Aaron, I’m flattered that you think I could be an asset to the BAU’s investigation. But if you want something from me, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

You got him right where you wanted him. You knew he wasn’t going to be happy with the roll reversal, using his own words against him. But you missed the playful banter between you and Aaron, and nobody knew how to get you off the way he did. Aaron had quite literally ruined sex for you, much to your disappointment. The other people you had slept with since meeting Aaron all lacked the confidence and intelligence that Aaron brought to every meeting, and they could never walk that fine line of fucking you like they adored you and hated you at the same time.

The way that Aaron would demand you to ask and use your words was more than just a way for him to remain in control, although you knew that was definitely part of it. And it was more than just checking for consent- that always came earlier and you had your safeword. No, it was more than all of that. He wanted to hear you beg for the things you wanted, as if he wanted to be validated; He always wanted to know that you still wanted him, which you did. So you just kept asking him for things, and he happily kept giving them to you.

Aaron looked downright murderous, his eyebrows scrunched together and his breathing getting heavier. He stood up and slammed the case file shut. “I’m not going to ask for anything, because where I’m standing, I have the control here. In case you forgot, you’re in handcuffs and I can walk out of here whenever I want.” But even as he said it, he stayed exactly where he was, his hands on the table and leaning down so that he was closer to you.

In return, you just arched your eyebrow at him, waiting for his question. He had to ask you for the sake of his job and the case and you both knew it, and you got a strange satisfaction from watching him have to ask you for something for once. He stared at you for a few moments, jaw clenching, until he realized the entire BAU team was behind the two way mirror watching this situation go down. “Will you please help us with the case?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You gave him a smug smile, which only served to irritate him further. “I would love to,” you told him, your voice too sweet and too innocent. “Now can you please take my handcuffs off?”

Aaron walked towards you wordlessly, taking the keys out of his pockets. “You’ll still have to wait here for a few minutes so that you can sign some papers,” he told you, keeping his voice even, but it all changed as he kneeled next to you, slowly unlocking the handcuffs. His fingers lingered on your skin for far too long to be considered appropriate. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he whispered in your ear, voice low enough so that nobody could hear what he was saying. “You’re going to be in handcuffs for the rest of night while I punish you for that little show you decided to give everybody. Did you already forget how to not be a brat? Do I have to teach you again?”

His words made your arousal shoot straight to your core. You were released with a soft click! and you rubbed your irritated wrist lightly. “Yes,” you practically moaned, and you were sure that your face was flushed. And just like that, it was as if only a few days had passed since you and Aaron had last seen each other, instead of two years. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. “I still live in the same apartment. Five minutes from here.”

With that, Aaron stormed out of the interrogation room, already barking orders at the cops. “Get her processed and out of here quickly, I don’t want to spend anymore time on this,” he demanded, making a beeline to grab his stuff. Unfortunately for him, Rossi was standing right in front of Aaron’s bag, a knowing smirk on his face. Aaron stopped mid step and groaned in annoyance. “Dave, don’t.”

Rossi just ignored him. “Old friend?” he asked, stepping aside just enough to let Aaron grab his bag.

Aaron looked around quickly and was relieved to see that there were no other BAU members near them. “You could say that,” Aaron mumbled and started to walk to the doors.

To his dismay, Rossi just followed him. “She’s pretty,” Rossi hummed, and Aaron hated how easily Rossi was able to keep this conversation so casual. “Not your usual type, though.” It didn’t take a profiler to get the underlying comment: She’s young.

Aaron took an audible breath, keeping his eyes on the exit sign that seemed to be getting further and further away. “Yeah, well…” His voice trailed off, unable to find a good response.

“When did you meet her?”

Aaron paused, deciding how honest he was going to be. He figured that if anybody was going to find out, it would be Rossi, and if he was honest with Rossi now, they would be able to keep it a secret from the rest of the team. He cleared his throat. “An alumni event at George Washington. Before Foyet but after the divorce.” Another pause. “Right after the divorce,” he clarified.

Rossi just nodded understandably, a soft “Ah” coming from his lips. He would push the full story out of Aaron later, but it was obvious that Aaron was just desperate to get out of the police station. “Okay, well... I will let the team know about your emergency meeting with Strauss that she just called, which is why you’re leaving so quickly. And if they ask, from what you’re telling me, Y/N is just one of Sean’s old friends from before he dropped out of law school. I’m pretty sure you never got along with his friends, am I correct?” Sometimes, Rossi was too good at thinking on his feet.

Aaron turned to face Rossi, his mouth open and ready to argue, but he knew there was no point. With Rossi’s lie, it would keep the team from asking too many questions, at least until Aaron got his need for you out of his system. Just one night, he promised himself. That’s all I’ll need. So instead of arguing, Hotch just nodded at Rossi, a hint of a smile on his face. It made it all worth it, in Rossi’s eyes. Aaron hadn’t been this excited about a girl since Haley’s death. He deserved a night of fun. “Thank you,” Aaron breathed before swiftly stepping out of the police station.

[innocent-chris-evans-slut]

I’ve Just Fucked You, Sweetheart

Request: Hello, I saw your requests were open and I can't pass this chance up! Could you please write anything with Ransom? Ideally smut 👀 I'm always into the idea of a smug Ransom getting off on an easily flustered reader. Anything from downright humiliation to fluff like embarrassing her by saying he likes her is fine with me! Hope this makes sense? But tbh anything with Ransom I will eat up, I think Chris and Steve get enough love lol

My Masterlist ✨

Requests are open.

Ransom x maidReader 

Word Count: 3,4k 

Type: smut 

Warning(s): swearing, dub-con sex, blowjob, rough sex

The 4th of July holiday was your favorite. You came from an extremely patriotic family -with both your grandfathers being former soldiers.

When you were a child, you remembered your house being full of people on this particular day. There was your entire family: your parents, your aunties and uncles, your cousins -to which you were particularly close since you hadn’t any sibling- and your grandparents. Then, when your cousins became getting older and having their own families, this kind of events started becoming more and more sporadic.

At the age of 25 you graduated and started working as a sous-chef at a restaurant. Cooking was your passion and when your grandfather introduced you to Harlan Thrombey, who was looking for a chef for his events, you just couldn’t say no.

It had been two years since the first time you worked at the manor. You had become more familiar with the place, your co-workers, and also with Harlan. He was very caring and kind with all his employees, giving them completely access to his house. Though, when his family was a home with him during the holidays, you couldn’t go wherever you wanted.

There was one person in particular you just couldn’t put up with: Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

A complete asshole who didn’t mind others’ businesses except his. Unlike his grandfather, to who he really seemed having something in common, Ransom was very ungrateful with his family and rude with the help. He didn’t ask, he only commanded others to do and he really liked that part: watching payed people struggling what he was supposed to be doing.

You felt the atmosphere changing before anyone could even tell you Ransom was parking his car. You heard the engine of an old car being turned off and its door being violently closed. The noise scared you and you dropped some cream.

Ransom turned around and saw you, focused on wiping the floor. He had his eyes on you also when you got up from your knees and bended over the counter to clean the mess you did. He bit his bottom lip and put on his usual mischievous smirk.

Ransom had always loved a beautiful woman, especially a younger one with a really good body -according to him-, and you were just his next prey.

But you didn’t know anything about his plans for you for that weekend.

It was almost seven o’clock in the afternoon when you finished making dinner for the Thrombeys. Fortunately, Martha decided to help you arranging the table and the dining room. So you remained in the kitchen -which you liked calling ‘your reign’-, preparing all the dishes and fixing the wrong quantities.

“So, when I can taste your special cream?”

You weren’t prepared for anyone to enter the kitchen while you were with your hands in the pastry. You turned around and saw Ransom standing with his back against the door. His smirk naughty smirk wasn’t missing.

“What?” you asked shocked by his words. But you had to imagine that he would have said something to make you uncomfortable; he always did it. Once you had regained your composure, you said: “Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?”

He walked in, leaving the door opened, and sat down on a stool right in front of you, and you couldn’t go anywhere else since you were making the cake, “Nothing in particular”. He took a bit of cream from its bowl on the counter, “Mmh, so good. You know…your cream is so delicious”.

You couldn’t form any sentence. You were so embarrassed by his words that you couldn’t help but keep silence and stare into his eyes.

“Hugh, you’re making me very uncomfortable. Can I ask you to leave the kitchen?” you had been told by Harlan more than once to push away Ransom any time he would have tried to force you to do anything. That was what you did every single time, but he would never listen to you.

In fact, also this time, Ransom dragged himself closer to you a stared at you as you moved smoothly around the room. On the other hand, you tried not to stumble on you own feet as you passed in front of him.

Ransom was supposed to be with his family in the living room, socializing with the guests, instead he preferred sitting in the kitchen. Being completely unhelpful.

“Y/N the steak tartare is almost finished”, Martha entered the room, fortunately, interrupting the looks between you and the man with you in the room.

“There are three more trays in the fridge”, you told her as you decorated the cake with blue and red decorations and lying an American flag on the top of it. Once you were done, you turned around to see Martha struggling with the trays, “Here, let me help you”, you left the cake in the big fridge and went helping your co-worker taking all the food out of the fridge, then she brought everything in the dining room.

“I can’t wait to taste your incredible cake”, Ransom left you with that statement, cleaning his mouth as he spoke and walked towards the door, “See you later”.

You didn’t see him anymore that day. When you went back home -almost at midnight in the morning- the Thrombeys were still partying and, although Harlan had insisted for you and Martha to stay a little bit longer -just enough to see the fireworks-, both of you preferred to leave the manor.

The morning after, you were required to arrive at Harlan’s home at 7 o’clock and, as soon as you had entered the kitchen, you started preparing breakfast for the Thrombeys and you packed their lunch. Every year, on the 5th, the entire family was usually invited at some friend’s house and they liked spending the entire day there. This years wasn’t different from the others.

After a quick breakfast, Harlan, his children, and two of his grandchildren, left the manor and with their cars reached the city. Meanwhile, inside the house, you and Martha kept doing your jobs.

Not everybody had left the house that morning; Ransom didn’t feel like going with his family and spending another day hearing bullshit coming from his mother’s mouth. He would rather loaf in his bedroom at his grandfather’s house than spend another minute with them and their huge egos -he didn’t even bother to get downstairs for breakfast.

“Is he still here?” there wasn’t need to pronounce his name when both, you and Martha, knew of who you were talking about, “How can Harlan be so amenable with him? I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Please, go on”, Ransom entered kitchen and sat down on the same stool he was sit the evening before, “I’m very interested”, he placed his chin on his fists and was now looking at Martha, waiting for her to say anything.

You watched the scene from the other end of the counter, while making him his favorite breakfast. In a certain way, Ransom was much more demanding than his grandfather -the one who actually paid you for your work. But at the same time he was the first member of the family you had ever met, and you weren’t exaggerating when you said he did a certain impression on you, almost as he was your employer and not his grandfather.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Harlan?”

Ransom was capable of instilling dread in people and you and Martha weren’t exempt. You exchanged a sympathetic look with your co-worker and she shook her head.

“I am going, Hugh”, then she turned towards your direction and said: “See you later”, and she left.

There was a moment of silence right after Martha had left the room, but then Ransom spoke: “Finally just the two of us”.

You shivered at his words, although you tried not to let him notice that. You kept planning all the meals for the week, but you felt Ransom’s eyes on you as you wrote on the paper. Though he was peacefully eating his breakfast, he was also looking at you -or better, at your behind. You didn’t say anything just because he did it very often when you were alone with him.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?” you asked him as you walked pass behind him and you took the empty dish from in front of him, “Otherwise I go back planning the week”.

“Very rude from you, especially since we’ll spend the day together”, he took the last sip from his glass and walked towards you, forcing you to the wall, “See you later, kitten”.

It had been a couple of hours since you last see Ransom around the house; you had the chance to clean the kitchen and also try cooking something new. You successfully added three new receipts to Harlan’s particular diet, and you were very proud of yourself.

It was almost lunch time and still you didn’t know if you had to cook something for Ransom or not, so you decided to go upstairs and ask it to him. The creaking stairs announced you to him -since you were the only two people in the house-, so you thought you didn’t have to knock on the door.

Very bad choice.

Right when you entered the bedroom, Ransom exited the shower completely naked. Though you closed your eyes, and covered them with both your hands, you had already seen everything. And it meant literally everything.

“Hugh!”

“What?” he didn’t seem to care, Ransom stood up in silence and both his arms were crossed above his chest; he was staring at you, “I’m in my room and, if I want to be naked, I do it. You didn’t knock on the door”, knowing how uncomfortable you were, he didn’t move and kept being undressed in front of you.

“Can you put something on, please?”, you turned around and slowly breathed in and out. You felt your heart beating so fast that it was about to break the chest cavity.

“I would rather put something under me”; Ransom had always been so direct with people and it wasn’t the first time he pronounced an appreciation towards you, and your body as well.

On the other hand, you knew the kind of girls he liked to spend time with, and you definitely weren’t one of them. You weren’t a model or a rich heiress with a breathtaking body, and -most importantly- you weren’t living in a fairy tale so you knew exactly what to expect from men like him.

“I’m not kidding, Hugh. I’m very uncomfortable at the moment. Could you, please, put something on?” you could hear him laughing at you, but you couldn’t do anything but exit the room.

Unfortunately, he saw you before you had the chance to make even only one step towards the door and he positioned right in front of it. You didn’t noticed the movement, so you were taken by surprised when your hand, instead of came in contact you a cold surface, touched something squishy, yet solid. You opened your eyes involuntary only to meet Ransom’s eyes fixed on you and your hand resting on his torso.

“H-hugh”, it came out as a whisper, more than a scolding. Ransom kept your wrists firmly pinned against the wall, leaving you completely exposed to his mercy. You opened your mouth to speak up, but no words came out of it; instead something entered your mouth.

As soon as he saw you trying to say something, Ransom put two fingers inside your mouth so that you weren’t able to talk -or, talk without wet his fingers; “What?” he acted as if nothing wrong was happening. Quite the opposite, there wasn’t anything good in that situation, “Speak”.

“I can’t-“ you stopped at mid-sentence at him pulling down your tongue and, so, making you lower your gaze. Your eyes stopped right on his up-standing dick. You weren’t surprised to notice it was long and thick. You had had a couple of boyfriends, but you had never seen anything like that before.

Ransom was gently stroking it with his left hand -the one he had in your mouth- while his other hand became going down on your face, then his fingertips touched your collar bone very slowly and found your sweet spot between your chest. Once he had understood how powerful the effect of caressing it was on you, Ransom didn’t stop moving his fingers above it and your breath became heavier and heavier, “I’ll tell you what I wanna do with you”. He put his mouth closer to your hear and said: “I wanna fuck you here-“ and he passed a finger on your lips, “-and here-“ his hand slipped down on your body, stopping right on your pelvis, and it got its way into your pants, “-and maybe also here”, with his other hand he grabbed your butt and squeezed it harshly, “Where do you want to start from?”

“I-I don’t think this is a-appropriate, Hugh”, you said as you tried to get away from his embrace, but it was impossible seen his massive body size compared to yours.

“This is highly unappropriated, but you want it as much as I want it”, his lips gently brushed against the skin of your neck. You gasped as he moved his tongue on your half-hidden soft spot under your ear and you shivered, weaving your hands together behind his neck, “C’mon, be a good girl”, you intertwined your fingers.

You didn’t know why, but your defense fell, and you gave up. Ransom took the opportunity to lay his lips on yours, so that you couldn’t help but return the kiss. His lips were exactly as you had always imagined them: soft and tasting like tobacco and mint.

As he loosened the grasp on both your wrists, you were forced to walk back until you hit the wooden structure of the bed with your calves; Ransom broke the kiss and made you fall on the soft mattress. Both of you kept your eyes on each other. You took a long, deep breath as you saw him removing his sweater and toss it away somewhere in the room. Then he placed his hands at the side of your head and stared at you: “We’re gonna take all the time we need, sweetheart”.

You remained still as Ransom removed your t-shirt and jeans and threw them behind his shoulder; once you had been left in only your underwear, he looked at you with a very hungry look on his face and smirked. Less than a second after his lips were on yours again and you laced your arms behind his neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You won’t want another man this close to you after I’ll be done with you”, the built man standing above you said. His hands travelled on your body, his fingertips were burning as they moved on your exposed skin and you couldn’t hold a moan anymore.

“Ransom, please”, you contorted yourself as his hands went down to your core. Another moan was released as his index finger made circles on your clit, making you tremble. You closed your eyes in awe and tilted your head backwards; then, all of a sudden, you felt his mouth work on you and at that point you left behind any hesitation.

His tongue drew circles on your clit harder and harder and you kept moaning louder every time; his teeth gently scratched on your labia as his hands kept you as still as possible. You grabbed the sheets in your hands and held on tight to them when you felt your climax coming.

“Too early.”

You realized he wouldn’t have left you come when he got up and looked at you, “Are you kidding me?” you were more than angry, feeling like he was just messing with you and that, maybe, he would have mocked you in front of his family later that night, “You’re only a fuck-“

Ransom stopped you mid-sentence by ‘putting your mouth to a better use’ -as he would have said. He had lowered his pants and underwear and his cock sprung free right in front of you, then he sat you down on the mattress and he stood up in front of you, his dick touching your lips, “Are you gonna suck it or you just wanna watch it?” he caressed your cheeks and forced you to open your mouth, taking in his long and thick cock. Surprisingly for him, you took it all in, such that the tip of your nose was pressed against the body hair on his pelvis and his balls pounded against your chin each time he slammed in and out, each time faster than before, “Fuck”, he said every time his tip hit that back of your throat and you looked up to him. Needless to say, his eyes were fixed on your face and careful to notice every face you made while sucking him. You didn’t have the control of the situation, rather it was him who was standing upon you and guiding your movement, “C’mon, good girl. You’ll be rewarded”, he put his hands on both sides of you head and pushed his cock down your throat one last time before you felt hot salty spurt swarming your mouth. As you swallowed it, Ransom pulled out and spread a good amount of his white liquid on your face, and your tits, too, “From now on, this is what I’ll think about every time I’ll see you work in the kitchen”, he rubbed his thumb on your cheeks and said: “Maybe, next time, I’ll be so kind to let you fuck yourself on the counter”, he picked you up and bended you over the desk, “But for today, it will be me who will fuck you”.

You felt his cold hand brushing against your butt-cheeks, and you jumped when he smacked both of them at the same moment. You hissed and didn’t say anything; before you could turn your head towards him, Ransom grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, making you touch his bare chest with your shoulder.

“I won’t go easy on you, sweetheart”, having said that, he made his way inside you and went on until his tip hit your cervix.

That was way beyond any other experience you had had. Not only was he very good with his tongue -as you had the chance to state not later than ten minutes ago-, but Ransom was also a very -very- good fucked: the vigor with which he pounded into you, the same strength with which he held you in place made you scream in pleasure. “Please, oh God!” you cried out as the pace increased.

“There’s no God here, sweetheart, only me”, Ransom whispered to your ear while pounding into you with an ungodly speed, and you could swear you were seeing the stars when he hit your G-spot, “You’re almost there, I can feel it”, one of his hands was placed on your head and the other one went drawing circles on your clit, taking you closer to the edge, “Tell me wat you want, sweetheart”.

“F-fuck”, you hissed as you felt his index finger pressing harder against your clit, “P-please…let m-me cum. I’m…I’m so close”, you raised your head and turned over to throw a look at him, “Please”, you asked him with pleading eyes. Ransom began thrusting irregularly -sign that he was close too- and you started breathing erratically. You cried out very loud when your orgasm finally hit, and a wave of pleasure washed you over. “Fuck…this was-“

“Y/N?! What the fuck are you doing?”

You turned pale. Ransom, instead, looked very amused with himself and was smirking at you, “Notify me when you’ll explain it to her” said him sitting down on his bed, “Please, go”.

“Go fuck yourself, Ransom.”

“Actually, I’ve just fucked you, sweetheart.”

ALL MY STORIES:

@thummbelina

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@kiza4

@jemzeraion

@chris-evans-is-world

@rebloggingeverything

ALL CHRIS EVANS:

@stargazingfangirl18

@rororo06

@patzammit

@harrysthiccthighss

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[ad1thi]

meri pyaari tony

okay so @iam93percentstardust got me rly excited about this new au and even though im never going to write it i just wanna write a lil so enjoy everybody!! (hopefully this will clear up what i meant by not a happy ending but also not an unhappy ending)

//

The phone rings once, twice before it cuts off, and James’ back stiffens.

On the table, his mother’s fingers have stilled - frozen in the action of pushing the birthday card for his 10 year old nephew into an envelope.

The phone rings again, just twice, long enough to be unmistakable but too short to actually answer.

He looks out to the heaving rain, and without even thinking of reaching for an umbrella, he’s already sprinting across the grounds of his house, uncaring of how soaked he’s getting as he pushes himself up and over the gate of the neighbouring house and into the attic.

In the molten, rusty room, on top of an old suitcase that he’s seen Tony sit on countless times with his feet swinging off the ground - is a 6 year old boy; fiddling with the buttons of his jacket.

James runs his hands across his face, wiping off the water that’s collected in the creases of his forehead, and walks over to the kid.

He must look a state to the kid, sopping wet and uncharacteristically happy despite said dampness, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m really hungry,” he says to the boy, grinning, “do you think I can borrow one of your fingers to eat?”

Instinctively, the boy puts his hands behind his back, shaking his head fervently and James pouts, “not even the one? You have 10!”

The kid is saved from answering from a call of “Peter!” ringing outside the attic, and James turns, watching Tony fumble with closing an umbrella and he pushes into the attic.

Its a scene that James has imagined a thousand times over, watching Tony meet him in the attic where their childhood selves because friends all those years ago - and yet his imagination somehow didn’t do justice to the scene in front of him.

It takes Tony a couple of seconds to realise that James is there, and his face splits into a hesitant smile thats over-run with a frown when the kid barrels into his leg.

Tony runs his finger through the kid’s hair, “go find your Papa Peter - I’ll be down in a couple of seconds”

He waits until the kid’s disappeared down the stairs to turn back to James, “so, are you guys bestfriends yet?”

“No,” James says, smiling that private smile he’d reserved for Tony, “but you know me - I grow on people”

“Its good to see you Rhodey,” Tony says, and its only the fact that he’s carrying his bodyweight in water while Tony is wearing an expensive suit that keeps him from crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Tony.

“I forget,” Tony says, settling down on the suitcase his son vacated, “was it 2 rings or 3 rings? Our emergency code?”

“2,” Rhodey says, lifting up his fingers, “but then again - everything was an emergency for you so we never had any other code”

“Dad told me you’d stopped by,” Tony says, “didn’t realise you cared so much about this old dump”

Rhodey chooses not to answer that, “So you’re finally taking Major Stark to your house huh? Took you long enough”

“I know,” Tony huffs, “we’ll be at each other’s throats by the end of the week, but what can you do?”

Tony gestures around the attic vaguely, “I wanted to give Peter a chance to see this house before he sold it though - let him see where his Dad grew up”

“Peter?” Rhodey raises an eyebrow, “like Peter Pan? And here I thought your child would have one of those weird names with an unnecessarily pretentious pronunciation”

Tony raises his hand to swat at Rhodey, and for a second its just like old times.

Rhodey settles down next to him, shoving him with his hip until Tony shifts enough to make space on the suitcase for him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” Rhodey says softly, “I’ve imagined it 1000 times over. ‘Course, in my version you were in distinctly less clothing, on your knees begging for forgiveness while an epic revenge tune played in the background”

Tony chuckles, eyes crinkling into familiar crow’s feet, and Rhodey thinks that for all the years he spent hating Tony - nothing can compare to the decades he spent loving him.

“So, New York Best Seller Writer huh? You finally did it Rhodey,” Tony leans in with a conspiratorial look on his face, “I walked out on you way too early”

you shouldn’t have walked out on me at all, Rhodey thinks, but this isn’t the right time for that conversation.

(he wonders if there ever will be a right time for that conversation)

Instead, Rhodey asks, “have you read any of them?” and Tony scoffs, “have you met me?”

“I can barely get through the first couple of pages of essential stuff like manuals, do I look like I can read?”

“That being said,” Tony says, “with a cover that says The Wild Washerwoman will wash you away, and - fuck what was the other one?” he scrunches up his nose in thought, “Tricycle - it will puncture your life, how could I resist?”

It warms something dead inside Rhodey that Tony reads his books, that Tony knows them well enough to recite the gaudy catchphrases his PR team used to sell them.

“Yuck man,” Tony says, “honestly how far have you fallen for a couple of sales. I gotta say though, extremely entertaining”

“Yeah well,” Rhodey shrugs, “horror is easy. I’ve been trying to write a love story for the past three years now and I’m not sure how to end it”

the why goes unspoken, hanging in the air and making the room thick with tension.

Tony reaches out and cups his cheek, and it takes everything in Rhodey to not lean into it.

“you’ll finish it,” Tony says softly, “You’re my Rhodey - ‘course you’ll finish it”

Rhodey pushes off his seat suddenly, making it half way to the door before he remembers to turn around and tell Tony to “stay put, don’t move I’ll be right back”

And he runs through the rain again, ignoring the shouts of his father and his manager to grab the manuscript on his bed.

He pushes it under his jacket roughly and runs back, where Tony is still sitting on the old suitcase - legs dangling just above the floor.

He puts the manuscript in between his hands, and says in one short breath, “read it”

and so Tony does - though he does flip through large portions of the book and crucial plot points.

Its okay though, because Tony lived through those moments, so he’s allowed to embellish and skip to the end.

When he flips the last page and looks back up at Rhodey, there’s tears in his eyes - but Rhodey’s known him long enough to know that these are happy tears

“This is your version Rhodeybear,” Tony says, “mine would be a little different”

Rhodey shrugs delicately, thinking about the night he tore through 10 pages trying to get that final last first kiss right, “a happy ending sells right? Why - what would be different in your version?”

“Does it matter?” Tony’s voice is wet, “I like your version better”

“But you found your Mr Right,” Rhodey says matter of factly, and Tony just shakes his head, “more like Mr Right place right time”

“But,”  Tony wipes away the stray tear on his cheek, “he gave me Peter so I can’t complain. You should see me as a dad platypus, it’s like I was made for this role. Being a dad, thats the one thing I’m not a disaster at”

Tony holds out the manuscript, but Rhodey pushes it back gently shaking his head, “I don’t want anyone else reading this. Not my manager, not your husband, nobody else. The story in those pages, that’s ours, just ours.”

Tony leans up and presses a soft kiss on Rhodey’s cheek, featherlight but its what makes Rhodey reach out and say.

“I can still take you away if you want. Just say the word and I’ll carry you over my shoulder - away from all of this”

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by Peter barrelling in, making grabby arms at his father.

Tony hefts up his son, arm caught around Peter’s waist and he looks at Rhodey with a mixture of nostalgia and regret, “I think I might be a bit too heavy for you now honeybear”

Tony leans in and rubs his nose against Peter’s cheek and in Rhodey’s mind, he’s right there with Tony - arms around the two most important boys in his life.

But in reality, there’s a distance between them, a space that try as he might, Rhodey can’t cross.

For the first time in almost 5 years, that doesn’t make him sad anymore.

you should see me as a dad platypus, Tony had said, and Rhodey’s seeing it now.

Oddly, it doesn’t hurt quite as much as he always thought it would.

“We have a party to get to right?” Tony says finally, setting Peter down so that they can walk down the stairs, “your nephew’s 10th birthday is it?”

The rain hasn’t let up, but in all fairness to his family - neither has the party because Rhodey and Tony make their way down to see a gaggle of uncles and aunts dancing in the grounds anyway, music coming from a speaker hidden away safely from the porch.

Peter runs across the field to a man with blue eyes and blond hair, who instantly bend down and picks him up - spinning him around and smiling when Peter shrieks about how wet he’s getting.

“One dance?” Rhodey asks, extending his hand out to Tony, “for old time’s sake?”

The look that Tony sends his way cannot be described as anything but pure adoration when he accepts Rhodey’s hand, giggling when Rhodey uses the momentum to pull him in close to his chest and snag an arm around his waist.

He’s consciously aware of the weight of the metal band around Tony’s finger pressing into his as they sway to the music, but it doesn’t bother him anymore.

To the rest of the world, he’s always be a Mr someone - but to Rhodey, he has and forever will be, his very first love, Tony.

Fin

[aveaugvstus]

❛ You made a mistake. Everybody makes them. Even me. I’ve made many. It’s only fair that you made one. ❜

it’s strange how the passage of time warps and bends around the shape of the people in your life, the silhouettes they carve from the liminal space of your soul — it’s like that thing about stars and how when you’re looking up at the night sky, you’re actually looking at stars that could be already be dead a hundred years ago, their fading requiem only just now reaching earth’s stratosphere, a thousand light years away. 

this is what it feels like to see vladimir standing in the door frame of his childhood bedroom looking like the ghost of fuck-ups past.  (  he has no lock now, which is mildly insulting and excruciatingly patronising; he’s an addict, not bloody suicidal, but to his family the distinction might as well be non-existent.  )  he looks different, and also like nothing has changed at all in a way that august can’t quite pinpoint. it’s as if he’s lost his ability to translate him; the myriad tiny, insignificant nuances and habits he used to obsessively decrypt with his very own rosetta stone, a whole stele for the vladimir yamatov script, forgotten like a dead language. or maybe he no longer cares to. he doesn’t know if that should make him feel nostalgic, or furious, or bittersweet. feeling particularly strongly about anything these days is a herculean task in and of itself. which, he supposes, was the original sin that instigated everything to begin with.

he thinks he can remember asking vladimir to come home.

he thinks he can almost remember begging, knees in the dirt and gravel scraping his flesh raw, over voicemail like a needy fling who had accidentally gone and done the thing you and every other idiot knows you’re not supposed to do, and fallen. 

he thinks he might have begged for absolution. 

but that could have also been the sixth line of blow cut with ketamine and procaine and only god and the devil knows what else  (  he’d been desperate, it was three a.m. in camden  )  and he’s composed text messages nay, goddamn fucking letters, ad nauseam, ad infinitum, like he’s on the receiving end of some dear john bullshit, and he’s never been sure which of them actually made it to the send button. he’s smashed, or lost, or misplaced, half a dozen phones, for all the futile effort to replace them. collateral damage in the dawning realisation that vladimir wasn’t replying because he was mercilessly leaving him on read, but because he wasn’t receiving them at all, and judging by his infrequent instagram updates, was doing absolutely fine / fuck him, happy / having the time of his fucking life on his primitive anti-tech detox.

for a moment, he entertains the fleeting, whimsical distraction that this could be yet another delusion. after all, he’s conjured vladimir enough times that this wouldn’t be unusual.  (  why, sometimes i’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.  )  he has imagined vladimir heartsick, wretchedly beside himself with guilt. he has painted him alabastrine, cold and immovable, patron saint raphael of the lost and the meek indifferent to august’s self-inflicted torment. he has envisioned him lit with madness, seized in catastrophic rage, gripping him by the jaw and rattling his bones till he might see reason. there were other imaginings, too, steeped in the unspeakable, tauntings of an uninhibited mind free to conceptualise the reality of its most ludicrous desire. in the worst dream, the most terrible, most fantastical one, vladimir comes home because of him. for him. it plays out like the final scene of a cult romantic comedy, or the odyssey, maybe, much-enduring odysseus returning home to penelope at last. two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk, their hands meeting as light spills in a flood, the sky pouring out the sun. and he would take his other-soul’s face in his hands and kiss him and say the words this lifetime’s vladimir would never say.

there is, of course, a singular difference in this one. this vladimir. the vladimir he filled his dreams with never looked at him like this. with this curious amalgamation of horror and — most tellingly so; am i not what you expected, vladimir? how did you imagine you would find me? beatific? flourishing? — disgust. 

august knows what he looks like. five shades too pale and ashen, like the vivacity has been drained right out of him. a layer of grease shines in his hair, the fade he alway maintains with meticulous care and precision grown out into his natural, unruly curls. he’s not quite skeletal, his frame was always too lean and muscular for that, but he seems perilously thin for his height. it shows in his face, he knows even though he’s been avoiding mirrors and isn’t allowed one anyway, because a) addicts use those to cut their coke, and b) suicidal ones might be inclined to break them, he knows because of the way his mum looks at him when she comes into his room to bring him his meals three times a day like a convict. it hurts him a little, more than the physical pain of looking at vladimir, of hearing his voice, that he sees him like this. he had not been informed in advance that vladimir would come calling. if he had, he would’ve — he doesn’t know what he would’ve done  (  attempted an escape, maybe; broken his twelve-day sobriety, maybe  )  but he might’ve. cleaned up a little. tried to look less like a shell of himself. augustus has always been vain, has always been a gilded, preening thing who took great pride in being pretty and well-loved for it. it pains him. not to be even that anymore. he is rusted. tarnished.

if he had known, maybe he would have told vladimir not to come. 

now that he is here, he is split in two, cleaved in half by the urge to tell him to go and the more pressing compulsion to make him stay to never go never leave again never go anywhere that is out of his sight out of his life out of him. 

his ambivalence makes him poor company and a poorer conversationalist. not that this is entirely his fault — what are they supposed to do? chat about the weather and trade perfunctory banter just to fill the air? he’d rather do a line right here in front of vladimir. 

your hair is longer, august had said. the only thing other than what are you doing here, which had come out of his mouth, part-shock and part-petulance, when his mother had opened the door and presented vladimir like some screwed-up surprise gift for reaching a whopping week and a half of not being a fucking disappointment to everyone around him. so, now he can disappoint the person that matters most fundamentally, tortuously, to him in the world, too. how delightful.

vladimir’s hair being longer is the only thing he can think to say that doesn’t make him want to give in to the pulverising sensation in his head, in his bones, in his chest, screaming for a deus ex machina reprieve. if this is what they have come to — the two of them, who had spent their entire lives talking about nothing and everything till they could anticipate exactly what the other’s response would be — augustus is glad he didn’t come home sooner. he looks handsome, which feels like another slight against august’s pride. rugged and sun-soaked like a male model cum travel influencer, but one that actually does something meaningful with his life. time, and sunlight, and the kind of hard labour that builds muscle definition and character, has certainly been kinder to him than it has been to august. he doesn’t say you look good because that would sound like he has any remotely positive feelings towards this interaction, and, indeed, the cause of vladimir’s looking like a golden, newly-anointed demi-god. it seems they have traded places. or maybe vladimir is exactly who he was always supposed to be. and august is, too.

august supposes it’s the silence, and the reality that vladimir cannot abide it either, that prompts him to say what he does.

what happened?

he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, he drifts in the absence of an answer because he is allowed to, because he is technically, partially an invalid now, and people who are sick are allowed to be not altogether there. 

(  sick. malaised. he likes this word for it. he likes that there is a scientific explanation for what he is. a brain disease. a diagnosable mental illness. see, vladimir, he almost wants to say, a little deranged part of him finally gleeful at not having a pedestal to stand on anymore, you aren’t special. i’m fucked up now, too.  )

well, vladimir. it’s a very long story that i don’t care to repeat as i’ve recounted the tales to you so many times through missives you were never inclined to respond to. there was angel, and bennie, there was emmy, and good old molly. ah, and charlie, my favourite of the lot. ours was a whirldwind love affair. but it turns out i loved him more than he loved me. seems like i have a nasty little habit of doing that. it’s one i haven’t learned to kick yet.

god — august...

it’s the look of wrenching disgust, again. the thing that twists and snakes across vladimir’s face and awakes something snarling and animal shackled to august’s throat, something that slams into him chest-first and doesn’t stop until it’s gone right through him, left him raw, all bloodied edge and teeth.

what happened? what happened? what’s the point of asking now when it’s all been said and done. how long am i supposed to carry this black mark? until everyone around me deigns to let me bury it? i’m not a fucking child.

it’s not an explanation, which is what vladimir is after. he would know, however, if he had bothered to answer august any of those times. he would know, he would have known, if he hadn’t left august in their bed that morning at the warwickshire summer palace and run from everything they’d ever touched. they’d had the world world in their hands in that bed, in that room, in that place of stolen summer outside of time, outside of life itself. they could have had — everything. everything august had to give. and he gave it, and vladimir looked him in the eye and decided it was not for him.

you made a mistake. everybody makes them. even me. i’ve made many. it’s only fair that you made one.

he feels each word grate right through him, each syllable catching on his skin like little knives, the thin strand keeping him tethered to the present grinding down into dust and bone. he doesn’t blame vladimir for what happened to him. he blames him for leaving. but it’s a mistake that vladimir won’t — can’t acknowledge because to do that, he would have to admit to the thing he doesn’t want to say, or can’t say, and august can’t make him say it. that’s what made him do it, the first night at that grimy, filthy club in the berlin underground. that’s what made him want to trade his soul for just a night of rapture so euphoric he wouldn’t have to remember how fucking miserable it was to be unloved by the one person you thought you were meant for. but then, it’s never just one night is it? it couldn’t have been. you don’t get over something like that with one goddamn night.

(  if august were honest, and his heart not surrendered, he would say it was this, too: that vladimir could walk away from them, has always been able to walk away, and think nothing of it. him. that vladimir had found purpose and higher meaning in something other than themselves and the stupid, foolish, boyish dreams they used to talk about like they might someday happen. that august had disappointed him somehow by, what, not being enough? not living up to the unearned greatness that vladimir saw in him and was supposedly the only person in the world who could? that vladimir would forge a path for himself in life that diverged from august and not feel his soul rending itself in half to be half a world away from him, and survive it. — it was enough to ruin him then, it still ruins him now.  )

“if you’ve come all this way just to lecture to me, you can sod the fuck off back to phuket or hanoi or fucking antarctica if that’s what you want. maybe there’s some disease-riddled penguins out there that you can save to sate your saviour complex. saint francis of assisi. a non-shitty mother teresa. malala.”

he’s exhausted before the first word leaves his mouth, strung out just with the effort of starting, but he can’t stop them now any more than he can stop the hunger and thirst clawing at his head howling for a drop of blood, a pound of flesh, any part of him that it can cannibalise in retribution for starving. it’s easier to be cruel than to be wounded, better to be the conqueror than the fallen — but right now it just feels like he is going through his twelfth or two hundredth day of withdrawal and the boy he loves has come back but not the way august wanted and not the way he wants to be wanted. it hurts just to look at him, it hurts to have him looking back. every part of his body aches with dependence, codependence. they’re the definition of it. see what happens to me when you are not in my life?

alexander lay on hephaestion’s bed for three days. but you are not him. you are just a spoiled, arrogant, silver-spooned nothing who will never amount to greatness, glory, or anything at all. it is no wonder he would not have you.

his rage breaks, like sea foam crashing against cliffs; it rends and shatters down the fault line mapped throughout his body, the one that winds from his throat to his sternum, down to his thighs and feet, and aches forever mostly at his heel. helpless to the unbidden trembling of his hands as he curls them around the sheets of his bed, unmoored. he looks small and disarmed, more lost than he’s ever been with vladimir by his side. it doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, does it? not if he cannot make vladimir stay. whatever they had between them — is it damaged, now. they could rebuild it, but the foundations would still bear the memory of where the cracks lie. he would still remember this look on vladimir’s face.

he has looked at him a thousand times, and there has always been an echo reverberating between them. the wavelength of an elegy he knows the words to like they are writ upon heartbeat, upon headstone. there have been other faces, but vladimir’s eyes have always been the same. fathomless as distant stars in an entire universe light years away and yet close enough to touch if he dared to. if it is fate, or circumstance, or a reiteration of the immortality that stands between them and their freedom, then he already knows how this ends. vladimir knows it, too. it doesn’t make him want it any less. it doesn’t make him suffer for it any less. this ache he has spent an eternity chasing after, this feeling of being so incandescently alive that even death cannot keep them apart, this is what vladimir ran from. augustus cannot blame him. if he was not the one who always outlived him, he’d do the same.

“is this why you came back? because you think you can save me, too?”

[dboliklover]

Easter Smut #2, Shu

Another part in the series!  TW: NSFW! READ AT OWN RISK! 

Shu - Breeding, impregnation, Scent sex

If there was one thing everybody knew about Shu, it was that he was seemingly immensely lazy and unmotivated. And to many degrees, this was a definite fact. You, however, knew slightly better…

Whilst it was certainly true that your husband held a soft resentment for having to put much effort into most things, if there was one thing that he was absolutely amazing at and always managed to give his effort into, it was fucking you. Like, for example, currently. You were on your shared marriage bed, Spring was covering the land with her fruitful splendour and joyful fertility. You had been Shu’s wife for about a year now, and you were immensely happy belonging to him, mind, soul and body.

The feeling of Shu touching your skin, caressing you and holding you, sent beautiful, sharp sparks down your spine. Gentle mewls escaped your soft lips as you felt his cold hands on your stomach, then your thighs, and then your hips, as he suddenly grabbed them and held you down to his chest. Your naked form sitting on his, as you stared into each other’s eyes, equally enthralled with the other. Gods, you loved this man so deeply…!

Granted, what you hadn’t known, as that Shu had gotten quite caught up on the idea of impregnating you with his child. At first, he tried to disregard the idea as just another kink - which it definitely was, the concept of you, his wife, swelling up with his child as the hottest thing he had ever imagined. But, as the idea continued to pester him he realised he authentically wanted you to carry his children. Truthfully, before you, Shu had never thought he would want any children. You truly had changed everything in his life, and he loved you more than he could ever express.

Your sweet gaze soon turned into a pleading one, as you felt the desire to feel him within you spike with every second your heat was so close to his erect dick. Smirking that signature smirk of his, Shu harshly and surprisingly energetically lowered your wet opening onto his member as you shut your eyes in ecstasy, your moans flooding the walls of your bedroom. But before you had the actual time to ride him, your husband grabbed your waist and pulled you lower onto his chest, holding your body tightly in his arms as you laid on top of him, the sensation of his raw dick pulsating within your slippery walls, your body begging for friction and movement as you breathed out soft breaths. Feeling Shu’s breath on your neck and ear, he whispered darkly, “I’m going to breed you like a bunny - like the lewd woman you are.” His voice sent pleasurable shivers down your spine as you practically started pleading for him to just move already, or to let you ride him - or anything to be fucked. “Okay! Okay, yes, please….please b..” You breathed out softly, embarrassed from what you were about to say, but you quickly swallowed your pride, “Please breed me and allow me to give you children…!” That was all he needed to hear, as Shu released his grasp on you and you immediately sat back up, bouncing up and down with newly found passion and energy, unable to bite back all your moans and mewls of love and affection.

The way Shuu felt inside you was absolutely magical - you were more than sure you couldn’t possibly even survived without your husband’s cock anymore. Furthermore, the idea of starting a family with him drove you absolutely wild - you were at his complete mercy, sexually and in your everyday life. As his wife, and soon to be a mother - it was wonderful, but it also excited you how much control this man held over you. And you loved it.

Soon, he started moving his own hips in friction to your own, causing you both twice as much sexual bliss. Before you knew it, your mind was fading into nothing, all that mattered was Shuu. The earthy scent of sex filled the room, and you found yourself moving closer to him, your chest above his own as you stared into his beautiful eyes, finding his own soft grunts of ecstasy to be beautiful. His smell was absolutely alluring to you, the way he naturally smelled was arousing in and out of itself. You loved it, you loved him so fucking much…!

Both of you sped up your thrusts, nothing else on your minds but one another and the pleasure you shared. You were both close, and instinctively your lips touched, kissing feverishly as you felt your orgasm hit, pulling away as you bend your neck back a bit in pure elation, and a few thrusts later you felt your lover filling you deeply, which caused you to have yet another orgasm from the sensation of being filled with his cum alone.

Panting loudly, you felt incredibly fatigued, only to find that Shuu, unlike usually, didn’t look nearly as tired as you did, and only smirked at you. “If we want to get you pregnant, then I’ll have to fill you with my seed much more than just once, you lewd woman…” he breathed out.

- Mod Rozalia 

[krreader]

Hi! Love reading your blog! Anyway, just thinking, could you do a request- imagine - where the reader gets spanked for the first time by each/any member of BTS for being rude/swearing, not even noticing when she/he had used those bad words? Thank you already, cause if you write it, it's gonna be awesome

pairing: bts x readerfandom: btswarnings: spanking ; mentions of sex (oral) ; languagegenre: smut ; crack

summary: bts spanking you for the first time after you cursed/were being rude.

a/n: thaaaank you sweetheart! loooved writing this!!!! ♥ hope you enjoy it! 

ask box | masterlist | fandoms | faq | multifandom reader blog

kim seokjin

“Yousure you’re 26? Because right now, you act like a 15 year old,” youhadn’t even meant anything bad by it. He was just getting on yournerves today, by annoying the living fuck out of you every time hecomplained about the tiniest of things.

Foryou, that had been the end of the conversation. You had simply went to the kitchen and made the food that he wanted. Because that’swhat this had been about. Food.

Jin,however, hated it when you said stuff like this. He hated when youcalled him a teenager, even though he knew he was often actingchildish.

Buttonight, he would prove to you that he was definitely not a 15 yearold, but a man in his twenties.

So when you were on all foursbefore him, the ‘fight’ long forgotten, he couldn’t help but spankyou once, earning a surprised yelp from you.

“Isthis what a fifteen year old would do, (Y/N)?” and another slap onyour other ass cheek, “Tell me.”

“N-No..,”this was so unusual for Jin. He was the vanilla guy, the one you hadto beg to fuck you rough because he usually wouldn’t. So even thoughit was new and a bit painful, you couldn’t help but want more.Because this had always been something that turned you on. And quitefrankly? As vanilla as he was, he was good at this whole dominantthing.

Sofucking good.

min yoongi

“Oh,fuck you,” you muttered under your breath and rolled your eyes,while getting up and wanting to walk out of his studio.

Yoongi,however, wouldn’t let you go so easily. He was out of his chair in asecond and pushed the door close again, his hand flat against thecold material of it, while he towered over you.

“Whatdid you just say?”

“What?”you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

Helicked his lips, before he dragged his teeth over his lower lip,grabbed your arm and pulled you with him, bending you over his desk a moment later.

“See,I don’t appreciate it when you curse at me for no reason,” hepushed your jeans skirt over your butt and pulled your panties downto the floor, all with one hand, while the other was putting pressure on your back to keep you down.

“Yoongi,I..-”

Buthe had already brought his hand down on your butt. Hard.

Truthbe told, you were surprised it took him this long to finally spankyou. You had expected it to happen in the first week of yourrelationship.

“Youwere saying?”

Butjust as you opened your mouth again, he spanked you again. And again,and again, until all that fell from your lips were moans.

jung hoseok

“Forfuck’s sake, Hoseok! I just want you to fuck me!”

Youwere being a brat today. Had been all day long, actually. All thatHobi wanted to do was practice, practice, practice. And all youwanted was a quickie, because you and him haven’t had sex in almosttwo weeks and you were beginning to become desperate.

Andeven though Hobi was usually a sunshine that was more smiles thananything else, he absolutely hated it when you were being a brat.

“Youwant me to fuck you?” the change of tone alone had you shiver andwhen he turned around to look at you and you saw how dark, almostblack, his eyes momentarily were, you gulped, “Come here then.”

Butyou didn’t even move a muscle. Suddenly, you were a littleintimidated by him. Not in a bad way, but this wasn’t what you wereused to.

“Oh,I see.. not what you were expecting, hm?” so he took four longsteps, until he had you trapped between the mirrored wall behind youand him, but he immediately turned you around, pushing you against the cold mirror.

Youlet out a yelp, but didn’t stop him. Not when he pushed down yoursweatpants, not when he pulled down your panties, and definitely notwhen he gave you a harsh clap on your right ass cheek.

“Becareful what you wish for, angel,” he whispered in your ear.

kim namjoon

“Itold you.. I’m sorry, alright?” he apologized for what felt likethe tenth time, but it was like he was talking to a wall. Because youreally didn’t care.

Youalso didn’t care that you were in his dressing room and even thoughmost people were already out, a couple were still in here, listeningto your heated fight. And it wasn’t even about anything important,but you were downright pissed.

Andwell, when you were pissed, you often talked without thinking first.

“Sorrymy ass, Namjoon, honestly,” you were usually very careful aboutyour choice of words when others were around, not wanting toembarrass him. But again, you just said the first thing that came tomind.

Youturned around on your heels and walked out of the dressing room,wanting to make your way back to your car to go home, when a handwrapped around your arm and dragged you into the nearest room, thatturned out to be yet another dressing room, but empty.

“Whatthe..-”

“Youthink you can just be rude to me in front of everybody and get awaywith it?” he laughed and bent you over the nearest table, “Youknow that’s not how it works.”

Youfully expected him to fuck you roughly like this. Maybe that’s whyyou were so surprised when his hand suddenly slapped your butt cheek.

Almostpathetic how anger turned into something else so quickly. Becausewith each slap, you could feel the wetness between your legsincrease.

Youcould hear Namjoon chuckle when he pulled your panties aside and lethis fingers glide over your folds.

“Sweetheart..you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

park jimin

Youand Jimin had been together for a little while and he had finallyfelt like it was time for you to meet the rest of his members, whichis how you ended up sitting at their dining table, eating dinner withthem.

“So..is he treating you right?” Taehyung asked and you nodded with asmile.

“He’swonderful.”

“Ithink he was talking about whether or not he fucks you well enough,”Yoongi said as if it was the most normal thing (which it was, in someway) in the world. Jimin almost choked on his drink and you stared atYoongi for a couple of moments, while the others laughed.

“Uhm..he’s.. yeah, of course he is, I guess?”

“Iguess?” Namjoon raised his eyebrows, “You don’t sound too happy.”

Hoseoksaved the day and decided to change the topic, but Jimin couldn’tthink about anything else for the rest of the night.

‘Iguess?’

Whatwas that supposed to mean? Were you not satisfied with him? Or maybe you just wanted thesex to be different?

Sothis night, when Hoseok decided to go for a late dance practice withJungkook, he decided he’d change things up and instead of giving youyour usual pre-sex treatment of oral sex, he roughly turned you onyour belly and began spanking you, trapping you between his strongthighs on either side of you.

“Iguess?” he repated, before bringing his hand down on your buttagain, “Are you that unhappy?”

“N-No,”you moaned, when he rubbed over the spot he just slapped, “Don’tstop, please.”

“Thenwhat do you tell them next time?” another slap. You moaned his name loudlyfor an answer and Jimin grinned, “That’s right.”

kim taehyung

Youwere at dinner with him and his parents. It wasn’t the first time youmet them, but it also wasn’t like you were at a point that you couldcall each other anything other than strangers that were connectedthrough Taehyung.

Youwere in deep conversation with his mother, when you suddenly said:“Honestly? I have no fucking idea what any of it meant,” youlaughed, not even realizing you had just cursed in front of hisparents. Maybe it was the wine.. actually, let’s just blame it on thewine.

Taehyungimmediately tensed up and sat up straight. It’s not that his parentswere strictly against swearing or anything, but he still never did itin front of them.

Hisfather actually chuckled as well, while his mother looked a little..startled, not having expected such a word to come out of your prettymouth.

So,no, it wasn’t really a big deal.

ButTaehyung saw an opportunity here. One that he used later that nightwhen you were making out in his room.

“Swearingin front of my parents, (Y/N).. not a good idea.”

“Whatdo you mean?” you kissed his neck, already straddling him and already halfnaked.

Hefell forward, so that you were lying under him, then he turned youaround as soon as he was out of the way and held your hips tightly.

“Kindof feel like something like that deserves a punishment.”

Again,maybe it was the wine or the fact that you never did anything likethis before, but you actually giggled.

“You’reright.”

Andthat’s how he spanked you for the first time and it most certainlywouldn’t have been the last time, from the way you were screaming hisname in the end.

jeon jeongguk

“Kook,did you..- Jeongguk!” he didn’t even listen to you, in deepconversation with the person on the other end of the headset he wasspeaking into. His eyes were focused on the screen in front of him,while his fingers glided over the keyboard in fast motions. But youweren’t having any of this today, so you walked over to him andpulled the headset off, “I was talking to you.”

“Hey!”

“Tellyour friends you’ve got homework to do and stop playing.”

Jeonggukcould hear them laugh, even though his headset wasn’t on his head anymore and sincehe had finally reached a level of confidence when it came to sex(thanks to you and your relationship with him), he wouldn’t let thatslide.

Hegot up from the chair, towering above you and you gulped when you sawthe darkness in his eyes.

“Bed.Now.”

“Iwasn’t..-”

“Bed.”

Thiswasn’t the Kookie you knew. Sure, he was usually the one on top andhe was often incredibly rough, but this dominant? Not that often.

Youdid what he asked though and he immediately pulled off yoursweatpants and panties in one go, spanking you once. You tried tomuffle your moans by biting on your lower lip, but he knew that hisfriends were listening. And he wanted to prove a point here.

“Don’tyou dare keep quiet,” he muttered while rubbing the spot on yourass cheek, before bringing his hand down again.

Thistime, you almost screamed his name from the impact and even from this far away, hecould hear his friends cheer him on and Jeongguk continued spankingyou with a proud grin on his face, as well as a boner that he wouldhave to take care of. 

But that would happen in private with youlater.

[ash818]

hi ash, how are you? Was wondering what Jon and Tish were up to these days?

It is not possible, as it turns out, to involve yourself with only one Queen.

They are all hopelessly tangled in each other’s lives, and to love one of them is to surrender to the rest, who will adopt your troubles as their troubles and your triumphs as their triumphs. Aunt Thea settles in next to you, swirling a glass of wine, and smiles as if she knows your secrets just before deftly teasing them out of you. Mrs. Queen tiptoes up to the edge of her children’s boundaries, but she can’t resist peeking over; mostly, she is too sincere to refuse. Abigail doesn’t even bother to tiptoe. Mr. Queen is the most hands-off, but even he quietly smooths over little difficulties behind your back. You don’t find out that he’s done it until months later, if ever.

So when Mrs. Queen was struggling to find an administrative assistant not long after my graduation, I suppose she found it perfectly natural to ask me.

“I can’t exactly post ‘occasional vigilantism’ as a requirement on LinkedIn,” she told me. “But the secret is safe with you, and you have the requisite skill set. I think you’d be perfect. Ideal. Sans pareil.” She tilted her head faintly. “Did I say that right?”

I tried to be gentle when I pointed out, “My boyfriend’s mother would be my boss.”

“Is that weird?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m Jon’s boss, and it’s not weird. You know if you get tired of him, you still get to stay. I hope that’s not your concern. You can keep coming to family dinners and everything.”

That honestly had not occurred to me. “Wouldn’t the rest of the office consider it blatant nepotism?”

“With Jon, they got over it as soon as they realized he wasn’t useless. You’ll be fine too.” She leaned closer to me and said earnestly, “Look, I could really use the help.”

I knew as much; Jon had been complaining for months that she shouldn’t be going it alone anymore.

“I know you’re looking for something in your field, but it seems like that might take some time. This is only a first job to get you started and build a little work history, just until you find something better.”

As I said, Mrs. Queen is too sincere to refuse.

When I came into the office to formally accept her offer, she shook my hand across her desk and said, “Don’t breathe a word to Jon. I want to surprise him.”

My first morning at Panoptic, she called Jon into her office to meet her new admin, and she had a good giggle at the look on his face. But the shock wore off in about five minutes, and at the first opportunity, he tried to back me against a wall and put his hands up my shirt.

“This was nowhere in the job description,” I said, once I had worked up some self-control.

“Nope.” He bent down to kiss my neck. “This is just perks.”

It took me longer than it should have to push him backwards, but eventually I managed it. “Your mother did not hire me to make your life more fun.”

“Of course she didn’t. That would be messed up.” He sighed theatrically. “So no bending you over my desk.”

Heat washed through me, and I closed my eyes and let myself imagine it for just a moment. With an effort, I shook my head. “No inappropriate use of any desks.”

In my first week as Felicity Queen’s admin, I learned to navigate her unusual scheduling software, the source code of which she had modified heavily to suit her preferences. I learned to document meetings in her idiosyncratic system, to recognize her frantic hand signal for, “Tell them I’m busy,” and to brew coffee strong enough to wake the dead.

A few of the employees - mostly protectors who had guarded me in the past - welcomed me enthusiastically. The others reserved judgment, and I overheard at least one joke in the break room, speculating on what I had really been hired to do here, which cemented my resolve about desks and the uses thereof.

On my sixth day at Panoptic, I met Jeremy Price Longwood.

“I’m sorry, who?” Mr. Queen asked at dinner the previous night.

“Think Chris Hemsworth,” Mrs. Queen explained. “Or Pratt or Evans or Pine. Really, any of the Chrises.”

Mr. Queen blinked, just once, where a man less stoic might have grimaced in distaste. “Ah.”

“We’re guarding his face,” Jon said. “Specifically his face. It’s insured for half a million.”

“Much more than that, certainly,” I said.

He gave me a look.

The next morning, Mrs. Queen called together the team delegated to Mr. Longwood’s case. “He’s in Starling to shoot a Romeo and Juliet ‘reimagining,’ as if we needed another one of those. Ever since that werewolf movie, he’s been seeing an uptick in creepers. Nothing he hasn’t handled before, but we’re going to keep somebody nearby. We don’t want some poor deluded soul running on set and shoving a bundle of love letters down his shirt. It’s embarrassing, and he’s had enough of that this year.”

“Enough love letters down his shirt?” said Ms. Ramirez.

“Enough embarrassment.” Mrs. Queen gave a little shudder. “The werewolf thing. Poor guy.”

He had his shirt off for half the movie. Personally, I thought he had nothing at all to be embarrassed about.

“Sounds pretty standard,” Jon said, getting to his feet. “Who wants the first evening shift?”

Not half an hour later, the man himself came striding through the front doors with a small styrofoam cup in his hands, and he came straight to me at the front desk. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said. “Y’all know the numbers have rubbed off the elevator buttons?”

On film, he was lovely, but in person, he was devastating. It took me a moment to answer him. “I apologize for the confusion. Can I get you anything? Water or coffee?”

He raised the styrofoam cup. “Your neighbors one floor up - the divorce law firm? - they hooked me up.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile, and my heart skipped a beat. “No one tell my wife I walked in there.”

I would have loved to joke right back. All I managed was, “Of course not.” Hopefully my cheeks weren’t visibly pink. “I’ll show you to the conference room and lets Mrs. Queen know you’re here.”

“How did you find out about us?” was among Mrs. Queen’s standard battery of questions for new clients.

“A friend gave me your name,” said Mr. Longwood. “You came recommended by Bruce Wayne, so he figured you must be the real deal.”

Mrs. Queen looked unduly pleased by that, considering.

By the time he left an hour later, half the staff was as charmed as I was.

“Aw, he’s gonna be easy,” Darius said. “I can already tell. No clubbing, no foolishness, no babysitting his drunk ass. This dude lives in the gym and eats unsalted chicken breast.”

“Certainly looks that way,” Ms. Ramirez agreed. “Did you hear he called me ma’am? I love when these Southern boys do that. It means they’ll fucking listen.”

Once everyone else had cleared out, I turned to Mrs. Queen. “Didn’t Mr. Queen and Mr. Wayne have a bit of a falling out?”

“They did, but he never fell out with Panoptic. Bruce used to have Dig guarding him every time he was in Starling.”

“Was that, ah, strictly necessary?” I said delicately. “For Batman?”

“Of course not. Bruce just thought it was funny.”

Within a few days, Mr. Longwood left us all utterly disarmed.

Except for Jon. Very few people can disarm Jonathan Queen, and Jeremy Price Longwood is not among them. After a week of protective services and one more office meeting, Jon’s ultimate assessment was: “What a cheeseball.”

“I think he’s sincere,” I said.

“That’s because he’s a skillful cheeseball.”

“Ah, of course, he fooled the silly little girl,” I said, crossing my arms. “But you see right through him with an unbiased eye.”

“He makes you all fluttery. Admit it.”

“Darius and Ms. Ramirez also found him courteous and friendly, and you can’t accuse either of them of getting fluttery.”

“Jones likes anyone who pays for lunch, and Ramirez likes dumb golden retrievers who sit and stay on command.”

“You weren’t this mean about the oil exec making business trips to Angola - the one who almost definitely had a genuine personality disorder. But this one, you can’t stand.”

“This one expects me to like him. The BP guy had the decency not to give a damn.”

I sighed. “All right, Jonathan.”

It’s not difficult to understand, in the end. Jon is a good-looking man, if I do say so myself, and he is in fantastic shape. But he lives in a permanent state of three-day scruff, and he will always look more boyish than debonair. He is in the kind of shape optimized to slam into you like a hammer, not the kind engineered to look good on camera.

Perfectly gelled and professionally dressed Jeremy Price Longwood is standing right there, and of course Jon is supremely irritated by him. It’s like when I have to stand next to willowy Elaine Diggle, magnified severalfold.

“Tell me something,” I said, mostly as a distraction. “What was so funny about asking Mr. Diggle to guard people who didn’t exactly need guarding?”

“Oh, that.” Jon shook his head. “My dad spent years pretending to lose sparring matches to Dig, just to make sure everybody knew what a helpless marshmallow he was. Drove Dig up the wall.”

I never quite understood the dynamics of combat sports. “Why would he care, if it was all part of their cover?”

“You know when you get old enough to realize your dad is letting you win at Battleship or whatever?”

No, I couldn’t say I knew how that felt.

Jon cleared his throat. “It’s condescending as hell. Especially when he thinks it’s hilarious, and you can’t make him stop laughing, because if you try he’s just going to lay you out on the floor again.”

“He did this to you as well,” I surmised.

“He wears ties and reading glasses,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just a boring middle-aged public servant, play-fighting to stay in shape. He doesn’t even know how to break someone’s neck. Honest.”

“You Queens are a strange tribe.”

Jon shrugged. “You joined. What does that make you?”

What, indeed?

That summer, I learned Panoptic inside out. I took notes on Mrs. Queen’s consultations with a businessman who traveled extensively in Mexico, with one of Laurel Lance’s attorneys recently assigned to an organized crime case, and with a woman who wore a cast on her left wrist and who had recently procured a restraining order against her husband.

Most of the people who came through our doors were terrified for one reason or another. Mrs. Queen coaxed information out of them with a practiced cheerfulness that should have felt inappropriate, but which they mostly found comforting. Jon did it much more bluntly, which occasionally rubbed people the wrong way, but more often inspired shockingly unreserved trust.

“That’s one of the upsides of a runaway mouth,” Mrs. Queen said ruefully. “People notice you’ve fumbled the reins, and they assume that’s the same thing as honesty.”

I shook my head. “I think it’s because they can tell he’s genuinely listening. Most people wait for their turn to talk.”

“You know,” Mrs. Queen tipped her head at me, “not one of his teachers, through twenty-ish years of school, ever singled out listening as one of his strengths.”

“Mr. Queen is the same way,” I pointed out. “He looks you right in the eyes, and you feel like you have his complete and undivided attention.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Even when he’s actually thinking about the fastest way to get you out of his office.” She grinned, swiveling back to her computer. “Oliver worked hard at his politician face.”

By September, I knew more about my boyfriend’s mother than anyone reasonably should.

I knew that she could only stare at a screen for three hours before she got a headache. She took her disgusting coffee with a disgusting amount of artificial sweetener. She got anxious before Skype meetings with Dig and Lyla, because this was their baby she was raising. She wore a size six or eight, depending on the brand, and a nice man named Warren dyed her hair every seven weeks.

“I suspect Thursday nights are date nights,” I mused out loud to Jon one afternoon. “She rarely leaves after five, and she sometimes sends me to Martin’s Wine Cellar first.”

“That’s nice,” he said vaguely. “Thursdays are Bordeaux sex. Everybody loves Bordeaux sex.” A few moments later, he looked up from his glassbook to frown at me. “Do you think my family has boundary issues?”

I shrugged and went back to my backlog of emails.

Over the course of Romeo and Juliet’s shooting schedule, Panoptic intercepted a few cringeworthy letters to Mr. Longwood, and our protectors turned away the odd paparazzo or pushy fan, but altogether the job was as easy as Darius predicted.

“Longwood’s got a solid right straight too,” Darius said. “Apparently stage fighting isn’t complete bullshit.”

Mrs. Queen narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been beating up your principal?”

I glanced at Jon, who looked both annoyed and intrigued.

“He’s gone to work on some strike mitts with me, that’s all,” Darius said. “I told you, this dude lives at the gym.”

“Just don’t mess up his face,” Jon advised with mock seriousness. “Be very careful with the face.”

“You want to take a swing at him,” I said, as soon as Darius left the room. “Don’t pretend.”

His shrug was not denial.

“He’s an excellent client, and you may not hit him,” Mrs. Queen said. “No matter how annoyingly pretty he is.”

“That’s not the - “

“Yes, it is.” On her way out the door, she patted his cheek, and then she nodded meaningfully at me. “She thinks you’re adorable. Good enough, right?”

She winked at me, and then she headed for her office.

Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “I think the boss just gave us permission to flirt at work. I don’t like it.”

I gave him a couple of consoling pats. “It’s just perks, darling.”

When Romeo and Juliet wrapped, there was no call for Mr. Longwood to return to our office, but he dropped by to say thank you and sign autographs. He had that kind of class. For Jon, he offered an especially strong handshake and his most sparkling Southern smile - “Thank you for all you do” - and Jon returned it warmly.

As soon as the door closed behind Longwood, Jon muttered, “Extremely punchable face, though.”

Mrs. Queen and I exchanged a smile, and we went back to work.

[multifarrious]

Reputation | Richie Tozier | Part 1

Anonymous said: An IT imagine where reader is Bill's older sister and Richie has a MASSIVE crush on her. She has a pretty bad reputation ( kinda like Bev, but worse. Like done things with Henry Bowers, etc. ) Plot can be up to you! Just maybe a scene where she's all sassy and this kinda represents why Richie likes her so much?? Thank you. Love your writing so much!

Richie Tozier x Reader.

Warnings: Swearing.

Part 2

Part 3

After the passing of your brother, Georgie, all you ever felt was grief. It followed you like a shadow every where you went. And frankly, you wanted it to piss right off. Over the months that your youngest brother had been missing and - in many eyes - presumed dead, you’d grieved in a way that worked for you. 

You’d heard all the insults before: ‘Whore’, ‘Slut’, ‘Ash-head’, ‘Chimney-breath’. The list went on, and somehow you’d learnt to live with it. Some of the things people said about you were rumours, but majority wasn’t. You were only fifteen, but had gained a name for yourself all over the town. As many would say, the list of the people you’d fucked, the amount of cigars you smoked during the day would cause a brand new pen to run out of ink before the list was even near finished. 

Long story short, you’d gained a pretty bad reputation for yourself over the course of seven months. Although, the person you once were was still there; buried underneath miles and miles of stone walls you’d built around yourself. Only a selected few were able to see this. Those who could be bothered seeing you for who you really were and not the stupid status you’d made for yourself due to the consequences of grief. 

These selected few were your brother and his friends. They didn’t care about what you’d done. Hell, Bill didn’t even believe any of it, though you never had the guts to tell him most of the so called ‘rumours’ were true. You were yourself around them and for a long time you thought you’d lost that ability; to be yourself. 

During this time of you hanging around with the losers, it was made clear that Richie Tozier had formed a giant crush on you. It was no secret that Richie liked you, he was hitting on you every chance he got. Though you’d never admit it, you also had gained a somewhat affection for the younger boy. Nowadays, most boys you’d interacted with were only looking to have sex with you, or call you horrible names, but Richie - as much as he did make sexual jokes - never looked at you like other boys did. He never looked at you the way everybody else in this town did. Truth was, you’d never been looked at in such a way by a boy before. He was immature, said things at the wrong time, and always, always made inappropriate sexual jokes, but not once had he ever said, nor thought about saying anything about your mistakes. He respected you, and you valued that more than anything.

“We were attacked, M-m-Mrs. K.” Your brother explained as Eddie’s mom - whom you’d never met before - frantically tried to find the correct key to open her car. In her mad rush, she dropped the pile of keys on the gravel road, cursing under her breath. 

“Here, let me hel-” Beverly begun, as the girl started bending down to pick up the keys, but Eddie’s mum beat her to it, a look of disgust washing over her face as she stood back up, locking eyes with Beverly. 

“Oh, I’ve heard about you Miss Marsh. And I don’t want a dirty girl like you near my Eddie.” 

You’d heard every insult there was. You’d heard every slut joke in existence and you knew how it felt. You knew how it felt to be looked at like you were meat, and you could take it. But the difference between you and Beverly was that you knew Beverly let it crawl under her skin a lot more than you did, and her ‘reputation’ was literally based on rumours.

“Excuse me?” You spoke up, gaining everybody’s attention, including Mrs. K’s. You hadn’t uttered a word yet, so you assumed the woman hadn’t even acknowledged you were here yet until now, as the older woman diverted her disgusting stare from Beverly, and let it land directly on you. And she gave you the same look every other fucking person gave you in this stupid town. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard lots about you too, Miss Denbrough. Running around with that Bower’s boy, and I’ve heard the list goes on.” 

You clenched your fist, taking a step forward but you were pulled back by someone grabbing your wrist, refraining you from doing anything. You didn’t bother to look who it was. Instead, you glared daggers straight at Mrs. K. “I don’t want someone as vulgar as you anywhere near my son.”

Anyone who knew both you and Bill, knew you were nothing like him. He was a lot more kind than you were. A lot more compassionate. The things you said and the things you did came as a complete shock to those who knew you were related to Bill. In fact, you didn’t even look like him either. Many referred to you as the ‘Milkman's Daughter’ insinuating your mother had an affair with the milkman and you were the resulting offspring. In all honestly, you preferred to be called this disrespectful nickname above all others, as it was the least dehumanising of them all. 

“Why don’t you suck my dick, Mrs. K?” Your face remained expressionless, as the words left your lips, pretty damn satisfied with yourself. She was a grown woman, practically calling you a whore in front of your friends. If she wanted to act like a child, then so would you. 

As much as you didn’t care when people called you names directly in front of you, that changed when you were around your brother and your friends; the people you actually cared about. That’s when the insults hit you hard. You valued their opinions; their thoughts and you never wanted them - of all people - to look at you like everybody else did. 

Her mouth opened, in pure shock, “You are a disgusting girl, Y/N Denbrough.” And she mean’t it. She mean’t every last word. 

You chuckled a cold laugh, and if looks could kill, Mrs. K would be six feet under. “I've been called worse things by better people.” 

You heard someone snicker behind you, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Richie. Mrs. Kaspbrak sent you a cold smile, “It must be difficult for you, exhausting your entire vocabulary in one sentence.” The woman told you. All you did was force a half-assed smile, attempting to mock her own.

“Bye, Mrs. K. I hope the rest of your day is as pleasant as you are.” And with that, the older woman huffed and hopped in her car, driving away without saying another word. 

You sighed softly, before reluctantly turning around to face everybody, fearing that they would be staring at you with discomfort, and not look at you the same way. But instead, they all smiled at you, clearly impressed as Beverly thanked you for sticking up for her. And you couldn’t help but smile too. 

“That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your girl, Richie.” 

“Right. Sorry, Y/N.”

But, truth was, you kinda were.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Reparations

Fandom: Critical Role Characters: Grog Strongjaw & Scanlan Shorthalt Rating: T Word Count: 2,000 Summary: While hunkering down in the mansion on their first night in the Shadowfell, Scanlan and Grog start to repair their friendship. Also on: AO3 Notes: I’m sure (rather, I hope) that we’ll get lots of these little moments of friendships being repaired between Scanlan and the group, and they’ll be excellent, but I wanted to sneak my own idea in before tomorrow’s episode airs.

Even in the Shadowfell, Grog has to practice.

At least he has a Lionel-free sandpit to practice in. No one to watch him all keen while he sounds out words and spells them out loud and traces their letters out on the parchment. And he found a nice flat shield in the corner to put his parchment on, too, so it doesn't get sand on it.

Reading's easier than the writing part. He can kind of guess at the reading, especially if he says it out loud. But even though Percy and Tary put together a special quill for him after he broke a dozen ordinary ones, even though he goes slow and careful to make the shapes, he's just bad at the writing. Pike says that it'll get easier with time, and he believes her, but in the middle of practicing, he's always angry and frustrated that so many things take time.

He's angry and frustrated about lots of things. He needs to find something to squish. Hopefully tomorrow.

We killed, he's written so far. He adjusts the quill in his fingers—fingers better-suited to holding swords and hammers and things that are the correct size, that match him—and puts it back to the parchment. The ink comes out of the quill itself, another smart thing that smart people like Percy and Tary can come up with. Easier than dipping it in an ink pot, which probably wouldn't survive the bag of holding, anyway.

some, he continues. He likes the letter o best. Easy to make. He admires the way it looks on the parchment, like some school-fresh kid wrote it.

"What's that, Grog?"

He doesn't smash the carefully-constructed quill, just barely. The hand holding down the left side of the parchment nearly crumples the whole thing, though. He hastily smooths out the corner. He only has so much parchment. He doesn't know how long they'll be in this…place.

Maybe Scanlan's gotten quieter while he was away. Or maybe Grog's gotten dumber, or deafer, or something, so that Scanlan can sneak up on him easy-peasy and judge the shape of his letters, which, aside from the os, still look like something scratched out in the mud by a chicken.

"Nothing," he grunts. He imagines, though, that piece of parchment that Pike read so smoothly while he was too nervous to. If the fight hadn't thrown him off so bad, he'd have taken it, easy as anything, and read it out right there. That would've showed Scanlan.

In worse moments, he thinks that maybe he'd have ripped it up to pieces without reading it once, instead. Doesn't need to prove himself to anybody.

He starts to fold the parchment. Scanlan sits down beside him in the sand, digging his feet into it.

"Shouldn't you be resting up for tomorrow?" Grog says, because he can't read that smoothly and that well, and his letters do look awful, and he spent that imaginary moment cowering behind Pike, hating Scanlan as much as he missed him.

"Oh, you know me, can't sleep a damn with a place like that outside my front door. Were you writing?"

Grog glances around, hoping that someone might appear to take Scanlan off his hands. Like Vax. Vax seems pleased to have him around. But Vax—the dick—is nowhere to be found when you want to find him. Probably off looking for shit to get into, outside the safety of the mansion door. Almost fervently, Grog hopes that he will find some shit. Then Grog can go save his ass, and not have to sit here and talk to Scanlan.

"You don't have to show me," Scanlan goes on. "I'm just impressed, is all." His eyes drift over to the salt lick rock, still holding down the other side of the parchment, the part that isn't folded.

Anger is familiar to Grog, an old friend. He knows it well enough to keep it from hurting him, or anyone else he doesn't want to hurt. But the flame of it licks up inside his ribs, and he nearly embraces it. He nearly wants to hurt Scanlan. He's been fighting the confusion of that impulse ever since the disguise dissolved, revealing a man that stood about as small as Grog feels.

"Don't talk down to me," he says instead, which Pike says is a plainer way to say condespend—condestand? Well, that's why he knows talk down, because he can never remember the con-whatever one.

Scanlan peers up at him. "I'm not."

He says it earnestly, like a truth, but Scanlan says all things like that, even when he's lying. Maybe especially when he's lying. When Grog tries to name all the times Scanlan might've been lying, he gets a headache trying to keep track. It's a lot. Grog is aware that it's not so hard to fool him.

"Grog, do you know how many people can't read and write? It's not a common skill." Scanlan pauses, frowning. "You know, I was a poor kid. I didn't learn to read and write very early on, either."

Grog leans forward a little, despite himself. Despite his anger. "You're always good with words, though. That's your thing."

Scanlan gives a little shrug. "I learned to talk first, that's all. And I had help. I wasn't all that good before Dr. Dranzel picked me up. I was just performing to make money, you know? To take care of my mother. Lots of people will toss a coin to a poor kid."

Grog digests that a little. Scanlan hasn't talked about his mother, except that one conversation in a room smeared with old pudding, the one Grog sometimes remembers when he's trying to fall asleep and can't.

"Could she read?" Grog asks, despite himself—despite his anger—trying to do what Scanlan had both wanted them all to do, all that time, but also not let them do. It's not fair. But Grog learned early that life isn't fair at all. He paid that lesson in blood.

Scanlan shakes his head. "She never learned."

They both stay quiet for a little while, after that. Grog—big, clumsy, dumb Grog—is afraid to say the wrong thing. Pissed as he still is at Scanlan, he doesn't want him to go away again. Maybe that means the anger's wearing off.

"I want to ask you something," he says instead, eventually.

It's funny, and also not really funny—not at all—the little flicker Scanlan gets in his eyeballs when Grog says that. It's funny because it's the look just-about-dead-people get sometimes, when Grog's bearing down on them. It's not funny because Scanlan is better at lying than that, so is this a lie, too? Trying to practice writing has already given Grog a headache. This is just driving the nail deeper, trying to look all smart at Scanlan's words and actions like he might see the truth in there, under there, somewhere.

"Okay," Scanlan says, drawing out the os.

"Are you going to tell me the truth?" Just to check.

He puffs up a little. Angry, ashamed? Both? "I swear I will."

Grog twitches the parchment open again. It's just one line, every day. Pike says to go slow. He puts the salt lick rock down on one corner and turns the whole thing, slowly, toward Scanlan. After a bit of squinting, he finds the part he's looking for and jabs a finger at the word.

"Is this how you spell your name?"

Scanlan slumps a little, more of his fine clothes getting all full of sand. "Fucking hell, Grog."

"What?" Grog starts to regret this attempt at friendliness. "Is it wrong?"

"No, you just scared the piss out of me. I forgot how intimidating you are."

Grog sits up a little straighter, pleased by this. "Thanks."

Scanlan exhales loudly—a sound of relief—and looks at where Grog's pointing. "It's pretty close. S-c-a-n-l-a-n, not S-c-a-n-l-e-n. You didn't ask Pike?"

"She's mad at you," Grog says, telling it straight. "I didn't want to bring it up."

"You're mad at me, too. You practically dug a hole through the parchment on my name. Scanlan came back today," he reads aloud.

"I'm supposed to write a sentence," Grog explains. "Every day. I almost didn't, that day."

Scanlan's not the same since he came back. He used to never stop smiling. After everything that happened, after all the dragons were dead, Grog understands that that, too, was a lie. But without the constant smile, Scanlan looks much older, more serious. Kind of sad and faraway. It's a look Grog sees more on Percy and Vax. He gets it, right, because Grog gets sad and messed up sometimes, too. Everybody has to. He just misses Scanlan. He doesn't have to have him all the time. Scanlan has Kaylie now. Things have changed a little. But just sometimes, it'd be good to have his buddy back.

"Well, I'm glad you did," Scanlan says. "I would've hated to mess up your streak. That's a lot of sentences."

Grog takes the quill, which miraculously still hasn't broken, and draws over the e in Scanlan's name to make it an a. "There's a lot more, in the bag of holding. I still can't really count that high, so I don't know how many."

"That's great, Grog."

When Grog looks up from correcting the spelling, Scanlan's smiling. It's not the face-splitting grin of a year ago, but it looks…real. For the first time, this entire conversation, Grog believes that it's not a lie.

"Thanks," he says, kind of awkwardly, and to cover emotions he's uncomfortable with, he rushes on, "I'm trying to finish the sentence for today, but I can't think of the right word. I was going to say people?"

Scanlan reads along the last line. "We killed some…right, they didn't really seem like people, did they? More like assholes."

"Assholes," Grog repeats. "Yeah. That's better." He bends back over the parchment. "A," he mutters, half-forgetting Scanlan's there. "s, s, h, o…"

He finishes the sentence, waves the parchment to dry the ink, and folds it up to tuck it back in the bag of holding.

"Hey," Scanlan says, "you hungry? Want to get a drink?"

Grog considers the hopeful look on Scanlan's face.

"Look," he says, "I don't really like that…green leafy crap you eat now, you know? I've got some jerky in the bag of holding," he adds, "if you want any. And ale."

Scanlan leans toward him. "I was kind of fucking with everyone. You can order whatever food you want. You don't have to eat the salad." He sighs, a little pinched around the eyes. "I know, I know. I lied. It's a force of habit."

Grog doesn't know what that means, exactly, but he barks a laugh, so sudden that Scanlan jumps, and says, "That's funny."

Scanlan's eyebrows quirk up. "Really?"

"Yeah, like, that's a funny lie, right? Especially now that you're telling me. Because the others are just going to keep eating leaves." Grog laughs again. Scanlan cracks a tentative smile. "So they'll bring meat? Not chicken," he adds hastily. "Because the cooks at Whitestone made this great thing, it's like a bowl of meat, like cow and pig and all that, and I've got kind of a hankering for it."

Scanlan gets up, brushing the sand off his clothes. "I'm sure the servants can make something like that. And, true to my word, I will have the salad." He winces a little.

Grog gets up, too, and nudges Scanlan with his boot. "Hey, you can have a bite when the servants aren't looking. I won't tell Kaylie."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Scanlan grins, a wide smile from ages past, reminiscent of a long night at the bar, when the rest of Vox Machina have dropped off around them but they're nursing the dregs of their ale, trying to draw the night out to last forever. Grog remembers.

"Well then," Scanlan says. "Let's see what trouble we can get into."

[tessatechaitea]

Team Titans #13

I'm not saying there should be a version of Let's Make a Deal where awful things happen to people who choose the wrong curtain but I am saying I'd lie to people's faces when I told them I absolutely do not watch it.

I just lost the ability to orgasm.

It's too bad I can't orgasm now that I saw Deathwing's nipples and tongue because the next few panels are of Mirage bending over in her underwear! Sure, she's traumatized and puking from the time Deathwing raped her. But she's in her underwear! If artists didn't want me to masturbate to hot characters in their underwear, they shouldn't draw them so sexy! They should make them obviously horrified and in pain and anguish which probably means concentrating on their face instead of their asses and pudenda. Like the way they drew Deathwing in the above panel. Nobody is going to masturbate over that! Unless they're a gay male into really flamboyant men just barely exposing their rock hard nipples and hiding in showers. They also need to love sharp spikes just over the mouth giving them a thoroughly satisfying blowjob. Just because I was turned off by Deathwing's appearance doesn't mean I can't recognize his blowjob expertise. Donna is concerned that Mirage needs to see a doctor and maybe a therapist because of her traumatic experience. But Battalion, being a rational male who knows the inherent manipulation within all social justice story arcs in super hero comic books is...well wait a second. Isn't social justice the point of all the story arcs?! What the fuck is the point that comicsgaters are trying to get across? "We just want to see people punching each other in tight costumes! I don't want any of that shit where the heroes are trying to make the world a better place! Just stop the robberies and leave the racism and sexism for your feminist romance novels!" scream the comicsgater strawman character I just invented (whom I'm certain isn't actually a strawman at all and pretty close to the mark). Um, anyway, Battalion's reaction comes off a bit cold and patriarchal.

Here's a small hint about the word patriarchal for the anti-feminists: it's not the same as saying men. The majority of mothers in the 70s would probably have had the same reaction as Battalion to their child being sexually assaulted. "Oh dear. It's just boys being boys. Run some water over it and have some ice cream. You'll feel better in a few hours."

Donna, being a social justice Titan, can't let Battalion have the last word. She's all, "She needs to see a doctor! And probably a therapist! And get an AIDS test!" And just like that, it's an after-school special on HIV!

This was in 1993. Is this what Comicsgaters mean when they want to go back to old school comic books? Because if that's their argument, I don't think they have an argument! Although if their argument is that this kind of thing ruins the comic book, they obviously haven't read the rest of the comic book. This might be the best bit!

So the conversation about whether or not Mirage should see a doctor and a therapist after being sexually assaulted ends with Battalion declaring he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. Why isn't this guy the poster child for the Comicsgate movement? Ugh! Enough about those creeps. I'll save really discussing them when I reread Cerebus! If you want to see what happens when a guy believes feminism means completely overthrowing the patriarchy and establishing a matriarchy and what he thinks that would look like, you'll love Cerebus! I love a lot about Cerebus but Dave Sim doesn't come across as logical as he believes he is. It seems a large part of his anti-feminist philosophy stems from the fact that he doesn't believe relationships benefit anybody and since he's a cis-hetero man, that means the problem is women. He claims he's not a misogynist but then acts offended (or whatever the "rational" expression of "offended" is (because he's not emotional!)) when somebody calls him one after his conclusion from research on Mothers and Daughters is that women are dull and uninteresting if he doesn't want to fuck them. I mean, a lot of men are dull and uninteresting too but he doesn't see that as a problem because he never wants to fuck men. If a man is interesting and he enjoys being around that man, the man becomes a friend. If it were a woman, that woman would become somebody he wants to fuck. I'm not sure what his thoughts on a woman who he isn't attracted to that's interesting. Maybe he never finds out because he's all, "Ugh! I don't want to fuck that! She sucks!" Also Dave has been celibate for like twenty years or something so, at the very least, he's putting his dick where his mouth is. Oh man that sounded hot. Calendar Man and Clock King break out Chronos to join their catering business. If they wind up just being criminals, I'm going to be severely disappointed. They could really start a fantastic business by combining their powers. Stiff competition? Just go back in time and start your business earlier! Need to provide products by a certain time? Who better than these jerks?! Need additional resources? Travel to the future and borrow against your future earnings! They could be such a success! But I have a feeling they're just going to rob a bank. And then the SJW hits just keep coming! Fucking Team Titans! I'm trying to avoid noticing social justice concerns in comic books the Comicsgaters hold up as the pinnacle of the genre!

"Look! A confederate flag! That just means we'll have lots of southern things to discuss!" says Charlie who is in for a racist shock about what the flag really means, at least in our timeline.

Dressed as women, the Time Buddies pick up Time Commander from an insane asylum.

Aha! This is more like it! Back to the days before male nurses existed!

Later that night, Donna Troy and Terry Long fuck and I finally think, "Writer Jeff Jensen, you've gone too far!" And Jeff Jensen replies (I imagine), "Too far? Wait until you hear Terry's thoughts on the sex!"

I hope the "Mmmmm!" is because of something he found in the fridge and not a memory of what Donna did to his dick.

Team Titans #13 Rating: A few other things happened but does it really matter? I can't actually retain anything else after Terry Long thinking about how wild his sex life is. I know I'm not speaking for anybody else and that this might be a little insensitive but the above panel is more traumatic to me than Mirage being sexually assaulted by Deathwing. I'm not saying it should be more traumatic for everybody! I'm just saying it was for me and nobody can deny me my pain and suffering! On the other hand, it's canon that Calendar Man enjoys wearing bras. So this was a pretty historic issue of DC Comics.