#in some twisted fashion I think they are sick enough

[wafflesetc]

It’s 04:35 in Amsterdam and I’m way jet lagged but the rage is real tonight. I don’t get how every other character got such a more realistic and realistic exit in the OC universe except for Jay.

[oceansblvds]

closer ; coriolanus snow

pairing ; coriolanus snow x reader

words ; 3.4k

about ; you and coriolanus have never exactly gotten along, and all of that boils over at a party you're hosting. based off of this request.

warning(s) ; smut, fingering, p in v sex, not edited, mentions of choking someone out (lol)

authors note ; please feel free to request fics or headcanons or blurbs! i hope u enjoy :) kinda got carried away with this one.

Coriolanus was, for lack of a better word, obsessive. 

He was obsessive in the things that he did, the people he saw, the way he dressed, he was obsessive to the point that anyone who had even a glance as to what he was thinking would think that he was insane. It was no way to live, but the spiny, tingly feeling that rose up his spine when he felt the obsession for yet another thing growing was enough to keep him tethered in his ways. He’s a reserved, meticulous man who never let himself be seen as anything other than such, no one had ever seen him make one mistake, not since he was a young child. He was erratic, cold and calculated all at the same time. He didn’t like when things didn’t go his way, and he certainly didn’t like when he felt that someone was trying to best him. 

And that’s what you seemed to do, try to best him. All the time, you would walk into a room and all eyes would turn to you instead of him. You always had a way with your words, speaking to the hearts of people and reminding them that you were the Academy’s darling. It made him sick to his stomach, the knot twisting into a more convoluted mess within his gut until he wanted to throw up what little he had to eat that day. He had never felt this way about someone before, whatever it was, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. With you, he felt as if he had no control. With you, people didn’t fall under his spell. 

The party bustled all around, the lavish hall that it was situated in being filled with the noises of mentors and peers alike, all in celebration for the next Hunger Games. It was at your house, which pained Coriolanus, but made sense. You were always looking to help out, and it seemed to be the perfect opportunity for the Dean to ask if you and your family would host this gathering. You considered it done the moment it was asked of you, all you had to do was ask your parents for the money and for the time and you organized the whole thing. It was going perfectly. Many people came up to you, chiding about how wonderful the party was, how they hoped that they would get some of the appetizing leftovers from the snack table. You gave smiles, your laughter filling up the space that Coriolanus could hear, wanting nothing more than to smack you silly, to prove that you were not better than him. 

It was stupid, really, considering you had done nothing to prove that you were trying to humiliate him. It was all twisted in his mind. And he was determined to make things right, whatever that meant. 

He made his way to you, dressed in a pressed white dress shirt and black slacks, accenting his long legs, his usually curled hair pressed back only a bit in a styled fashion. He was handsome, there was no denying it. Your eyes met his blue ones, almost being enveloped in the sea of them as he made his way further. 

“Well then, if it isn’t the Academy’s darling,” Coriolanus said, his tone nothing but authoritative, as if he was trying to make you feel uncomfortable. You were used to his slight jabs, the way that he always seemed to want to push your buttons. You paid it no mind, not letting him have the satisfaction. “How much of daddy’s money did you have to spend to pull this off?” 

You rolled your eyes, pearled white teeth biting your tongue as you chose your words carefully. “Coriolanus, do tell me, is it your mission in life to be a thorn in my side?” A playful jab, something that you could easily spin out as being a tease if the wrong person was to hear. After all, you wouldn’t want your reputation to tank over one encounter. That was the thing about the Academy, always somewhere there was someone watching, listening. You were never alone. 

Thorns. They reminded him of his Grandma’am’s roses, how the things would get caught in your skin if you weren’t careful enough. There had been many times where he had cut himself on the barbs, the tip digging into the thin layer of his hand and drawing blood when he had gone to cut one for his outfit. He thought to himself how he wanted to be a thorn in your side, how he wanted to poke and prod at you until he drew blood, to see your perfect image falter under his touch. He chuckled at your words, the crease lines of his smile oh so evident as you looked at his stupid, perfect face. He leaned in, the smell of roses enveloping the two of you, his face almost disastrously close to your own. 

“Do you want me to be?” 

You scoffed. “Being crass now?” 

Of course, of course you dealt your hand in the same way that you always did. He would put himself out there, trying to get a rouse out of you, and you wouldn’t bite at the bait. You would simply leave him there, to play with himself, and it was so infuriating. For once, just once, he wished that he would see that perfectness in your stature falter. He wanted to see you ruined, whether or not he was the person to do it. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that he had to be the one to ruin you. You were his, whether you knew it or not. 

You walked away from him, spinning on your perfect heels and making your way to a door, opening it and closing. It was the bathroom, one of many in your house but the one that was most accessible to the party. You needed a moment alone, to freshen up, to get Coriolanus out of your mind. This was your party, he wasn’t just going to ruin it like this by using all of his stupid words. Your hand went to your forehead, pushing some of the strands that had fallen from your perfectly styled hair back to their place, leaning in and scanning your face in the mirror for any other mistakes on your clear skin. Just as you were about to turn and make your way out, you watched as the door opened and closed just as quickly, Coriolanus standing there with his back to the door. You heard the familiar click of the lock, and the way that he looked at you made you shiver. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked him, moving to grab the handle but was quickly swatted away by his hand. You looked up at him, the height difference palpable, despite the heels you had on. He was so much bigger than you, he could easily overpower any move that you tried to make. “Let me through, Snow, this isn’t funny.” 

“No.” 

Your eyes squinted. “No?” 

“You know, for someone who spends hours in front of the mirror, you’re not fooling anyone,” Coriolanus said. He took a step forward, which didn’t really make such a difference in the long run. This was a big bathroom, if you really wanted you could've had a party in here with a sizable guest list. Still, you took a step backwards, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you. 

“What’s your problem, Coriolanus?” 

“You’re my problem,” He breathed out. “Always pretending to be so damn perfect.” 

You laughed. “Well, not everyone can embrace mediocrity as effortlessly as you do.” A low blow, something you knew would get under his skin and rile him up. And it seemed to do just that, because you could see his jaw clench, perfect facade that he had seemed to falter. You had caught him off guard, he hadn’t expected you to bite back with such a fiery attitude. But maybe you had just had enough of all his button pushing, of all his mindless teasing and hating on you for what seemed like no reason. You wanted to make him uncomfortable, make him know how much you loathed him. So you continued, “Jealous much? Can’t handle the fact that I outshine you without even trying?” 

Coriolanus was walking towards you before you even had a chance to move out of the way, his large body caging you in between himself and the marble counter. His hand went to your jaw, the contact of his fingertip on your skin making you heat up, a small fire burning in your chest. His grip was so hard that you were sure that it would leave a bruise. Your eyes widened, pupils blown out from the contact. You hadn’t expected for him to do this, you hated how much you liked it. How you wondered if he was this rough when he was doing other things. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly liking the way that your doe eyes widened and looked at him, like you were a deer caught in the headlights. But his mouth opened, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Which was, for the record, very true. You didn’t know anything about Coriolanus Snow because he seemed so keen on keeping things a secret. You didn’t know about his home life, the only thing you knew about him was what he was showing to you now, that he had a dark side that was starting to leak out of the cracks of his perfected persona. You gave a smile, a vile, venomous one that was meant to catch him off guard. “Yeah? So tell me, Coriolanus Snow, what don’t I know? Please, enlighten me.” 

He wished that you would just shut the fuck up. He wanted to put his hand around your throat and choke you until you lost consciousness, so that he could feel like he would be rid of all the sickening thoughts about you for just one moment. He thought about leaving right now, leaving while he still had some dignity left. But Coriolanus was not one to back down from a challenge, and he certainly wasn’t one to lose the upper hand. He was in control, he had to keep his control. There was no way in hell that he would let you think differently. 

The way he kissed you was bruising, like he was trying to make a mark on you forever. His teeth grazed against your lips, biting and nipping enough to almost draw blood. Coriolanus was all consuming, His one hand staying on your jaw while the other one came to wrap around your throat, disregarding his earlier thoughts and instead only squeezing a little bit, pulling you closer to him. His hips pushed into your own, you could feel his bulge through his trousers, a smirk fell on your face before he was quick to wipe it off by pushing you so much into the counter that you jumped on top of it, opening your legs and allowing him to slot in between them. 

Your hands came and wrapped in his hair, pulling on the locks of goldenness that you had only fantasized before in your dreams. They were soft, just like you imagined, and the way that you pulled on them had him groaning into your mouth, his lips leaving yours to kiss harshly against your jawline, down your neck, and onto the part of your collarbone that was exposed from your dress shirt. Teeth pressing against the soft skin that connected your jaw to your neck. You sighed out, hands moving down to his torso and surrendering into his touch as if saying do anything to me, anything you’d like.

And he did, because the second he heard that sigh come from your pretty pink lips he was determined to explore every part that he could of your body. He paid extra attention to your neck, sucking just under your chin, earning a soft moan on your part at the feeling. Your hips pressed against his and each of you breathed out, liking that feeling more than anything in the world. You hated how pliant you were in his hands, something you never thought would happen in a million years with Coriolanus Snow. And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, instead pulling his head closer to your body and allowing for one of his hands to slip under your dress shirt, palm pressing against your left breast. He liked you like this, so perfectly obedient and compliant. He was going to enjoy ruining you. 

His hands pushed your pants down along with your panties, leaving you completely bare in front of him. You felt insecure, instinctually closing your legs away from him. He tutted, shaking his head and taking both of his hands to spread your legs open in front of him. He stood there looking at the curve of your hips and the apex of your thighs, eyes landing on your wet center. you looked down at him while he did nothing, only staring at you. You were completely vulnerable, insides screaming for him to just touch you. He seemed to want to take his time, from the way that his hand came and rested on the inside of your thigh while his eyes looked at your face gauging for a reaction. 

“What do you want, an instruction book?” You asked him, the brattiness and defiance in your tone that should’ve made him angry instead made him chuckle. His hand continued to reach further until his thumb pressed against your clit, making you groan at the feeling, your legs wrapping around his clothed waist. He was still completely clothed while you were completely pantsless. The bastard. He slid a singular finger into you, knowing that it would be enough to satisfy you for now, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Coriola-” 

A knock on the door made you both stop what you were doing. A voice was heard on the other end, it was your friend, wondering if you were okay since you had been in there for a while. “Y-yes! It’s fine,” You lied. “I’m just not feeling very well, I’ll be out soon!” You heard footsteps receding, and you turned your attention back to Coriolanus, who was looking down at you with a smirk. His finger was still buried in you, your pussy squeezing around his finger, wishing that he would move it. He seemed to understand what you wanted, his finger beginning to pump in and out, his thumb still pressed against your clit. The feeling was searing, something you weren’t even sure could just be described by words. 

His finger curled up in a come here motion and you almost screamed, biting your lip so that you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he had such an effect over you. He could see through your bullshit quite clearly, pushing another two fingers into you and not moving. Coriolanus had three fingers in you that he wasn’t moving, watching you squirm against his hand to create some kind of pleasure. but with his other hand he held your hips down, keeping you from moving at all. 

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

“For fucks sake, Coriolanus,” you said, eyes opening to look at him. 

His chest pressed against your own as he leaned in, “Beg. or I’ll leave you to finger fuck yourself.”

For a moment you thought that you weren’t going to do it, mostly because of your pride and ego. the pleasure that awaited you took over though and you opened your mouth to say, “please, Coriolanus. Fuck me with your fingers. Stretch me out. I need you.” your cheeks burned in embarrassment at your words, knowing that he would never let you live that down. 

“Good girl.”

He spared not a moment more, fingers setting at an unbelievably fast pace as they pumped in and out of you. His thumb massaged figure eights on your clit and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. Your head arched back, feeling him hit your g spot every single time his fingers fucked into you. Soon enough you were cumming, opening your eyes and seeing blurry vision. He kept pumping his fingers, mouth finding home on your neck to give you more marks, perfect petals like a perfect rose. You didn’t know how you were going to be able to hide all of them.

You took a minute to catch your breath and for that moment he wasn’t touching you at all made you miss his touch more than you were willing to admit. You heard the sound of pants unzipping and soon enough Coriolanus was in between your legs, this time his cock in his hands as he pumped lazily. He was big, you thought to yourself. Of course he was, considering all he had done with you so far, he was just preparing for you to be almost speared open by his cock. Incoherent words spilled from your lips, all different forms of begging for him to just push it in, and he finally gave you the satisfaction, the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance. Coriolanus pushed all the way in, inch by agonizingly slow inch, his own eyes falling shut at the feeling of your warmth around him. 

Once he bottomed out, he pulled out, pushing back in. You hissed at the feeling, not all the way used to the feeling of him stretching you out but loving it anyways. He buried himself into you like he owned you and you loved it. His hands came to your hips and thrusted in and out with such force that your whole body moved with every single rut into you. He shed no mercy, hitting that one spot every single time mercilessly. 

Your hands fumbled to touch him, anywhere you possibly could. Eventually you made your way to his back, fingernails digging into his skin enough to probably draw blood from underneath the white button up that he was wearing. You scratched up and down, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your breasts bounced up and down with every thrust from underneath your shirt, your mouth opened slack. The heat in the room was almost unbearable, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He grabbed your thigh and hoisted it up, moaning at the new angle that he hit within you. Your eyes teared up with the pleasure that coursed through you, once again about to hit that brink once again. You were already pretty sensitive from the previous orgasm. His name sounded so pornographic coming from you that he tried his best to remember how it sounded. It was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. You looked so fucking good taking him like this. He felt as if he had everything he ever wanted in the palm of his hands. And he was making you feel good, better than anyone ever had before. 

This drove his pride, thrusting animal like into you to take you to that peak again. He wanted to make you cum again. And you did, after about three thrusts from him, each one pulling out all the way and pushing in with force. his hand slipped down to rub your clit in figure eights and you came with a yell of his name into his shoulder, biting down on the fabric to try and muffle some of it so that passersby wouldn’t hear what was going on inside the bathroom. Not even two thrusts after, he was cumming, a low groan eliciting from his lips while his body stalled slightly on top of you. Each of your skins were drenched with sweat that you two almost stuck to each other. He pulled your face to meet his own and gave you a quick peck, and continued this all the way down your neck then stopping to bury his face into the crook of your neck, composing himself. 

He didn’t pull out, not right away, thinking that he had gotten all that he wanted. 

And there was no way that he could let you go now. 

taglist ;

@obaewankenobis ; @slyhersophia ; @narcissistic-siren ; lmk if you want to be added.

[unicyclehippo]

ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

Mm

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

[corruptedcaps]

Fake Week

“What kind of sicko are you Kane? I will not wear this… this butt plug. Its bad enough I have to pretend to be your girlfriend for a month so you’ll stop bullying Kevin but I’m not going indulge you in this sick game and wear some lewd sex toy of yours. I don’t care if this is what all your exes did! You’ll knock it down to just a week if I do? Alright fine but I’m cleaning it first. Maybe cleaning it more than once.”

“Are you happy now Kane? No you don’t get to check it! No wonder you’re single, you’re such a creep! Oh sure you wanted to see it was fitting fine and not hurting me? Yeah right how stupid do you think I am? And besides it fits perfectly, like really perfect actually. I uh got to go.”

“Yeah so what if I’m putting on makeup? I figured if I’m going to sell being your girlfriend I should probably start looking like those vapid bitches you are used to dating. Plus this is so easy, don’t know why I didn’t try it before. It’s just an act, you’re still a creep and once today is done I’ll be one day closer to not having to pretend to be your girlfriend!”

“It’s called yoga Kane. All you exes are flexible, athletic bitches so I thought I might as well act like I care about this stuff. I have to say though I’ve seen such a crazy improvement in just a few hours. It’s like magic! I can stretch and twist like never before and I’ve seen improvements in other areas too. Areas I see you’re checking out you cheeky bastard. I guess it is a pretty amazing ass now so I’ll allow it but don’t get any ideas, I’m just your fake girlfriend for 5 more days.”

“I never noticed how long my hair had gotten lately, it was getting in my face all the time during yoga so I decided to put it into a high ponytail, you know like one of your exes, and it’s so freeing. I used to think it was so bitchy looking but now honestly I think it’s sexy like this don’t you think? Of course you agree, I can see that bulge in your pants ‘babe’. Hmmm it’s kind of hawt seeing someone other that Kevin be turned on by me. Even with him it’s so few and far between lately. Maybe in four days when I’m back to being his girlfriend he’ll like this new hairstyle.”

“Ugh why are my so called friends so annoying today? They were complaining that I was saying mean things about Margo. All I said was if she wanted to ever get a guy she should maybe lay off the ice cream once and awhile. It’s not my fault the fatty started to cry. She should thank me for being honest with her. I should be more honest with the lot of them and kick them to the curb but they’re the only friends I’ve got. You’ve heard Amber and Mercedes want to be friends with me? The two biggest bully’s in school, but they are pretty cool and fashionable unlike these other dweebs. Maybe I’ll give them a text, thanks for the encouragement…. babe.”

“You were right about Amber and Mercedes. We texted all day yesterday and met up at the mall and went shopping. They convinced me to throw out all my lame clothes and buy a totally new look. It’s mostly pink and tight and sexy as hell. They also convinced me about something else. About you. I’ve been such a brat to you these past few days and you’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me. It’s time you got some sort of reward for your troubles. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t going to be a reward for me too. Just stand there looking handsome as hell and I’ll do the rest.”

“Hey baby, last night was mmmm really hawt but don’t tell anyone ok? I don’t want Kevin to know that I cheated on him last night… or this morning… or in your car later today. I can’t help it if you can’t keep your hands off me. I mean who can blame you? Plus you are MY boyfriend for two more days. Of course I told Amber and Mercedes though, they’re my besties, I had to tell them. Plus they were so impressed by what a bitchy thing my cheating was that they made me their new leader. Wasn’t your ex their old leader? Well I’m going to being even badder and bitchier than she was. Mmm that’s making me so horny. Fuck it let’s go to your car now.”

“Last day of our ‘relationship’. It’s only right that we get all the fucking in that we can. Glad to see your stamina is up to the task. Kevin wouldn’t last a fraction that you are capable of. What a fucking loser, can’t believe I have to go back to him tomorrow. Why am I doing this again? To stop you bullying him? He deserves to be bullied and you’re soooo hawt doing it. I never admitted since putting in the butt plug I’ve been touching myself at night thinking about you wailing on him. You’re so much more of a man than he ever will be. You know what? Fuck him. I deserve a strong, mean, and hot as hell boyfriend and you deserve a bitchy queen bee of a girlfriend. Kevin deserves to be the victim. Forgot our deal, I’m yours for good now and Kevin is all yours.”

“Oh the jacket? It belongs to my boyfriend, Kane. You know, your bully? Me date you? As if loser, I’ve always been Kane’s girl and always will. It’s like I was made for him. You’re just some simping creep who’s wanted in my panties for years. Everyone knows it, because my beta besties Amber and Mercedes are telling them right now. Those two can spread news like wildfires. You’ll be a pariah by the end of the day. Kane will be cheered on for bullying you. Mmmm speaking of which here he comes. Don’t forget to cry, it makes me so wet when you do.”

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 29

PREVIOUS

“Neil, why do you have Smith’s phone?” Andrew asks as the two of them are setting out plates for lunch. Neil startled and looked down at the phone that he had just sat at the table and furrowed his brow.

“What do you mean? This is mine?” Neil asks. He knows his phone even if he’s not really the best with them.

The one that Andrew had given him his Freshman year had died after it got run over by the Maserati when Neil left it on the roof of the car by accident. The second one Andrew had gotten him had been destroyed in rather spectacular fashion earlier in the year when he’d had a bit of a freak out on January 19th. The team knew better than to text him on that particular day now but Andrew had said that he’d take custody of his phone this year. Wymack had stepped in with a phone that same day before Andrew could buy him a new one and that phone had been launched at the Baseball captain that summer.

All this to say, Neil is now looking at the phone in concern because it is highly likely he swapped his with FF’s.

“No it’s not.” Andrew sighs and points to a corner, “You cracked yours up here.” He opens the phone and then the contacts and sure enough Neil doesn’t see his own contacts but the ones that Nicky had programmed into FF’s the day before.

“Oh, I guess I switched them at the hospital.” He says with an embarrassed blush. Maybe he should get a little accessory to differentiate his phone from the other ones that Wymack has gotten.

There’s a slight commotion in the kitchen, “Kevin, stop trying to add vanilla protein powder to Smithy’s soup!” Nicky shouts.

“He needs protein to heal properly! That nutritionist might just feed him a loaf of bread since he is using an outdated model!” Kevin argues back.

“Kevin the doctor said clear soup also do you want to make Smiths sick? Vanilla protein powder and chicken broth?” Aaron asks disgust evident.

“I’d use unflavored but this is all that’s in the house and I am not going shopping until this weekend is over.” Kevin argues back.

“Smiths went out shopping on Black Friday and came back unscathed. He even went out into the worst of it just to get some groceries for baking and breakfast.” Aaron says with a huff.

“He still got stabbed!” Kevin returns.

“Kevin, he was definitely not grocery shopping when he got stabbed.” Nicky shoots back.

“He needs-“

“Przywiążę cię do krzesła.” Neil hears Smith’s Grandma cut Kevin off. Her tone is so sweet just like it has been the last couple times she has interrupted an argument between them all. She really has warmed up to them since Andrew confessed.

Nicky lets out a loud bark of laughter.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, cutting onions make me laugh.” Nicky returns quickly.

Kevin walks out of the Kitchen with the same gooey expression he’s gotten every time Smith’s Grandma has said something sweet to him but considering how often and how hard Nicky laughs at what she says he wonders if she’s just sassing him in a sweet tone.

He really needs to pick up a phrase book.

He might like her even more if his theory is correct.

“It shouldn’t be a big problem.” Neil says but he is a bit more careful as he moves FF’s phone away from where it could get damaged. “Smith is definitely asleep. He looked really tired.” Neil says and it twists his own stomach to think about how FF looked in his hospital bed. FF wouldn’t take anything more than the bare minimum when it came to pain medication.

Each “I’m fine.” He gave had him coming to a deeper and deeper understanding of how frustrating it is to have someone who is CLEARLY not fine say they are.

“I’m more concerned about who might text you.” Andrew says.

Neil shrugs, “Ichirou is more the type to just show up.” Because it’s true. Every time he’s met Ichirou there had been very little warning.

Andrew frowns but then Nicky is coming out with lunch. It was nothing fancy but a home cooked meal always made Neil feel warm. Smith’s grandma had just been using what was in their pantry so far but the two other meals (and her pie) had been amazing.

“Lunch is ready. We’ll head back to the hospital afterwards to see when Smithy can get discharged.” Nicky says putting a large bowl of pasta in the center of the table. Aaron came out a moment later with the Parmesan shaker and the protein powder bottle.

“Here you go Kevin, add as much as you want to your own meal.” Aaron says in a sweet tone just like Smith’s Grandma.

“Eat shit Aaron.” Kevin scowls now knocked out of his gooey expression as fills his plate with pasta and reaches for the Parmesan.

Neil can’t help but let out a puff of laughter at the interaction and lets the worry of being away from his phone slide away. FF was sleeping, he was safe, and Ichirou had not expressed any interest in talking to him.

“Pass that to me when you’re done.” Neil asks pointing at the Parmesan as he fills his and Andrew’s plates.

***

There had been a plan.

Nathaniel Wesninski was supposed to be at this hospital at least according to his cell phone location. His future investment was not the best at keeping that device on him though so he was willing to wait when there were no signs of the Wesninski. There would, of course, be a cost for his patience. He had his men go seek out the uninvolved civilian. If Wesninski came back and found his friend threatened due to his lackadaisical nature with his phone perhaps he’d remember to keep it on him.

Except now that very uninvolved civilian is sitting in front of him. The ’Smith’ that Wesninski had spoken of.

He sees Wesninski’s phone sat on the table and his eyes go back to the young man in front of him. He wonders if this was some ploy by Wesninski, some statement. This young man in front of him took out one of the Butcher’s top men on his own.

He’d confirmed it when he’d gone to see Jackson earlier that day. He went to remind them what would happen if they tried to turn over anything to the Federal agents and to see how two of his biggest headaches had been taken out so suddenly.

Jackson talked about how Wesninski’s friend hadn’t seemed surprised to find him in the alley, had seemed like he had been expecting it and how swiftly he had been taken out. Wesninski’s guard dog had gone out afterwards and they’d lead Romero into a trap that resulted in his arrest and this civilian swearing up and down that Romero was the one that stabbed him even though Romero asserts that he never had a firm grip on the knife.

A great way to ensure he was held by the police while they were fully investigated. They wouldn’t have much time to investigate either of the Butcher’s remnants. Ichirou was only offering the choice between something painful or something easy.

The young man in front of him offered nothing, waiting for Ichirou to begin the talks. His expression clearly showing that he’d happily wait Ichirou out as if he was long used to tense silences. There is no doubt that this man in front of him knows exactly who he is but he still has the audacity to wait him out.

“Where is Wesninski?” He tightens his fist at having to ask first.

“That’s not Captain Neil’s last name anymore.” FF returns with the first hint of expression on his face being a frown.

The first piece of information given. So, loyal to Nathaniel and not to the Wesninski line. Loyal to Captain Neil.

“Captain Neil is getting lunch.” He answers, “I’m the only one here for you to talk to right now.” He adds after a moment putting his hands on the table.

Ichirou can understand what isn’t being said.

“Does, Josten, realize you’re here?” He asks taking care to use Wesninski’s new last name knowing he wouldn’t get his answers otherwise. He has a hard time imagining the man who was so loyal to his friends purposefully leaving this one to act as defense for him.

Wesninski had been very clear during his brief phone conversation with him, “Smith was just caught up in all of this. He’s not a threat to you Lord Moriyama.” He had said voice steady and without a hint of a lie.

“In the hospital? Of course.” He returns, “Down here talking to you? He’ll probably be upset.” he says after a moment.

“And yet, you’re here.” He says mirroring the man’s own relaxed posture.

Loyal but willing to do something that might displease the one he is loyal to if it would keep them safe. Ichirou stops himself from looking to his left where his most loyal man stood. Connor had stepped in front of threats he hadn’t seen coming plenty of times, had questioned him even when Ichirou had threatened to cut out his tongue for it, and had always had the courage to look Ichirou in the eye when he explained himself no matter how injured he was or how irate Ichirou was.

It’s something rare and it seems like it is something Wesninski has found unknowingly.

“Yes, I’m here to talk about Friday night.” He says, “I assume you’ve already spoken with Romero and Jackson.” He says moving the conversation away from Wesninski. Bringing Ichirou’s attention and possible ire to himself.

A truly rare find in his world.

“Yes, let’s talk about Friday night.” He agrees.

***

What was it about the Smith family and making great food?

It was just a simple combination of canned tomatoes, butter, pasta, onions, cheese, spices and garlic but it had Neil going for a third serving. Smith’s Grandma had really made enough to feed an army and when he’d commented Nicky had just reached over and tried to pinch his cheek fat only for his fingers to find little to grab onto, “You’re too thin! Eat more!” He exclaimed before repeating it to Smith’s Grandma in Polish who nodded earnestly.

Wymack was at the table after he took a shower. Kevin was still trying to convince Aaron of all people that he should be allowed to put protein powder into the clear soup that was simmering on the stove top for FF. The dietary restrictions someone faced while they were healing from stomach surgery was no joke.

The other Dealer had dropped despite Wymack and Neil’s best attempts to get Lisa to stay. Seemed determined to head back to her small town and rejoin the family cult she had escaped from. He’d been worried about her going home but she had insisted she’d be back.

It was unfortunate but it was also Lisa’s choice.

His stomach twists wondering if FF is going to go back to Washington with his Grandma when he gets released. There had barely been a whisper of danger from Neil’s past since Ichirou had put that bullet in Riko’s head and now one of his few friends that had been entirely uninvolved in that nightmare was in the hospital because of him.

Andrew elbows him.

Neil turns to look and Andrew is carefully putting a penne pasta on each prong of his fork, “I can hear you worrying.” He says in Russian.

“What if Smith leaves?” He responds back in the same language.

“He has the right to.” Andrew shrugs and shoves the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t want him to.” Neil admits, FF is a friend. A good friend.

“He still can leave even if you don’t want him to.” Andrew says as he proceeds to once again put a penne pasta on each of his fork’s prongs. “I don’t think he will though.” He adds before shoving his fork into his mouth again.

Neil blinks, “Why?” He asks.

FF isn’t like how Neil was his Freshman year, he’s steady and sure but Neil wouldn’t blame the Freshman if ‘possibly being killed off by remnants of my Captain’s crime family’ is a step too far for FF. Wouldn’t blame FF if he runs.

“He still calls you Captain Neil.” He says reaching over and squeezing Neil’s knee with his hand.

Neil blinks.

He thinks.

FF laid out on the concrete as Andrew worked to stem the blood from his stab wound, “It’s a weird sex alley Captain Neil! I don’t know WHAT to tell you!” He exclaims ready to make a joke even as he’s bleeding because of a situation Neil’s existence put him in.

FF still floating from the initial large amount of pain medication he was on pulling on Neil’s sleeve, “I’m glad you’re okay Captain Neil.” Before falling back into his drugged sleep.

FF’s eyes softening as Neil offered to get a nurse to give him more pain medication, “Really Captain Neil, I’m fine.” He says.

He lays his own hand over Andrew’s.

“I guess he does.” He offers a small tentative smile.

“Eat your pasta Junkie.” Andrew says in English now.

“You’re too thin!” Nicky reminds him and Smith’s Grandma must have picked up on the terminology since she nods earnestly in agreement as the two of them were packing up leftovers and the soup Smith’s Grandma had made for him so they could head back to the hospital to keep FF company.

***

“Why did you go out into the alley?” Ichirou asks.

“Isn’t it better that I was in the alley?” The man across from him asks with a raised brow, as if Ichirou was asking a strange question. “If I had stayed in the club, who knows what would have happened or how many people would have been hurt.” He explains without Ichirou needing to lower himself to asking.

There’s truth to that.

It’s been on the news that the remaining Wesninski inner-circle had been captured but since there’d only been one injury it had been largely overshadowed by news regarding the mass injury incidents surrounding Black Friday. If Romero had started had gotten the general public involved this would be much harder for him to silence the ones involved.

Still…

“This has caused me quite a bit of trouble. It does not look good that I am not the one who found them.” He says because there’d been talks from some of the old men he had yet to rid himself of from his Father’s time. They had wanted the remaining Wesninski men to be brought back into the fold but there was little chance of that happening now. Ichirou planned on disposing them after showing that they were worthless and using it as an excuse to start removing some of the dead weight from his father’s time.

Ichirou was not a man who tolerated incompetence.

“Isn’t it better that they were taken into custody like this?” The man across from him asks, “They were some of the Butcher’s best from what Captain Neil has told me. The fact that it only resulted in me going to the hospital and they were taken out by Andrew and I is one of the better outcomes.” He says.

Ichirou pauses and considers it.

The two men that those relics had wanted for their ‘competence’ and ‘ability’ had been taken out in a way that showcased what Ichirou had thought of them. They were sloppy, they were over-confident, and worst of all they were incompetent.

“Before I forget.” Smith says and his hand goes to the bulge in his jacket pocket.

Ichirou can feel Conner tense behind him and he wonders where this had gone wrong or how the conversation had broken down but he doesn’t have long to wonder about it as Smith pulled something out that was unmistakable as a toy with it’s bright yellow coloring. Smith sets it on the table between them and Ichirou cannot help the confusion that must show on his face despite his many years of training to keep his face blank.

“What is that?” Conner asks sounding utterly bewildered behind him.

“I used this to temporarily blind Jackson during our fight. I figure it would be useful evidence for you.” Smith says.

He hears a bark of laughter to his right as Michael reaches for the toy.

Useful evidence indeed.

It would be easy to show this as a sign that those relics could hardly be trusted to have an opinion in how he ran his empire. Those men they so prized taken out by a children’s toy.

This has gone to his benefit.

“So it would seem.” He finally says, “I will make sure to reward your assistance.” He says wanting a stronger hold over the man in front of him, a tie of some sort to the Moriyama family.

Smith shakes his head in the negative. “I didn’t do anything noteworthy. Whatever it is should go to Captain Neil.” He argues.

Rare find indeed.

“It will be done.” He says and figures with the additional cash flow eliminating the search for the Wesninski men, the removal of his father’s hanger-ons, and the blood he can squeeze from the family Romero and Jackson had intended to go to ( a supposedly allied family) he could more than afford to drop what his three Exy investments owed him as a percent.

His eyes shift over to Smith across from him and finds that he was even more willing to lower those percentages if he could not only drop the dead weight of his father’s empire but perhaps gain someone useful. “Still, I like to reward those who have directly benefitted me. We will take care of any and all hospital fees related to this incident.” He looks to his right and Michael nods.

Smith’s face doesn’t give much away, his pokerface was quite exceptional.

“Thank you." He accepts and says nothing else so Ichirou decides to make his offer.

“I have heard that you are studying languages.” He says.

“I am.” Smith says.

“Which ones do you know?” He asks.

Smith blinks, surprised by the question, “Fluently? French, German, Spanish, Polish, Dutch, Italian, R-“ he pauses and shakes his head, “Recently, I’ve been studying Japanese, Chinese, and some Korean.” He says strangely stumbling over a word for the first time this entire conversation.

A useful skill.

“If you ever find yourself looking for work,” Ichirou snaps his fingers and Conner had a card in his hand in an instant, consider reaching out.” He says before he offers it with both hands and is pleased when Smith accepts it with a slight bow before taking it with both hands. “I see you are also studying the etiquette.” He adds.

Smith looks up from the business card and he looks paler but Ichirou chalks it up to the fact that bowing slightly with his current stomach status likely hurt far more than he had let on. “If you don’t know the etiquette you only know half of the language.” He says and Ichirou quite likes the sentiment.

“Tell Josten that I no longer need to speak with him. Our conversation was satisfactory.” Ichirou says as he rises to his feet.

“I will do that…Lord Moriyama.” Smith says bowing his head politely.

***

The sight of Ichirou Moriyama was always going to be one that made Neil nervous.

The only good thing about seeing him right now was that Kevin had gone with Coach and Aaron in a separate car so that the two of them could continue their argument about protein powder in FF’s soup and Andrew had snagged a spot up front while Coach would have to park farther back.

“Lord Moriyama, I did not expect to see you here.” He greets head down and he almost goes to his knees if it wouldn’t have attracted the sort of attention that Ichirou hated from the public. He just hopes that Andrew isn’t scowling and that Nicky and Smith’s Grandma can keep quiet.

“Perhaps if you kept your phone with you then my appearance would not be such a surprise.” Ichirou comments idly, “Though I suppose I did have a very beneficial conversation with Smith. Quite a bright young man you have as a friend.” He compliments and Neil’s head shoots up in surprise at it.

Ichirou had spoken with FF.

FF who was fading in and out of consciousness.

“I have faith that he will not reveal anything.” Ichirou adds and Neil clenches his fist and wants desperately to ask what happened. Wants to know what state he’s going to find his friend in. “I have not done anything to harm him, you are lucky to have a…friend like that.” Ichirou says as if physical damage was the only thing that Ichirou Moriyama was capable of.

“Yes Lord Moriyama, he is a very talented and skilled defenseman.” He says hoping that if nothing else Ichirou’s desire for Neil and Kevin’s future profitability would have him reconsider doing anything in the future to FF to ensure they would have good showings for the professional teams.

“Yes, he was quite talented in your defense.” Ichirou nods, “I will reach out with details of our new deal once some affairs have settled. Take care of your friend, Josten.” Ichirou says before continuing out of the hospital.

New Deal?

Neil banished the thought from his head. They needed to get up to FF’s room and he needed to make sure his friend was okay and find out what exactly had happened.

Andrew’s hand came to the back of his neck and squeezed, “Calm down.” Andrew ordered voice soothingly blank even if Neil could feel the way his grip stuttered. “Let’s go.”

***

The Nurses were saying something about ‘aggravating stitches’ and ‘lucky nothing tore’ but it was all white noise to FF as he continues to think about the business card burning a hole in his pocket.

Ichirou Moriyama.

He’d just had an entire conversation with Ichirou Moriyama.

His stomach was already hurting from his ill advised walk but the moment he’d seen that name on the business card he had accepted his insides had been pure acid. He missed his Pepto Bismol more than anything right now, what he would give for just a single hit of the sweet pink relief.

He couldn’t figure out what was worse.

The fact that he had given over EVIDENCE to the head of a Yakuza group (was it a yakuza group or was it a mafia group?).

The fact that he’d been right in his thoughts from the abyss that the man in the cafeteria looked like a Yakuza member (was it a Yakuza or Mafia?).

The fact that he’d just seen a Japanese guy and thought ‘Oh, must be the Japanese FBI guy I’m supposed to talk to’ which means he’d still been kind of racist.

The fact that he just realized that he had Captain Neil’s phone and not his own meaning that Ichirou had been telling Captain Neil to come to the cafeteria and FF just showed up like a dipshit trying to pitch their lie about the alley.

Finally there was the fact that Ichirou Moriyama had apparently been impressed enough to offer him a spot within his Yakuza group (Yakuza or Mafia?)

Would it be weird to ask during the interview process? Is there an interview process to join organized crime? Do they have benefits? Wait a crime family is paying for his hospital stay right now. This is too much.

He considers asking the nurse to yes please crank up the pain killers and just let him slip into a nice not embarrassing coma but then Captain Neil and Andrew were rushing into his room. “Smith!” Captain Neil exclaims.

Well, too late to ask for that coma.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themundanemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupandfries​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​ @lesbian-blackbeard​ @lesbiansupernatural​ @silvermasquerade​ @thepeachfuzz​ @minniemariex​ @kazoo-the-demjin​ @gaypomegranate​ @ji-nk-ies​ @neilimfinejosten​ @omgrubelangel​ @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice​ @percabethotplove​ @cozyrosykay​ @foxyatlas​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @cindersapsecrets​ @scornedethnographer​ @hugemotherfuckingnerd​ @givemethedamnflowers​

The  requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few  different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I  promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be  something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

If you didn’t get notified on the last part it’s probably because I used tumblr mobile to post and our most beloved garbage fire site just didn’t like that.

Polish in this chapter:

Przywiążę cię do krzesła = I will tie you to a chair

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Sharing A Bed (Jamie Tartt x Reader)

  I arrive home from work expecting to curl up into bed and read a new adult romance book when I feel an unexpected chill in the apartment. Oh no. It’s winter. This shouldn’t be happening. Is there a power outage? I flicker the lights on and off. They still work. Fuck. Is this like, a building-wide thing? There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to ask my closest neighbor. Ughhhh, fuck. There goes my relaxing night.

         When Jamie answers the door, he’s wearing a comfortable gray sweatshirt and doesn’t look at all distressed. “What? You didn’t have enough to yell at me about today?”

         “My heater isn’t working…and I’m guessing yours is fine.”

         “Yeah, mine works.” He looks at me smugly. “Do you want to hang out at my place until they come to repair yours?”

         I think it over. I could easily stay at a hotel, but my stuff is right next door, and I’m too lazy to pack.

         “Unless, of course, you’re scared to hang out with me.” His brow raises challengingly.

         I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Why would I be scared of you? You’re just annoying and a raging dickhead.”

         “Takes one to know one. Look, I’ll keep my door open. Just get what you need and spend the night here until your place gets fixed.”

         Why is he doing this? What is his angle? My laziness and curiosity win out. I let out a sigh. “You’re lucky my son has a sleepover tonight.”

         “Great, now so will you,” he says fake cheerfully. “This is probably the highlight of your social life here.”

         He’s such a dick. “I’m getting my stuff,” I say. Fuck you, I say internally a million times.

                                                        ~

         Nobody can fix my apartment until tomorrow morning. Guess I really am spending the night at the enemy’s flat. Maybe I should look into getting a hotel. Especially since Jamie shows no indication of leaving me alone. “I used to talk to a lingerie model and she left a couple sets here. If you put one on, I wouldn’t complain.”

         It’s just like him to objectify me like that. “I bet you wouldn’t,” I say. Though there’s a very, very small part of me that wonders if he’s not joking. If he thinks I could actually pull those off. And of course he’s been with lingerie models.  “I’m going to bed, because I’m sick of talking to you. Hope you don’t mind.”

         “Yeah, about that. There’s only one bed in this flat and it’s mine,” he smiles innocently.

         Fuck. My. Life.

                                                        ~

         “So why’d you come here?” He asks as we’re on opposite sides of his gargantuan bed.  I’m determined to stay as far away from him as possible. “To England?”

         “Why do you want to know?” I ask. “Do you actually care about getting to know me?”

         “You didn’t know anything about the team or about me,” he says.

         “Yeah, and God forbid someone not know about you,” I say. “Working in luxury fashion marketing is my dream, okay? It’s not some joke the way you seem to think it is.”

         “I never said it was.” He studies his fingertips.

         “You didn’t have to. You never take anything seriously and you’re always trying to undermine my authority or laugh at me. You’re a real fucking jerk.”

         “If it makes you feel better I always feel like crap afterwards,” he confesses.

         Well, that was a plot twist. I wasn’t expecting him to be that real with me. “Well then why do you do it?” I ask.

         He’s silent for a long while, and judging by his face, he’s actually taking my question seriously. “You know how I’m the best player on this team?” ….Or maybe I was wrong.

         “Why did I actually think I was getting a serious answer out of you?” I shake my head.

         “No, just shut up and let me finish,” he says. He’s all kinds of rude, but something inside me also wants to hear him out. “I wasn’t even allowed to play back in Manchester. They benched me. The only time I got to play there was as a substitute. That’s why they loaned me out. That’s how much they didn’t want me.”

         I wonder what that version of Jamie was like- the one that didn’t get attention or glory.  Was he humbler? More tolerable to be around? Because what would he be basing his ego on?

I have to stop myself from saying “I’m sorry.” This was Jamie we were talking about. He could stand to be humbled. Maybe it was good that he knew that there were others that were better than him.

         “And then I got loaned out here, and I was the best player by far, and I liked it. I liked that people got to see what I can do. What I worked so hard to get to do. I guess I let it get to me. The fame, the….everyone thinking what I wanted them to. That I was a star.” His head shifts to look at me. 

         “Yeah, I get that,” I say. “You shouldn’t be rude to other people though. Do you even have any real friends?”

         “No,” he says simply. “I guess not.”

         “What about relationships? Anything long term?” I ask.

         “Not really. My longest was six months. Why the sudden interest in my dating life?”

         I duck his gaze. “Just trying to figure out why you’re a dick to everyone around you.”

         “I’m great with women,” he counters. “Especially in bed.”

         I can’t help but smile at that. There’s something about him that’s almost charming. “I’d disagree with you but I don’t have proof.”

         He smirks. “You want some?”

         He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it. “So this is why you invited me over? To seduce me?”

         “Depends. Did it work?” he asks softly.

         There’s nothing I want more in this moment than to fuck him. I feel hot and I’m aware of every feeling in my body. But wait!!! I’m supposed to hate him!! Why is this happening? I’ve found him attractive ever since seeing him in that ad on the plane. But he can’t know that. I can’t have sex with him. He’s a dick to everyone and all he’s done since I’ve gotten here is try to make my life miserable. I wanted a meaningless hookup for the holiday season, and I feel like anything I do with Jamie will be anything but meaningless. It will be fueled with hatred, and passion, and I already know it will be so addicting that I won’t want to go back to the US. Where my life is. Where my son’s life is.

         I could hate fuck the shit out of Jamie. I know I could, and I know I’d have the best time doing it. But it’s better to not experience something great. That way it’s better to leave it…right?

         “Nope,” I say, moving away from him, trying my best to keep my voice even. “Nothing you do will make me not hate you.”

         He rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. You were into that.”

         “I know that you think that every woman you come across wants you-“

         “Yeah, I do, cause it’s true. And you’re one of them,” he says cockily.

         “Maybe you’re the one that’s into me,” I counter. “You’re the one who made up a stupid lie to get me to sleep next to you. And it’s so obvious too. You’re so juvenile and immature. How can you possibly think I’d like you?”

         “I see the way you look at me.” He doesn’t say anything for a long time, so I assume he finally went to sleep. So when he says, “I’ll get you to admit it,” I’m a little shocked.

         “What makes you think you will?” I ask, too taken aback to pretend too be asleep myself.

         “I don’t give up. So…have fun with that. Cause I will.”

[heretichromia]

Have you read Kakania’s side story in r99 yet(or if you plan to). Would be interested in hearing your thoughts!! (Though no pressure of course)

They are addicted to twisting the knife. They can't help themselves.

I'm usually not a fan of the trope of examining a character's psychiatric condition by having a psychiatrist literally just explicitly lay it out. Though it can be used in more elegant and subtle ways, it's usually just a shorthand for letting an omniscient third party just...say what's wrong with a character in an expedient fashion, or summarize what was said more eloquently before in a clinical way less likely to be misunderstood, and that's...boring.

In this case...I still don't like the exact way they did it, but I think the framing device sort of works as a nail in the coffin for Kakania's self-image. Her faith in her psychiatric ability was already in the gutter, since she utterly failed to understand Isolde at all, but now it's completely dust. Her incomplete psychiatric education is now a century outdated, and the theories she clung to as a beacon of a brighter future are now considered defunct. This obviously isn't the only reason, but I'm sure it's a contributing factor for why she doesn't even take up work as a psychiatrist at the Foundation.

I'm...kind of surprised by how little we actually got from it? In many of these stories, we get new insights on the POV characters that we don't really have time for in the plots they come from, insights that occasionally change the way we see them (Isolde comes to mind), but a lot of what was directly spelled out for us here were things we could have already inferred from the MSQ. It didn't give us nothing—we got some more context behind her relationship with her brother, for instance, which makes that scene in the MSQ a little more painful—so I guess my expectations should have been tempered for a personal story about a character who already experienced more or less a full character arc. It's less of a deeper dive into Kakania than it is a necessary point of "closure" for her story, tying up some of the hanging threads to...varying degrees of satisfaction. I did like seeing her express in words that she wished she were more honest about her feelings to the people she cared about—or that she understood herself well enough to know her feelings well enough to put them into words.

I also think parts of it were good for showing how the character development landed. Her decision to join the History...Preservation, I want to say? Division is consistent and a pretty nice ribbon on her growth. The decision to reject joining Vertin's task force is a particularly noteworthy one, to eschew becoming part of a new glamorous and idealistic vanguard searching for a solution to the world's sickness to become instead one of the expendable people in the background putting in necessary lifesaving work. I think that's a nice choice.

I'm not so much of a fan of what they've done with Isolde, but. C'est la vie, I guess. For Kakania to just be able to fix her would have destroyed the whole-ass point of their story, but some of the knife-twisting really feels excessive. I'd have preferred to see them interact instead of Bluepoch concocting some dubious brew to explain how we can never see closure between them because it would annihilate Isolde's mental state, even if this situation ends up being temporary.

It was...fine, I guess. They could have done a lot worse.

[leclercskiesahead]

When Charles heard the promotional idea for the Ferrari fashion show, he said yes immediately. He enjoys fashion. Maybe not as much as some other drivers, but it is always exciting to see the designs people come up with, how much twist they can put on an ordinary clothing item. He has friends who work in the industry, so he hears a lot too.

There are plenty of reds and yellows in the costume room, predictably. It is a spring and summer collection after all, so bright colours always feature, and the colours of Ferrari are naturally so bold and bright. One stylist tousles his hair while another mixes and matches a few different items before they settle on a large red shirt and some equally large black pants. He is a little disappointed they didn't use a pair of cream pants, just so he can have more Monaco colours as well, but the stylists are happy with the pants matching a black stripe on the back of the shirt.

He feels like a character in a TV show set in a historical time, but the strong colours are definitely very modern.

The shooting is smooth, save for one part where he misses his marker and ends up standing off camera. The director asks him to hold longer at the end of the runway, but praises his walk (thank you Doni, he has learnt from watching the shows). They only need a few retakes to get different camera angles. It is one of his fastest media shoots.

The chatter in the costume room lets him know Carlos has arrived to do his scene. Something stirs inside him as he approaches the room, thinking of all the ways he can tease Carlos and embarrass him as he tries on his different outfits.

They are picking from amongst the yellow pieces for Carlos, which makes sense, since Charles has already taken the rosso corsa. Carlos' hair is already styled - although by himself or by the stylist Charles can't be sure, because Carlos' hair always looks styled.

Carlos spots him and his face breaks into a sly grin. "Oh wow, look at this guy. A most beautiful model."

Charles can't help the laugh that escapes him. They are always like this, him and Carlos. He is not sure who started it, but they have been teasing each other like this ever since they became teammates.

A very beautiful couple, they'd said of their poster in the garage.

Very good looking. You mean that guy? they'd joked, pointing to a poster of Charles during the Monaco GP.

Driver, fast...and beautiful, they had said to describe Carlos for a TV bit.

It was harmless and they were both confident in their appearance.

Carlos' eyes are scanning him, studying his outfit. "It has a...olden vibe, no, yours?" he notes, echoing Charles' thoughts from earlier. Then, "Like you are really Lord Perceval."

Charles can only laugh again, an exasperated one through his nose. The nickname should be annoying, really, and if it was anyone other than Carlos he might have protested against it. But Carlos had a way of saying it that just sounded so natural and not at all like a ribbing. And he used it just sparingly enough that Charles wouldn't get sick of it.

Still, Charles needs to return the banter.

Just to be annoying, he whistles as the stylist finally hands over a yellow long-sleeved shirt that looks two sizes too small.

"I think it's good, no?" Carlos says. "Give people something to talk about. I hope the fans make so many meme videos of me."

"You are going to look ridiculous, mate," Charles assures him. Carlos just waggles his eyebrows as he heads towards the changing screen.

The first thing Charles says when Carlos emerges is - "Oh, mate!"

It is one thing to see the shirt on its hanger. It's another to see Carlos in it, the highlighter colour practically molded to his skin. It is so unlike Carlos' usual style that Charles can't help but laugh.

Carlos too is grinning like a maniac, taking it all in his stride.

"I look like a footballer when they take off their shirt to celebrate a goal but they have the undershirt," he states proudly. He turns and swings his hands downwards. Charles recognises the 'siu' celebration. He can see Carlos' muscles flexing under the tight fabric.

It takes a moment for the thought to catch up to him.

Charles blinks again. The stylist is asking Carlos about another pair of pants. Carlos is just chatting as per usual, but his shoulders and arms suddenly look more defined. His skin is looking very tan against the bright colour of the shirt, even though they haven't had summer break.

He is under no illusions. Carlos is a very good-looking guy with a nice body. Charles has seen him in the gym at Fiorano, in the ice baths before sessions, in his fireproof. And sometimes he let himself look longer than he really had to.

But he's usually surrounded by just Andrea when he lets himself indulge. Not a whole film crew.

Carlos has to change his pants, and when he reappears, all the joking and teasing evaporates in Charles' mind. The stylist has given him a pair of heather grey sweats that hang low on his hips. They are more casual than the previous pair he tried, but somehow emphasise his silhouette more - the taper of his waist, the sway of his hips as he walks. Carlos is goofing off in front of the mirror, doing some cliche poses and then a turn and stare in what Charles just about recognises as a Zoolander reference. When the light hits just right, he thinks he can make out the tips of Carlos' hip bones.

Suddenly, his throat is very dry.

And then Carlos is strolling out onto set, Charles' gaze magnetised to the back of his hips as he goes, watching them sway with his natural stride.

Oh. The fans are definitely going to be making videos. Although Charles isn't sure they are going to be memes.

[sibillascribbles08]

Jasonnie week Day 4 - Past/Future

Lil fic for this one! And just a quick cw it opens with a nightmare with Kendra being Shitty™

It was a common occurrence, or a typical Friday night he supposed. Kendra talked about plans for the weekend while picking up whatever she wanted off his desk. Her nails picked apart a model he hadn’t glued together yet. She gave out a horribly fake, “oops,” as she dropped the tiniest piece onto the carpet. She’d knock whatever drink he had toward his keyboard—he started making sure they were all capped bottles now. She’d close a project without saving it. She’d take whatever pen he might be flipping between his fingers and chuck it in the trash.

And she just kept talking, as if her word were law. Whatever she says goes. 

Jason typically didn’t retaliate. He just sat there and listened, waiting and praying for her to get bored and leave. Let him get back to work. 

“You know, that is a silver lining, isn’t it?” She asked, putting the remains of his figure back on the desk.

He tried not to glare. “What?”

“Well, since Travis broke up with you, now you’re free this weekend.” She grinned at him. 

That made rage snap in his chest, because that was all her fault. He didn’t even know how he knew that, but he did. She must have started a rumor, or lied to him, or pulled some other stunt to convince Travis that Jase was talking shit behind his back. It wasn’t even true. 

In a very untypical fashion, Jason lashed out.

He swung a punch as he stood, aimed right for her. But it didn’t hit. Kendra just wasn’t there anymore. He blinked and glanced around. Why was his room suddenly darker? Why were there so many shelves? And boxes? 

His breathing came to a halt when he recognized it. He tried to sprint for the door.

And there Kendra stood, lit from behind as she glared at him. 

“I wish those aliens had killed you.” She spat before slamming the door shut.

Jason crashed into it, desperately trying to undo the lock only to fail. Then something clawed at it, followed by a sharp bark. Jason stumbled back and hit the floor, barely able to breathe. His stomach clenched and twisted. His throat felt impossibly dry. He gasped for air but it felt more like he was swallowing it.

“Jase?”

Whose voice was that? He could barely hear it through the violent barks and growls as the claws started to rip into the door.

“Jase!”

Something grabbed his shoulders and the darkness vanished. No, not completely vanished. The room he found himself in was still dark but not in the same way. The faintest of blue outlines lined the walls and the doors. 

Jason reached up to touch the hand on his shoulder. Donnie’s hand. In an instant his fingers curled around the turtle’s calloused palms, letting the sensation ground him. 

He was here. In their room. In their apartment. On the top floor of the building that Donnie renovated for all kinds of mutants to live in. 

He breathed in through his nose and out of his mouth as he forced his heart to slow down. 

“Nightmare?” Donnie’s breath brushed against his hair. 

Jason nodded, squeezing his hand tighter.

“The usual?”

“Nah,” he sighed. “Kendra was there, actually.” 

Donnie moved his hand so his arm wrapped around Jase, tugging him close. 

Jason let himself curl up against his fiancé. Even if the turtle’s plastron wasn’t the softest thing, it felt sturdy and safe. 

“Feeling sick?” Donnie rubbed his back.

“Nah, I’m alright. Dream didn’t get far enough for that.” Thanks to being woken up. But rather than verbalize that he tilted his head to plant a brief kiss on Donnie’s shoulder. 

“Feels strange.” He kept going, though he spoke quietly in case Donnie dozed off. “Dream felt so real for a while there. Like just another day during high school. Then I wake up here.” 

Donnie only hummed in response, confirmation that he was listening. 

“If you went back in time and told my high school self that I’d end up with pretty much anything I have now, I don’t think he’d believe you.” 

His fiancé huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure I would either. I mean. Imagine if my future self said ‘oh yeah by the way you’re going to fall madly in love with the guy from the Purple Dragons.’” 

Jason lightly jabbed Donnie in the hip in response to that. “Sure, but that’s not exactly what I mean.” 

“Elaborate.”

“Well it’s like… being free from Kendra. Being in a steady relationship at all. Being away from my mom and fixing things with my dad. Heck, now I have an additional two parents? I’m a co-owner of a major tech company?” He curled up even tighter against his fiancé’s chest. “Just… being surrounded by people who love me in general. Sometimes it’s hard to believe this happened to me.” 

He briefly considered what his father told him not long after that invasion. That he didn’t have to be successful or famous or rich or any of that. That if he just reached a point where he felt happy to be alive, that’d be enough. 

And he was. He was so glad he survived that invasion. Because doing so helped him survive a lot more than that. 

Donnie kissed his head, then his forehead, one hand moving to brush against the side of his face. 

But then the turtle must have found the stubble on his cheeks because suddenly Donnie pressed his palm down against the skin and rubbed it way too hard.

“Donnie.” Jason shoved his fiancé away, or the best he could manage at least. “Do not. We’re supposed to be sleeping.” He rolled over to look at the digital clock that sat on the nightstand. He had to squint without his glasses, but he could still make out the date and time. Not even half past 3 AM? He was about to groan but then his eyes fixed on the date. Something in his brain kept clicking together before it finally snapped into place.

“Oh my god.” He mumbled, hands still pressed against Donnie’s shoulder. “It's our wedding day.” 

Donnie took his hand. “Yup.” 

Jason turned to look at his fiancé. Difficult to do in the low light, but his silhouette was visible from the light coming in the window. “We’re getting married.”

“Yeah.” Donnie wrapped his arms around him again, holding him close. 

It’s not like Jason didn’t know about this. They’d been planning it for months. The venues, the decorations, their clothes, every aspect of it. He knew it before they went to bed, a giddiness sitting in his chest that wouldn’t leave. And there it was again and he wondered if he’d ever get back to sleep. 

He was getting married. To Donatello. This massive, genius turtle who one day out of the blue extended a peaceful hand and Jason decided to take it.

And now they were here. 

He had no idea what was going through Donnie’s head in the silence, but the turtle squeezed him tighter. “I love you.” 

Jason couldn’t really return the gesture, being practically trapped, but he at least reached up to squeeze Donnie’s arm in response. “I love you too.” 

And then he drifted back to sleep.

[penguinwhowanttobeanartist]

Let's talk about respect for each other, dear fans of "Treasure Island" by David Cherkassky

(although I recommend that other fans of the film/cartoon adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel join in).

Before I start talking about the problem in the Russian fandom of Treasure Island 1988, I want to say: I am Russian too and I am writing this not because I am an offended foreigner, but because I am ashamed of you all (this is a message to the fanatics works of Cherkassky).

The fact is that I noticed one interesting detail that helps to distinguish the Russian Internet from the English one. On the English-speaking internet, I feel comfortable saying that I like Takarajima because I know that most people will react either positively or neutrally. But on the Russian-language Internet, I need to conduct a fairly long search to find a person who will not judge me for loving anime. On the Russian Internet, treating someone neutrally or respectfully is considered a new fashion...

I don’t feel like I’m part of the Russian-speaking fans of the 1988 film adaptation, since I also love other film adaptations of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel. And this is... strange, because in theory we should share our love for various cartoons and films, and not beat those who love other works or are afraid of being beaten.

I have often come across the opinion that David Cherkassky is a genius and that only his version of Treasure Island is correct. I've often read that fans of 1988's Treasure Island think other adaptations from other countries are weird. I have often come across the opinion that there is only one correct and good film adaptation of Stevenson’s novel.

And I'm sick of it all.

Man who is over thirty years old and who calls children idiots for unfunny memes about your favorite cartoon, I am addressing you and others like you. I appeal to all those who cannot see what even blind Pew would see.

THERE IS NO CORRECT OR IDEAL FILM OR CARTOON ADAPTATION OF "TREASURE ISLAND"!

In the entire history of cinema, there has never been a perfect adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson's novel that everyone liked.

And now I will prove it:

The 1965 adaptation may seem strange in terms of plot, instead of people it's all animals, and the ending is different from the ending of the original story;

The 1971 adaptation left virtually nothing of the original story;

The 1978 adaptation often deviates from the canonical development of events in order to stretch the runtime over twenty-odd episodes;

Treasure Planet 1982 is a drug trip for everyone who worked on this cartoon (the budget for this cartoon is three packs of cocaine and marijuana, I'm sure of it);

The 1988 adaptation is a comedy based on the novel, which did not include enough characters (for example, Jim's parents remained somewhere off-screen) and events;

Legends of Treasure Island (1993) is a mystery series where events from Stevenson's novel appear less and less as the series progresses;

The 2002 DVD adaptation is not particularly pleasing with its cheap animation and character reactions (some people find the film adaptation rather boring and faded);

Treasure Planet 2002 may not appeal to some due to the space setting and decisions related to the characters (for example, not everyone will appreciate the fact that Smollett became an alien catwoman and that Livesey and Trelawney were combined into one character) and plot.

However, all these cartoon adaptations also have advantages:

The 1965 adaptation has an interesting twist on how predators have to hide their real selves. I'm talking about claws and how they have to fight the urge to walk on two legs. This also explains why the bones in the chest are treasure to them;

What may be interesting about the 1971 adaptation is that it deviates greatly from the original book;

The 1978 adaptation boasts beautiful stills that you wouldn't be ashamed to frame on your wall, and a soundtrack that might make some people cry ("Oh yes, yes! Play that violin even harder! I want to hear all your skill in this composition!! Ah~");

1982's Treasure Planet appeals to some people precisely because it's quite weird. “So bad it’s good” is how you can describe it. Character design and weird animation can also come in (I like Jim);

People like the 1988 adaptation due to the ease of storytelling, fun and vivid images of characters that you will not be able to forget. I also like it because it teaches the right things, for example, they say that smoking and drinking are harmful to human health (thanks to these songs, I don’t consider smoking and drinking alcohol something cool);

Legends of Treasure Island 1993 can help people relive their innocent childhood and forget about reality for a while. There are violent moments and interesting plot developments that are fun to follow;

The 2002 adaptation follows the book almost exactly. Jim is still a good boy and he, like the others, is not annoying (considering the quality of the picture, this could have happened, but did not);

Treasure Planet 2002 is interesting to watch, at least because it combined the 18th century and the theme of space. Because of this idea, we have a unique product about space, which is unique among all others. As a person who doesn’t like the theme of space because of monotony (the theme of modernity in any work is not interesting to me, just like the future), I admit that wooden ships in space captivated me.

And this is without even mentioning the other cartoons and films based on the book (and there are a lot of them)! But I think that it has already become clear to you that everywhere and in all film adaptations, in addition to the bad, there is also good. I know I haven't talked about Treasure Island from the Muppets or McDonald's, but the fact is that I haven't watched them yet. I'll definitely watch everything!

However, my goal was not to talk about all the film adaptations of my favorite book - my goal was to show that you can find at least one more film adaptation of Treasure Island that you like.

However, my goal was not to talk about all the film adaptations of my favorite book - my goal was to show that you can find at least one more film adaptation of Treasure Island that you like.

And before I finish writing this post, I want to offer you three simple rules that, if followed, can reconcile fans of different “Treasure Islands” (I hope they'll work).

And these three rules sound like this:

1) Read the original novel by Robert Louis Stevenson (not a summary, not a short version of the book, but the whole story);

2) Watch other cartoons and films based on the book and find those film adaptations that you like to talk about;

3) Treat other fans of the book and/or any other film adaptation with respect if they behave appropriately.

That's all, dear readers. Thank you for reading my post. You can safely express your opinion in the comments, I just ask you to write calmly and adequately. What's your favorite Treasure Island adaptation? What other cartoon or anime do I not know about?

[auspicioustidings]

ahh thank you for replying to my anon ask (i was the one talking about masochist yet dom soap)

and now you’ve got me thinking about how yes he enjoys pain, enjoys the stinging of a slap, the sharp bites, the harsh words, the rough grabs - loves the bruises and marks it leaves behind afterwards. and revels in the fact that he can still remain dominant while reduced to a whining mess.

maybe even at some point reader has enough and just feeds into his sick twisted kink :( just a constant battle of who can hurt the other more - reader by slapping soap about or soap by being such a FREAK by enjoying pain that it’s almost torture for the reader

I am a sadomasochist Soap truther actually. I think he likes 'playing' but to a level that you're actually just properly fighting one another. He always has found it so cute when puppies play fight with claws and teeth, is it so wrong to want that for himself?

This version of Soap leans masochist over sadist but specifically when it comes to you. He's never met a pretty thing he hasn't wanted to hurt before y'know? But the second he got into your car and you blew past the cut off he told you to take he was hooked. And the thing that gets his blood up is knowing how much you want to hurt him, how you would tear him apart given the opportunity. Boy was rock hard the whole dinner, revelling in how you could barely hold yourself back. He loves you being held back by circumstance with that murderous rage simmering barely under the surface. It's the violence in the air, the promise that you are going to find a way to hurt him. He's decided he's not going to die unless it's in spectacular fashion with you right there by his side dying just to kill him.

[your-divine-ribs]

One For The Wedding Album Part 1

Words: 3.7k

I’ve been asked for Part 2 of this and it’s still in my drafts and I do promise to complete it one day 🌸

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

"For fuck's sake! Who requested Mr Brightside again?" You squeal tipsily.

The music's pounding and your head is spinning, a giddy feeling taking over as you feel a large hand close over one of yours as someone tugs you on to the dancefloor and spins you around to face them.

"John, I can't dance anymore, my feet are killing me!" You cry over the music, but Bondy's not hearing any of it, shaking his head at your protesting, pointing down at the strappy satin covered stiletto heels that you're wearing.

"Told ya you should have worn your docs!" Bondy chuckles. "Never see ya out of those bloody things, so why should today be any different?"

You roll your eyes playfully at him. "Oh yeah, they'd look great with my dress! Really elegant! Sure Van would have loved that!"

"I know you could carry it off though lass... and I don't think our Van would have minded what you turned up in today." He's still got your hand clasped tightly in his, lifted up, his other hand on your waist, and he's leading you around the dancefloor in a much less sophisticated version of an old-fashioned waltz, twirling you around every so often, making your head spin even more.

You're on top of the world. You're with all your family and friends, the drinks are flowing and you've been smiling so wide and for so long that your cheeks are actually starting to ache. You're having the absolute best day of your whole life. Exactly six hours and fifteen minutes ago you'd said "I do" to the one man who you'd loved since the very first moment you'd clapped eyes on him. You're a married woman. And not just any married woman. You're Mrs McCann.

Just the mere thought of your new name is enough to set off that daft, goofy smile on your face again but you don't have time to ponder it for long. The whole function room bursts into song again at the chorus, screeching out the well-known and much-loved lyrics at the tops of their lungs.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis

But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me

Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside

"No more... no more... my feet are seriously gonna drop off!" You whine, twisting yourself out of Bondy's arms, ignoring his pleas for you to kick off your shoes and just let loose, promising him that you'll be back to dance with him later on.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in wide beaming smiles wherever you look. Your dad and Bernie are having what looks like some ridiculous kind of dad-dancing dance-off competition, your mum and Mary are setting the world to rights over a bottle of champagne and your best friend and chief bridesmaid Kerry is drunkenly and very provocatively draped over a rather flustered looking Bob, much to Benji's delight. He's taken Bob's Polaroid camera and is snapping away, immortalising the moment. You giggle to yourself, taking a swig from your half-drunken glass of bubbly before setting it down on a nearby table.

Now where did that husband of yours get to...?

Husband...

You let the word roll around inside your head for a bit, trying it out for size, seeing how it feels. You even find yourself whispering it under your breath, a flurry of excited butterflies teaming in your belly as the concept starts to finally sink in. Today is just the start of it. The first day of the rest of your lives together. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part and all that jazz.

You're so caught up in your thoughts you don't notice the tall figure right behind you until you feel large hands on your hips, making you jump and whirl quickly around.

"There you are! Where did you disappear off to? Was just about to send out a search party!"

"Just been out for a smoke with Larry, that's all love. I'm here now."

Van's looking decidedly less suave now than he did when you were standing in front of the altar together earlier that afternoon. His hair's all mussed up, his tie's askew and the flowers in his button-hole have wilted, but the sparkle that's been simmering in those gorgeous blue eyes is still present. In fact he's positively glowing as he looks at you, deeply into your eyes before his gaze slips lower, shamelessly raking over your body.

You know that look. You've seen it a million times before over the course of your relationship. And you know exactly what's coming next.

"Fancy... errr... sneaking off for a bit? You know... just me and you... somewhere quiet?"

As he talks his fingers slide down to your hips, flexing there, his own hips pushing forward to just barely brush yours.

You smirk up at him. "Thought the whole idea of getting married was about you making an honest woman out of me?"

"Yeah well, I've never fucked a married woman before," he grins. "The thought's kinda turning me on if I'm honest. C'mon Y/N, no one'll miss us. I've been dying to get my hands on you all day since you walked into that church."

You shake your head, tutting loudly. "Impure thoughts in church? How very unholy of you."

"I can't help it babe, you look gorgeous in that dress. Don't even wanna take it off when I fuck you, wanna ruin you in it whilst you're looking all pure and pretty."

"Van!" You cry, your hand shooting up to your mouth, your cheeks aflame, giggling loudly.

He knows damn well how much his dirty talk turns you on and you're tempted. You really are. You glance around, seeing everyone dancing and drinking and having fun.

He's right, even though you two are the stars of the show today you don't think anyone would miss you if you were to disappear off for a little while. There's no denying the thought of Van pressing you into the wall of the toilet cubicle whilst he's hitching up the pristine silk of your virginal ivory white dress has set off a throbbing heat between your thighs, but you're having so much fun you don't want to miss a second of the celebrations. And besides, you'll have all the time in the world at the end of the night. You have the bridal suite booked with its gigantic king sized bed and sumptuous satin sheets, a mini bar stocked with champagne on ice and a huge sunken bath. You can take your time with one another then.

"C'mon..." he urges, that irresistible cheeky grin of his playing on his lips. "Ya know you want to."

You place your hands over his, leaning into him and planting a sweet, chaste kiss on those lips, drawing back slightly but staying close so you can whisper teasingly into his ear. "The best thing's come to those who wait... and you're just gonna have to wait!"

Then you're off, ignoring his protestations, entwining one of your hands in his and leading him in the opposite direction to his intended plans, straight on to the dancefloor where a Van Morrison track has just started to play. Bernie immediately makes a beeline for his son, stealing him away from you so he can clap a hand around his shoulder and sway drunkenly to the melody as they animatedly belt out the lyrics in unison.

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance

With the stars up above in your eyes

A fantabulous night to make romance

'Neath the cover of October skies

You watch them for a moment before Bondy's there again, reaching for you and twirling you around until you're giggling and dizzy, laughing and stumbling, falling into his arms.

An hour's past and the party's still in full flow. Larry and Bondy have been up dancing on the tables, Benji's been throwing some serious shapes on the dancefloor and even Bob's letting his hair down. You noticed Kerry sneakily leading him away to a dimmed corner of the function room after their slow dance had looked like it was getting a little heated. They're currently making out like high-schoolers would around the back of the bike-sheds. You wonder whether Bob will still remember it tomorrow when he awakens with a sore head and remnants of Kerry's lipstick all over his face.

Van's trapped in between two older female relatives who are fussing and preening over him and his eyes keep darting to you with a pleading "help me" type of expression. You just grin and lean in to take a shot with Bob's camera, laughter erupting from you when one of Van's aunts puckers up to press a sloppy kiss on his cheek, telling him what a handsome boy he is.

"Smile for the camera Van!" You chortle, ignoring the helpless look in his eyes when the other aunt leans and and starts ruffling his hair, talking about how it needs a good cut.

Then you're dancing away, taking snap-shots as you go, capturing those perfect and sometimes hilarious moments in time for your wedding album so that you and Van can look back on them in the weeks and months and even years to come, fondly remembering your special day.

"Oi blushing bride, aren't you supposed to be the one in front of the camera today?"

Kerry's suddenly at your side, snatching the camera out of your hands and turning the lens on you. You yelp in surprise but recover quickly, leaning in with your hands on your hips and a saucy pout whilst she snaps away.

"Oh my god Y/N, you look so beautiful today," she gushes as she retrieves one of the freshly printed photos to admire. "I hope Van realises what a lucky man he is to have you. I don't think he deserves you to be honest. Think I might just have to steal you away for myself!"

She hooks her arm through yours and makes like she's turning for the door, then you're both falling about laughing, holding the Polaroid up to snap a few daft, crazy-faced selfies. You're laughing that much that you've got tears of mirth brimming in your eyes and starting to track down your cheeks. You go to brush one away with the heel of your hand when you notice a black smear on your skin and you let out a groan.

"Ah shit! I knew I should have bought waterproof mascara for today. It was bad enough when I was sobbing at Van's vows but look at me now. I must look like a panda bear!" You turn towards Kerry, tilting your face up to hers. "Is it bad? Is it fixable? I must look such a mess!"

Your friend just laughs, shaking her head. "You look absolutely fine... gorgeous as always! If you don't believe me go and look for yourself!"

You gather up the silky layers of your dress and rush off in the direction of the toilets, cursing when you get there and you realise that you've brought Bob's camera with you in your haste to fix your make-up. The last thing you want is to drop his precious camera on the tiled bathroom floor, especially when he'd shyly admitted that he'd brought it with him especially tonight to gift it to you as a special wedding present to preserve the memories of the day. You place it carefully down on the side of the sink and step back to look at your reflection.

Your dress is gorgeous. Even as modest and unassuming as you are you can't help but admit that you do look stunning in it. It has a beautifully cut bodice embellished with tiny diamantés and freshwater pearls and a breathtaking full layered skirt which floats around your feet like you're walking on clouds. Even your less than sentimental dad had shed a tear and mumbled that you looked like a Disney Princess in it.

It's just a shame that the rest of you doesn't look quite so pristine now. Your hair which had been painstakingly curled and styled around the delicate tiara is now hanging around your bare shoulders in wild cascading waves and your make up is smudged. You're not even sure where your tiara is but you'd last sighted it perched on Bondy's head a few hours previously.

You run a fingertip gently under your eye to try and collect the mascara and eyeliner that's ran, but you just end up smudging it even more.

Despite what your best friend says in your opinion you look a mess... a gorgeous mess but a mess all the same... but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all...

Your thoughts stray to a few weeks back and a wild passionate night with Van after you'd stumbled home in the early hours, how you'd huffed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and reached for a wipe to clear off your ruined make-up. How Van had snuck up behind you and grasped your wrist, telling you that no... he liked it... that seeing you all raw and disheveled like this in gorgeous disarray turned him on. He'd fucked you right there and then over the sink, pressing you into the cold hard porcelain whilst he'd grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at your reflection, telling you how beautiful you were when he made you fall apart for him. The thought makes warmth rise to your cheeks and it's not the only part of you that's heating up.

You squirm where you stand, pressing your thighs together, feeling the whisper of soft lace between your legs, thinking about the stunning ivory set you'd purchased especially for this day. You just know Van will go wild when he catches sight of it. But not yet... he's going to have to wait.

Teasing him is so much fun though...

An idea comes to you suddenly in a flash of wicked inspiration and you quickly hitch up your dress and take a naughty snap in the mirror, angled just right to show Van a glimpse of the alluring treat he'll get if he behaves himself and bides his time. Then you take another shot holding the camera aloft and looking up at the lens through your smoky, smudged loaded lashes, wide eyed and sultry looking, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Perfect.

You emerge from the toilets shortly after and you don't have to look very hard to find Van this time. As soon as your lock eyes with his across the dancefloor he strides straight over with purpose.

"Baby..." he drawls, dragging out the word slow and smooth, a hand curling around your waist, drawing you in. "If I didn't know any better I'd think my gorgeous new wife was trying to avoid me. Ya wouldn't do that would ya?"

"Of course not, I was just coming to find you actually. Got you a little... errr... wedding gift." You hold up the camera whilst you're talking and Van's attention shifts to see what you're holding, puzzlement creasing his brow.

"Oh yeah? What's that then?"

You produce the Polaroid photos, keeping them raised up and away from Van's seeking hand when he goes to take them, fixing him with a look that's pure seductiveness, ramping up the intrigue.

"Ahh, no you don't... not yet. Think you've been a good boy so far, so I'm sure you can wait a little longer. Just thought you might like a little taster of what you'll be getting later..."

Then you slip the photos quickly into the breast pocket of his jacket, nudging aside the flowers in his buttonhole, patting the material with teasing fingers as you look up at him, informing him that he'll have to wait his turn as there's another man who's been craving your attention all evening too.

As you back away to find your dad for that slow dance that you'd promised him earlier, you keep your eyes on Van, watching his reaction as he quickly slips the photos out for a sneaky look. Just as predicted his eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack, the unmistakable longing etched all over his awed expression as he meets your gaze across the dancefloor with a hungry look that can only mean one thing.

You're gonna get it later...

You smile lasciviously, your belly flipping somersaults at the thought of consummating the life vows you made to each other that very afternoon.

Sex had never been a priority in your life before you'd met Van, it was just another element of your past relationships that although enjoyable had never really filled you with the insatiable need that Van had sparked in you the first night that you'd met. He'd come crashing into your life one evening at a festival that you'd both attended, a whirlwind of chaotic energy and endearing goofiness as you'd both shamelessly fan-girled and fan-boyed over the Arctic Monkeys in their headline slot. With a very newly recorded debut album under his belt, you weren't familiar with Catfish at the time and would never have dreamed for one moment that Van  himself was destined to follow in your idols footsteps and burst into the music scene with quite such aplomb. You also never would have dared to dream that the sparkly-eyed, floppy-haired indie boy that caught your attention that fateful night would end up stealing your heart in such a way that he did, but yet here you were, five years on, proving all the nay-sayers wrong, embarking on the next chapter of your life together. You were perfect together in all the ways that mattered... and as for the sex... it was pretty mind-blowing.

You catch Van's eye as your dad twirls you around yet again, the opening bars of another familiar song sparking a memory in you. It's the song that was playing on the radio when Van proposed to you, another Van Morrison tune. He'd been planning an overblown romantic gesture for his proposal featuring heart-shaped balloons and dozens of roses, taking you completely by surprise when you were out at a planned family meal, but he just couldn't wait.

When he'd seen you there in the kitchen that momentous afternoon just over a year ago, kneading cookie dough with a dusting of flour in your hair and a telltale smudge of chocolate on your lips, he'd thought you'd just looked so adorable... so beautiful... so goddamn perfect... that he couldn't wait another second to ask you to be his wife. The sparkling solitaire diamond platinum ring he'd taken to carrying around with him for weeks had been quite literally burning a hole in his pocket, and he'd dropped down on to his knees right there and then on the kitchen floor, much to your shock and delighted surprise, professing his undying love whilst he'd slid the ring on to your finger. It had been a perfect moment, one that you'd treasure forever, slow dancing whilst he'd held you tightly in his arms, and your life had since been made up of many of these perfect moments.

"I hate to steal her away from you, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut in for this song."

Van's voice in your ear and his hand on your dad's shoulder brings you both to a halt, stilling your dance, and your dad lets you go.

He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you in, close enough that your hips are touching as you begin to sway.

"Got you on your own at last," he looks down on you, dipping his head to plant a small, sweet kiss on your lips. "I can't believe we actually did it babe. Married... the two of us. This is it now... we're gonna spend the rest of our lives together. I hope you're gonna still love me when I'm old and wrinkly."

"Of course I will," you tell him. "I'll always love you... just like I always have. Think I did the first moment I laid eyes on you to be honest."

Van chuckles. "You sure about that? I was a right state at that festival! Remember when you said you wanted to get up on my shoulders and I tripped over and we ended up in a heap on the floor?"

You laugh at the memory. "And you also spilt a whole pint of lager over me if I remember rightly... then instead of apologising you asked if I needed any help getting out of my wet clothes."

Van face palms dramatically, groaning. "God I really was a creep wasn't I? What the hell did you see in me?"

"You made me laugh. You were just so goofy and cute... and adorable... even with the shit chat-up lines."

You drape your hands over his shoulders, looking up at him, your fingers twisting through the hair at the nape of his neck. "And now here we both are..."

"Here we are," he echoes, a faraway look about him like he's caught up in a dream. "And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. You're the love of my life Y/N."

Again he bows his head to press a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. When you pull apart the grin he's wearing stretches wide on his face as he starts to mouth the words of the song to you.

"And when I'm returning, from so far away

She gives me some sweet lovin'

Brightens up my day

And it makes me righteous, and it makes me whole

And it makes me mellow, down into my soul"

You giggle as he takes your hand and twirls you around, happy and carefree. When you fall back into his arms, he pulls you even closer into his body, impossibly tight.

"She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love... She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love..."

He croons the chorus into your ear before pulling back to look deep into your eyes and the rest of the room seems to melt away. You're exactly where you want to be, it feels like the universe is aligned just right in that moment and everything else is just background noise, orbiting distantly around you both.

And in case you were wondering… this tumblr post was the inspiration for this fic! Part 2 to come…

[whattraintracks]

TMNT ask game!

20.) Which theme song is your favorite?

21.) What is your favorite story arc?

28.) What is one thing you would like to see explored more in TMNT art/fics?

20.) Gah, I love all the tmnt music so much, you have no idea. The '03 theme is a major bop, I hardly ever skip it. The full-length version of the Rise theme has some neat lyrics and musical moments. My absolute favorite, if this counts, is the theme from the Out of the Shadows soundtrack. It's a loud, high-energy remix of the '87 theme with good vocals, an epic rap, a sick guitar solo, and go ninja go ninja go. It's got it all.

21.) I loved Big Brawl in '03! Also, Rise's Tales of the Hidden City. I enjoy it when characters start in the same place, have separate adventures during which they occasionally cross paths or subtly reference what the others are up to, and all end up back together. It's like one of those kid activity pages where you follow the jumbled, squiggly lines from one side to the other.

28.) Mikey, Raph, and Leo's adventures in the Ultimate Drako arc! Since I only just watched it, I haven't gone looking for fanworks about it yet. I'm sure they exist, but I haven't seen as many come up as I do for SAINW. I'm equally intrigued by the potential for exploring or drawing out the others' time in their respective universes and imagining the after-effects.

Does Mikey think often about The Sliver? About how he helped the superturtles kill their father, a twisted mirror of his own? How does his experience affect the way he superheros? How does it affect his relationship with the Justice Force? With villains? With comics? Maybe I just haven't read enough '03 fics yet, but I LOVE Turtle Titan and want so much more of him, in general.

I talked a little about Raph and the planet racers in my reaction post, and @terrahlee-cup added some excellent thoughts. He was there for three days!! So much potential for in-between moments. Let him interact with the other racers, talk shop, show off his ninja skills, or just walk around freely. Did he throw himself into learning the strange mechanics and designs of his temporary bike to keep himself busy between races instead of running himself ragged, worrying about his family? Did he look for a way out on his own or force himself to focus only on the race, hoping that if he kept his end of the deal, so would Methania and Falcon? Surely he won't be all angst back home. Maybe, in true sibling fashion, he shoves it in Mikey's face: 'Oh, you won the battle nexus tournament? Well, I won a death race across an entire alien planet!' Maybe he goes right back to upgrading the shell cycle alongside Casey with a million new ideas. Maybe he ropes Don into discussions about how mechanical engineering differs across dimensions due to divergences or advancements in scientific knowledge or even different laws of physics.

And gosh, Leo must have felt so uneasy traveling in broad daylight in Usagi's world. Plus, it must have really stung to face prejudice not for his appearance (something he expected and had prepared for with humans) but because of his ninja training and heritage, something he so proudly cultivated and dedicated himself to. How did he feel at the Nexus, knowing he nearly sent Raph plummeting to his death as he tried and failed to return his family to him with the war staff?

I very much enjoyed answering these questions! Thanks <3

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Halloween Headcanons 2023: Mutant!Maneskin Au: Victoria De Angelis as Rogue

A/N: This is heavly inspired by the X-men saga with some of my original twists, so it will both be very similar but also different from the Marvel version. Click here to check out the other mooboards: Damiano, Ethan, Thomas.

 -Victoria is born in Denmark from an Italian dad and a Danish mom, who is unfortunately sick and dies when Vic is 15, leaving her the number of an Italian friend of hers to call  in case of emergency. 

- A couple of weeks later, while she is kissing her current boyfriend, she feels electricity running through her, an insatiable hunger takes over while the boy becomes paler and paler, eventually dropping to the floor dead.

- Scared to death, she starts running towards her house and doesn't think twice about calling her mom's friend and packing her bags, because it was a matter of time before they would start to target her family. She doesn’t know her but she trusted her mother and she knows she has to leave the country.

-" I'll come pick you up at the Fiumicino airport, okay? My name is Maria."

- Once landed in Italy, Victoria discovers that Maria also had a power, controlling the light, and a son named Damiano who also seems to not be like others.

- The woman explains to her that those powers are a genetic mutation, there is nothing wrong with it and that she works in a special school for people like her, where she would learn to control and use her power.

- "You don't have to be afraid to be a freak, we all are at that school." Damiano says during her first day of school. "I still don't know what's your power." She asked. "You'll see."

-Victoria can absorb energies, memories, knowledge, talents, personality, and physical abilities through physical contact of her skin with the skin of the other person.-

-In the case of a mutant she can also absorb their powers until she interrupts the contact. It’s not clear if she can permanently absorb the power by killing the other mutant. 

- Slowly the school becomes her second home, while her friendship with Damiano gets tighter. He would always look after her while she would help him with school and learning English better, they even share a love for music and want to start a band in the future. Maria even gifts her a bass for her birthday.

- She also gets to know Ethan and Thomas, Damiano’s other friends, even if they don’t spend much time with her. The three of them seem to have a secret but Vic isn’t interested in finding it out.

- She has to wear gloves but quickly finds them incredibly fashionable, she starts to sew them and match her outfits which makes her quite the talk of the school. All the girls start to be less intimidated by her and she becomes the official makeup artist of the school, making few girls fall for her.

- Slowly a dark patch of hair starts to grow over her blonde one, dye doesn’t seem able to cover it so eventually Vic just accepts it as a new part of her.

- She gains the nickname “Kiss of death” due to her powers, however it is incredibly useful whenever someone tries to approach her against her will, even if Damiano’s burning gaze is usually enough to keep any unwanted person at bay.

- Sometimes Victoria almost forgets how dangerous she can be until someone didn't show interest in her or tried to gently touch her, in that case the sadness would come back. In moments like this she starts to miss her mother and the rest of her family even more, finding herself to wish to never have received those powers during her weakest moments.

-Beside gloves she also starts to train to channel her power to absorb a specific amount of energy, even if the downside is that the other’s personality or memories will linger in her for a while. 

- Damiano is in charge of training her during the holidays to make her ready to join her first mission, however they end up waiting for someone in front of a garage.

-" What's going on, Dam?" " I think we are ready to tell you our secret." “ Who’s we and what secret?” “ You already know them but you don’t know that we want to form a band and you’ll be our bassist.”

- That was the day Victoria, Damiano, Thomas and Ethan played for the first time together.

[crazysolaranarchist]

Hedges and how to lay 'em.

(weird first post, I found these photos on my phone and wanted to write something. Sorry if my formatting repulses you- I'm new around these parts, my grammar will be bad coz tired. This guide is only to spark the imagination, please consult a variety of sources before carrying out a task such as this)

Hedges. Not the planted rows Buxus or Leylandii that many in Western Europe have become accustomed to as the staple boundary, I'm talking about the old fashioned, stock boundary hedge.

Tools and equipment

PPE, including waterproof clothing and acceptable footwear.

A billhook or hatchet

A pruning saw

Welding gauntlets

First of all we need to lay some basic principles out. Angiosperm trees can heal themselves quite well in funny ways that make them grow in strange ways, case in point 👇

(Credit: Gardener's path)

As long as layer of various plant based plumbing, xylem and phloem, remains a it can survive an injury such as this one 👇 that I made,

(Sorry the photo is crap, my phone camera isn't great).

Why did I do this? Am I a sick, twisted motherfucker who likes to torture trees? No. Well sometimes on a Saturday evening with consent from all parties, but this my friends is the starting move to laying a hedge. (Note, this should be done when the sap isn't flowing, my preference is January to February, but can be carried out from October to March in the northern hemisphere).

Individual trees on a bank in a row are referred to as pleachers. These require a 45 (ish) degree cut to be made three quarters of the way through the stem. It should then be bent over👇

(Credit: Devon rural skills hub)

This pleacher, if not the first, can be woven into the rest, wear gloves for the love of God almighty. This is an intricate job, a neat hedge should have very little lean and brush should preferably be concentrated in gaps. Cutting the pleacher will leave a pointed wedge of wood at the base of the stem, called a spar, this can impale someone if not cut off so please do.

This is the completed hedge, which is laid in the Glamorgan style.

The trees that make up the hedge will grow into a thick, tall, living barrier.

Hedges must be relaid over generations, and soon enough I'll have a video detailing how to plant a hedgerow.

History

Hedgerows were invented by John Hedge and his husband Hugh Row in 1755...oh no that's my rural history fanfic. Hedges were actually invented by, well actually we don't know. I've heard it said that they've cropped up in the fertile crescent and ancient Rome. My personal theory is that they are a Neolithic or earlier invention which resulted from a failed coppicing attempt (coppicing post coming to a Tumblr blog near you) the individual who happened to do it may have discovered that the tree was still alive and thus the possibilities of tree shaping were extended to barriers.

Now, as an ancom who decries attempts to stifle the rights of the proletariat, I would be remiss in informing you of one important part of hedge history: the enclosure of the commons. Common land formerly was land for people to graze stock, pannage pigs, forage, hunt and collect firewood. The inclosure act of 1773 allowed private landowners to close common off from the commoners thus creating starvation. And it was all done with hedges, eco-friendly opression of the working class! Yaaaaay!

The importance of hedgerows.

Hang on, you may think to yourself, eco-friendly? How is savaging trees eco-friendly? Good question, dear reader. For a number of reasons;

The regrowth of trees means no loss of fruit or flowers in the long run, thus providing food resources to animals.

Shelter is provided to herps, inverts, nesting birds and small mammals through a diverse branch structure.

The general damp and dim conditions provides a safe haven for bryophytes and fungi.

The hedgebank is a bread and butter to the burrowing animal. Foxes, badgers and rabbits all frequently use hedgebank as the entrance to their dens, setts and warrens.

They act as wildlife corridors for animals to travel from habitat to habitat, thereby helping to combat habitat fragmentation.

Hedgerows in Wales have declined 50% since the second world war and the push to mechanise agriculture. 60% of our current hedgerows are in a substandard condition.

There is a human benefit too, and it isn't just the confinement of livestock.

My maternal family are South Welsh rural folk: foresters, shepherds and the like. My paternal family are Romanichal, who lived a nomadic life in former days. Both have one thing in common: life without the hedgerow that provided fruit and meat would have been a damn site much harder than what it already was.

Therefore I advocate the hedge not only to preserve wildlife but also to provide ample wild fruits (though I wouldn't recommend crab apples to eat, other trees like bullaces and medlars are excellent) and meat for the poorer rural working class, the ever increasing rural homeless population and whomever else needs it.

DISCLAIMER!!!!

I haven't covered everything here, so if you don't look up any other sources you'll probably bugger up somewhere. Please do your homework and make sure you don't injure yourself, or potentially harm nature.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 24: What-Ifs & What’s Nexts

SATURDAY - SUMMER 20 

Between the bath bombs, Gus’ meals, George’s humidifier, and yes—Abigail’s gossip—he’d made a quicker recovery than both he and Harvey had anticipated. Still on the weaker end of things physically, of course—no way he was going to able to do any intense hikes without getting massively winded—but feeling good enough to at least get back into briskly walking, if not jogging, around the town. 

Figuring early Saturday morning was as good a time as any, he dragged himself out of bed to head down to the beach for the sunrise, today’s paper in his hand. Salty sea air was good for the lungs, right? 

Padding softly across the still-cold grains of sand (which probably were not good for the lungs), he made to take his usual seat close to the ice cream stands when a familiar green letterman down by the shore caught his eye. 

Alex must’ve gotten to the beach even earlier. Perhaps a very early morning walk with Dusty, who was sniffing around the waves. 

“Alex!” Achilles called, walking over. As he approached, he could hear a trace of tinkling music below Dusty’s greeting howls. 

The boy looked up and returned the wave, though, Achilles noticed, with less enthusiasm than the former swimmer typically gave. “Hey, Achilles.” 

Achilles took a squat next to Alex and gave Dusty a pat on the head. The tinkling tune was coming from a small silver music box by Alex’s feet where two tiny swans, necks bent to form a heart shape, rotated smoothly on a turntable in the center of an engraved platform. 

“Hey, you feeling better? I’m guessing you’re not here for a swim lesson.”

“You guessed correctly. No longer indisposed, I am, thank you for the humidifier and cookies. But yeah, no swimming, unfortunately. Harvey wants me to take it easy for a bit. Just thought I’d get some sea air before the beach gets too crowded.” 

“Seems like the beach has really grown on ya.” 

Achilles shook his head at the ground, though he’d broken into an easy smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m ditching this for Sunspray in a few days…” 

Alex nodded wordlessly, and returned to tracing patterns in the sand, while Achilles turned to the day’s crossword. 11 letter word for an “element of 1990s fashion.” Where was Emily when you needed her… 

“My mom died 12 years ago today.” 

Achilles dropped his pen with a tiny sound of alarm he tried to turn into a cough, but Alex paid him no mind. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t heard the squeal. 

“After this year, I’ll have lived longer without her than with her, you know… it’s kind of a weird feeling. I don’t remember too much from before Stardew, but I still remember her pretty well… she’d make salted radish sandwiches for lunch and toss the grid ball with me in the backyard.” 

“Salted radish sandwiches?” 

“Yeah,” Alex said with a laugh. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” He leaned back, his hands digging into the sand just as the sun began to bleed into the sky. 

“When she got sick… or, I guess, when we sort of knew the end was coming, we came back out here to be with Grandma and Grandpa. She loved being by the beach, so we’d roll out here to watch the sunrise every morning. Sunset every evening. I’d swim in the sea, and she’d laugh, throw the ball back and forth with me and Dusty. All the way up until things got really bad. It’s dumb, but I like to think she held on until after my birthday on purpose… 

“She took good care of me… and I, of course, was too young to really say ‘thanks.’” He sighed, scratching under nose in what may have been a subtle attempt to dissuade any tears. The tenor of his voice, however, had remained steady. “And now she’s gone forever.” 

Alex slid the music box towards Achilles and gave the little tab at the back a twist. The swans once again began to twirl to the delicate chimes. 

“This is the only keepsake I have left of her, you know. And my watch. It’s not much, but, it’s something.” His fingers traced the burnished gold trim. 

As the song neared its end, Achilles fiddled with his pen, preemptively anxious to fill the approaching silence but unsure of what to say. He had never been good at these sorts of things. He had been fortunate. Loss like this had never touched him. 

“She… sounds like a great woman.” 

Dear Yoba, that was stupid. 

Achilles attempted to turn his instinctual face palm into a more deliberate motion, rubbing his nose with the pads of his fingers. “All you can do is… your best. To honor her memory.” 

Man, that wasn’t much better, you sad bastard. 

But Alex laughed in appreciation, though it was light and followed by a heavy sigh that he seemed to draw from deep within the sand. “You know, I always told her I’d go pro. I was convinced I was going to play for the Tunnelers. And before you laugh, let me remind you, I was 10. I mean, ok, you can laugh. My mom laughed. But she’d, like, never put me down or anything. And I must’ve been an annoying little turd, I never shut up about it… but she was always supportive.” 

Alex paused to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he craned his neck to look out across the water at the rising sun.

“I don’t know if I ever told you this—I probably did—but I used to be a swimmer.” 

Achilles only nodded. 

“It wasn’t grid ball, but I did actually nearly go pro. But it ended up… falling through, kind of… grandma got sick and stuff… I just wish…” 

Achilles remembered. Evelyn had gotten ill, then George. Alex had had to quit. Return home. 

“I’m sure your mom would still be very proud of you,” he offered. Nice. Safe. Good one. 

But Alex turned to look at him, green eyes rolling, skepticism weighing heavily in a delicately cocked eyebrow as he let his head fall dramatically to the side. “You of all people—you come to me on the anniversary of my mother’s death and you just lie to my face like that?” 

“What?” He’d been mentally patting himself on the back, and now Achilles was scrambling up from the sand.  “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Alex laughed—a genuine laugh, but there was the barest hint of bitterness to it all the same. He shut the music box, still sitting on the shore. “I mean, would you be proud of me? You—I mean, you’re not even satisfied with being a Ferngill Time’s Bestselling author six years in a row. What does it take for you to be proud? To be, I don’t know, satisfied?” 

Achilles squirmed. “Well, people are… wired differently, I suppose. Some people are… naturally more ambitious, motivated by their pride—to the point of detriment, might I add—while others…” Are lazy?? Fuck, what are you saying? Stop talking! 

“Do you think less of me? Because I’m not like that?” 

“What? No.” Achilles’ nose was beginning to twitch… he turned away from Alex and retreated to the water’s edge, hands balled up into fists in his windbreaker’s pockets. The sun had nearly risen above the horizon now. The dawn of yet another unproductive day. “I… wish I was more like you.” 

From behind, Achilles heard Alex snort, but the swimmer joined him a few seconds later to stand by the water. 

“I wasn’t lying,” Achilles murmured. “I think your mom would be proud of you.” 

“What’s there to be proud of?” Alex aimed a small kick at a clump of sand. “Hey, now don’t get me wrong, I’m not… bitter about what happened. Or angry. My grandparents have done a lot for me, and I’ll always be grateful. It’s just… you know. Funny. How things turn out… I think my mom just wanted me to be happy.” 

“Are you happy?” It was a loaded question, a heavy one that slipped out. 

Alex shrugged. “I don’t think I’m unhappy. I like my job, I like my coworkers, I like my friends. I like living in the Valley. I mean, what is there to dislike or complain about in my life, you know? Just sometimes, you know… you can’t help but think about the what-ifs. What if my dad hadn’t been a piece of shit? What if my mom hadn’t died? What if my grandma hadn’t gotten sick? What if my grandpa hadn’t been in a wheelchair? 

“All my—what was the fancy word you used?—ambitions? Goals? They’ve always gotten blown up by something or another, and I guess I’ve just learned it’s better to just let life happen to you.” 

It was the complete opposite ideology that Achilles had been raised and lived his life by—better to let life happen to you? What-ifs, instead of what’s nexts? How—what—why— 

Once again, Alex, who had been watching a whole medley of vaguely nauseated emotions flit across Achilles’ face as it struggled with digesting this unfamiliar philosophy, laughed. “Listen, I know I probably sound like a lazy son of a gun—especially to you—but I don’t know. I’m… fine, I think. With my life. Being a fitness instructor. A lifeguard. Living with my grandparents. You know. Nothing fancy, but that’s fine. And I think my mom would be happy that I’m happy.” He paused. “I just don’t think she’d be proud.” 

He stooped to clip Dusty’s leash back onto his collar. The sun had long risen. It was time for Alex to head to Orange Grove.