#it could be because I'm asking for plausible things but hey

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[ms-demeanor]

Hey friend! So while I'm incredibly skeptical, I'm not strictly against alternative medicine, like you are. I saw you mention reiki, and thought you might geek out on this article like I did:

https://web.archive.org/web/20200308195914/https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/04/reiki-cant-possibly-work-so-why-does-it/606808/

It's called "Reiki Can't Possibly Work. So Why Does It?" and I highly encourage reading the whole thing. It first of all thoroughly debunks a lot of the claims reiki practitioners make but it also details all of the studies that have proven its effectiveness and provides what I find a pretty compelling explanation: that much of modern western medicine is stressful and traumatizing. Of course laying in a quiet room with the lights dimmed while a kind person sits with you and wishes for you to be well is effective. It reduces stress and all of the negative biological processes it triggers, which promotes healing.

The article mentions that for years we didn't understand the mechanism by which acetaminophen worked - we just knew it did. I knew a man who was really into "chakra therapy" in the 90s where he had a set of colored sunglasses that, supposedly, would rebalance one's out-of-whack chakras through light therapy. He found that attending to his throat chakra, yellow, helped him sleep better. Years later, formal studies found that yellow lenses filter blue light and can help regulate circadian rhythms.

When I was really little, my uncle sold magnet therapy products (which claimed to promote circulation?? I think??). I had a huge meltdown at a family reunion and no one could get me to calm down. My uncle put a blanket full of magnets on top of me, and I immediately relaxed. Imagine my surprise hearing that story for the first time as an adult who now uses a weighted blanket for stress.

I agree that people need to be really careful about these practices, about getting scammed, and especially about herbal supplements that can have dangerous interactions. I also think there's an extent to which you can analyze the risks and benefits and say, "Okay, I have no idea why this works but it does and there's no major downsides."

Hey so I get a bit heated in this response but I want you to know that I approached this ask in good faith because I know you and I know that we have a lot of the same values and interests and this touched a nerve that was not at all your fault and once I get past the direct response to the article I think I come off a little less. Um. Like the aggression there is not directed at you, it's directed at the article and at one person mentioned in the article specifically who is part of why my reaction to the article is so not good. But I promise after the last bullet point I come off as less reactive, I think. (I'm also publishing this publicly because I think it may be helpful for people to see how CAM stuff often gets away with a veneer of skepticism-that-isn't-actually-skepticism - the article claims to be skeptical but then makes a ton of assumptions and cites some truly mind-bogglingly bad sources that a lot of people won't recognize as bad if they don't have a hair trigger trained by far too much time on the bad CAM parts of the internet).

I've actually read that article a few time times, and would like to do a quick rundown on why I find it unconvincing:

She doesn't cite any decent studies on reiki; one that she does cite is just a self-reported questionnaire response from 23 people in 2002.

While we don't know the exact mechanism of action for acetaminophen, we do know that it does work - it measurably reduces fever and in double blinded RCTs produces reproduceable results in reducing certain kinds of pain. The Science Based Medicine authors cited in the article who called for an end to studies on reiki did so both because there is no plausible mechanism of action for reiki (specifically as energy work, not as 'being in a room with a patient person who listens to you') and because there is no good evidence that it works. (And they wrote a follow-up to the Atlantic article; I like SBM but it's quite sneery, as are most of their write-ups of reiki). When Kisner asks "why should this be different?" when comparing reiki and acetaminophen, the answer is: because there is not only no plausible way that reiki *could* work, there is not any good evidence we have that it works better than placebo.

"Various non-Western practices have become popular complements to conventional medicine in the past few decades, chief among them yoga, meditation, and acupuncture, all of which have been the subject of rigorous scientific studies that have established and explained their effectiveness." This one sentence needs probably twenty or so links in response, suffice it to say that western medicine has emphatically not established and explained the effectiveness of AT LEAST acupuncture and the casually credulous way Kisner accepts that acupuncture is effective (effective FOR WHAT?) throws some serious doubt on her ability to assess these kinds of things.

The title of the article is "Reiki can't possibly work, so why does it?" and that's probably the Atlantic's fault more than Jordan Kisner's fault, but she doesn't ever demonstrate that it works. She says she got a buzzy feeling after her training, she says that patients at the VA were asking for reiki as treatment for pain and sleep disorders, she says that people remembered "healing touches" from parents and loved ones and that the same mechanism might be what makes reiki 'work.' She says that reiki "has been shown by various studies that pass evidentiary muster to help patients in a variety of ways when used as a complementary practice" and the two studies that she includes that weren't just a questionnaire were 1) a non-blinded study of heart rate variability post heart attack where the reiki arm involved continuous interaction with a trained nurse and the other two arms involved resting quietly or classical music (so relaxation as a result of additional focused attention by attentive medical professionals could account for this? Why was the control for this study not having a med student sit and hold the patient's hand?) and 2) a study of patients who sought out reiki who were surveyed after treatment and noted improvement on one of twenty mental or physical markers (this study is like, GOLD for an example of a bad study; no control, self-selected participants who believe in the efficacy of the intervention, exceptionally broad criteria for a positive result - I find it really really really challenging to grant any credence to someone who confidently cited this as an example of reiki "working")

Near the end of the article she says "At the same time, this recalled the most cutting-edge, Harvard-stamped science I’d read in my research: Ted Kaptchuk’s finding that the placebo effect is a real, measurable, biological healing response to “an act of caring.” - if she read any of Ted Kaptchuk's research she didn't link to it; what she did link to was a 2018 New York Times profile of him and Kathryn Hall, researchers at Harvard's Placebo Studies and the Therapeutic Encounter program. Being any flavor of journalist and citing Ted Kaptchuk as your source for cutting-edge, institutionally-backed science is disqualifying.

I now need to do some yelling about Ted Kaptchuk.

For clarity: I have as much medical training as Kathryn Hall and Ted Kaptchuk, which is to say: None.

Hall is a microbiologist with a PhD in Public Health, so she at least a background in science. Kaptchuk is an acupuncturist with a BA in East Asian studies and a doctorate in Chinese medicine - notably NOT a medical degree; he was forced to stop calling himself a doctor and had papers retracted after enough people questioned whether the school he claimed he attended even existed and the documents he presented to claim that he was an "OMD" were conclusively translated and did not have any indication that the granted a medical degree of any kind - Science Based Medicine was involved in investigating this because they've been comprehensively anti-quack forever and Ted Kaptchuk has been a quack forever (after recieving confirmation from the government of Macau that Kaptchuk's alma mater was not a medical degree granting institution SBM STILL gave him the benefit of the doubt and had people translate his documentation for final confirmation).

He is also an author on of one of my most beloathed ever studies, which showed that sham acupuncture, placebo, and albuterol all produced the same effect on patient-reported well-being, coming to the conclusion that patient reports can be unreliable and that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma." That fucking line, that stupid goddamned line, gets cited in every piece of woo bullshit about how acupuncture or chiropractic or some scam-ass diet all work, I've run into this study while looking through at least twenty bibliographies and it is one of the biggest, reddest flags that whoever is writing the paper you're reading is full up on some bullshit. Because, see, the paper found that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma" in terms of *patient-reported* markers, but the fucking study found that only albuterol produced an actual effect in lung function. Here's the sentence BEFORE the one that gets cited all the time: "Although albuterol, but not the two placebo interventions, improved FEV1 [forced expiratory volume in one second - the measure for lung function used in the study and used to diagnose asthma] in these patients with asthma, albuterol provided no incremental benefit with respect to the self-reported outcomes." It doesn't matter if the patient *feels* better if they can't actually breathe! It doesn't fucking matter - feeling better but still having poor breathing leaves you more vulnerable to dying of a fucking asthma attack! I hate this goddamned study so fucking much and it's used all the time to claim that placebo can be just as effective as medicine for making people FEEL better but, like, they're still sick even if they feel better! I HAVE HAD PEOPLE CITE THIS STUPID FUCKING STUDY TO ME AS EVIDENCE THAT I DON'T CARE ENOUGH ABOUT TREATING MY FUCKING ASTHMA BECAUSE I DON'T GET ACUPUNCTURE TO TREAT MY FUCKING ASTHMA. If sham acupuncture makes you feel better when you've got the flu but doesn't lower your fever or make you less contagious, you shouldn't act like you don't have a fever or aren't contagious this study makes me INSANE.

Okay done yelling.

I think this look at placebo in the midst of her article about reiki is really interesting because it's very common for CAM practitioners to claim that it's as effective as placebo - which just means that it's not effective. This is a great explanation from The Skeptic on why placebo isn't and can't be what Kaptchuk, Hall, and the like claim. It's also interesting to me that Kisner didn't choose to link to a 2011 New Yorker profile of Kaptchuk that is somewhat less rosy about his placebo studies and includes this absolutely crushing statement: "the placebo effect doesn’t appear to work with Alzheimer’s patients. Trivers suggests that this is because most people who have Alzheimer’s disease are unable to anticipate the future and are therefore unable to prepare for it."

But to the actual point of the ask: I honestly think it's fascinating how much CAM success probably rides on "well did you listen to the patient and pay attention to what was wrong with them and sympathize with them and help them lay out plan that made them feel like they had some agency in this exceptionally frustrating situation (chronic illness, newly diagnosed issue, totally undiagnosed issue) that they're dealing with?"

I know part of why people with chronic illnesses turn to CAM is because they're ignored and dismissed by allopathic practitioners who are largely looking for horses, not zebras - this is one of the reasons that I'm really big on reminding people that (at least in the US) DOs are fully licensed physicians who use a holistic and patient-centered approach so if you are someone with a chronic illness who has had trouble getting diagnosed or had trouble getting doctors to believe you, swapping your MD for a DO as a primary care physician might be really, really helpful to you.

But the flip side of that is that is that I worry deeply about the question of where harm starts; the example with your uncle is really great because you do have a solid instance of something working but for totally the wrong reason (pressure being the mechanism that actually helped, versus magnets being the reason given by the person who did the treatment). Some of this stuff has very little likelihood of causing direct harm, but has the distinct possibility of having indirect harms, which people in the anti-CAM space generally divide into two categories, treatment delay and unnecessary costs (opportunity costs, monetary costs, wasted effort, etc.)

I'm going to step outside of your specific example and look at magnet therapy generally, which really is a spectacular thing to focus on because it honestly doesn't have any direct harms; nobody is allergic to magnets, the kinds of magnets used aren't strong enough to interfere with medical devices, it's even safer than the whole "well herbalism is sometimes just a cup of tea" thing because there are "safe" teas that can do real harm to large populations! But simply being around magnets is not going to hurt anyone (unless they're swallowed; nobody swallow magnets please).

One of the things that I think goes under-discussed when talking about placebo and CAM is that the people trying the alternative solutions desperately WANT the alternative medicine to work (I suspect that this is why the self-selected study of reiki patients has such a significant finding). They are pulling for it; they may be looking at it as a last resort, or they may be hoping that it will work to avoid a treatment that is more frightening, expensive, or inaccessible. I think this actually contributes a lot to the delay of care that we see with CAM.

The absolute worst case harm I can imagine from magnetic therapy is delaying treatment. Let's suppose we've got a diabetic patient with gradually increasing peripheral neuropathy; they have reacted poorly to gabapentin in the past and are looking for something more natural, and they hear from their chiropractor that magnet therapy can be used to treat neuropathy. They buy some compression socks with "magnetic and earthing properties" and sleep in the socks. Whether through the compression controlling some edema or through the simple desire for the socks to work, they feel some relief from the nerve pain they were experiencing and decide that this is a success. The socks work! They continue wearing the socks with occasional pain, but less than before. However, because they are focused on the lack of pain, they don't notice that it's accompanied by increasing numbness. The numbness significantly increases their risk of injury to their feet, which significantly increases their risk of amputation.

It probably sounds like catastrophizing to say "using magnets could lead to amputation" but honestly I don't think it's that far out of the realm of possibility (every time I post on this topic I get flooded with the saddest stories in the world about people whose loved ones died because of delayed treatment for cancer or heart disease).

The second category of harm is cost, which is honestly pretty minimal with magnet therapy, as long as you aren't spending $1049 on a magnetic mat

or paying a chiropractor to give you magnetic treatments. For some other medically harmless treatments like reiki, cost is the thing that I worry about - while I was looking up information related to the article I found that people are charging anywhere from $60 to $225 a session, and selling multi-session packages for thousands of dollars - and if someone thinks that something works, even if it only works by being in a soothing space where someone cares about you - they'll pay for it.

I'm aware that all of this is also extra complicated because of the cost and lack of access to allopathic medicine - a chiropractor broke my spine because I could pay her $60 per appointment but I couldn't pay $125 to see an MD when I didn't have insurance. People who are sick are going to look for treatment; people who have been denied treatment or dismissed by doctors are going to look for alternative treatments.

But man, I really wish I'd spent that sixty bucks on half of a doctor's appointment because the chiropractor didn't know about the benign tumor that I had that weakened the structure of that particular bone when she did her adjustment; it also didn't make the pain go away, it made a different pain start and get worse because it turns out I was having debilitating muscle spasms that then had a bone injury added in on top.

(Chiropractic, for the record, goes with chelation therapy and many many many many cases of herbalism where it's NOT just cost or delay; people claim these treatments are harmless and they are not. They can do tremendous harm).

But yeah I'm not going to deny at all that all of this would be a hell of a lot better if people (especially marginalized people) didn't have to jump through hoops to prove to a doctor that something is wrong with them, and didn't have to do so in an appointment that attempts to cram whole person care down into fifteen minutes, and didn't have the possibility of bankrupting you. Interacting with allopathic medicine is a nightmare and I totally understand why people want to look outside of it for treatment.

I've just heard too many horror stories and seen too much predatory CAM to cut much of it any slack.

At the end of the SBM response to the Atlantic article, the author (I can't remember if it's Gorski or Novella) makes the point that reiki is a spiritual practice, and that we've known for a long time that spiritual practices can improve a person's well-being in a number of ways; they can reduce anxiety, they can provide community, they can give people a space to feel and express emotions that they certainly aren't going to be able to process in a doctor's office. Spiritual practices can be wonderful, and we know there are a lot of people who they can help. But they aren't medicine, and attempting to replace medicine with them (which I don't think that most reiki practitioners are trying to do, to be fair, but which Ted Kaptchuk DEFINITELY is in trying to 'harness the power of placebo') is a disservice to people who need an inhaler instead of acupuncture.

Also, and I know this was not your point but I have to bring it up because people ask about it whenever discussions of placebo come up:

The placebo effect is not treatment. The placebo effect, whether achieved through deception or when someone says loud and clear "this is a sugar pill" does not improve an illness, but it may improve how a patient *feels* about an illness. In some cases, this may as well be the same thing - if you're dealing with muscle pain because you're stressed and no matter what you do it doesn't go away because your shoulders are always up around your ears and you're grinding your teeth and you're sleeping poorly, then literally just talking to someone who is in an office and says "this is a sugar pill, go ahead and take it" may make your muscle pain feel better, but it isn't going to reduce your stress and it isn't going to last, and if your muscle pain is because you're feeling angina as a result of a partially blocked artery then it SURE AS FUCK is not going to make you better and may mask symptoms that were a warning sign of a much more serious problem. People who are sick deserve actual treatment, and placebo is not treatment, which is part of why Ted Kaptchuk makes me want to tear my hair out.

[messylustt]

݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ maybe more? — miguel o’hara + reader: you make a decision that miguel isn’t too pleased about. miguel doesn’t like this ‘someone’.

contents : includes fluff :(( bit of angst (ends well). mentions of cheating (not miguel or reader) — pls let’s just ignore the comic miguel (coz he may or may not have cheated) and focus on movie miguel. thank you. wc 1.4k.

pt one pt two pt three

you walked alone, head muffled. you've found taking one step in front of the other helps focus those muffled voices. maybe then you could make sense of them. maybe then your heart wouldn't feel so heavy.

so, toe after toe you ventured around HQ, humming a soft tune to focus on your breath rather than the voices you found you couldn't make out. but then there was a clearer one, a deeper one, getting your attention.

you look up to see miguel eyeing you and your distracted self. you smile. "miguel, hey."

miguel's eyes dart. ever since the news of your hug had circled the spider society every spider-person had made their own assumption. lovers? close friends? related?—that was a strange and short lived one to circulate. but people could just not fathom how miguel would ever want to hug anyone. you being a family member seemed more plausible at the time.

but now everyone has circled back to potential lovers. but you have someone. had someone... you aren't too sure. because the reminded tug at your heartstrings earns your smile to slightly drop. miguel notices. his inspection of you turning more detailed. "you don't look annoyingly happy." he states monotonously.

you focus your gaze and push away your heart, placing that smile you always seemed to bear back on. "what? you mean how you don't look everyday?" you tilt your head.

to outsiders you would seem normal, fine, happy. but to miguel you seemed far from it. to miguel you seemed troubled, not yourself. and it sets an uncomfortable feeling low in his stomach. he didn't like not seeing you as your bright, bubbly self. Because slowly you had become his rock, his comfort of sorts. and if you weren't stable, how could he ever be?

he steps closer, tapping your chin to raise it up, as you had begun to get distracted in the slightly shiny floor. you meet his gaze, forcing that smile back on. but Miguel places two clawed fingers against your cheeks, drawing that smile down. "don't smile unless you mean it." he muttered.

you were quite surprised by how intensively he had begun to take note of you. you had caught him always eyeing you in briefings, or in the cafeteria (if you can call it that). it now kinda makes sense the whole assumption of 'lovers'. but you weren't. and you personally didn't think you'd ever be. miguel wasn't the type.

you step backwards, away from his close hold, and miguel has the urge to pull you back, his hand slightly moving with you to hold your wrist. "are you free?" he asks quietly. and now you could spot the slight bags under his eyes, proving his need for "comfort".

but you had been thinking. though it's been nice, and you haven't minded it. miguel's hands have begun to drift more permanently around you. the hugs had become to feel far more intimate. you have someone...had someone...someone who you still liked, and someone who you hoped still liked you.

that's where the confusion settled, and the tug of your heart. you couldn't carry on this...whatever this thing was with miguel. it wasn't right. because your feelings had began to not feel right. you have/had someone.

you take your hand away from his hold and miguel's eyes narrow, quickly darting up to your face again. you place that forced smile back on and miguel's lips twitch in a snarl. He didn't want you to be fake around him.

"i'm sorry...not this time...I'm...busy." you space the words out far too randomly and of course miguel takes notice.

"this time?"

you gulp. "and maybe next time."

miguel grinds his teeth. "and the time after that?" he speaks a fraction harsher.

"...and the time after that." you confirm, looking away from his gaze, because you did feel bad. but it wasn't right being that alone and intimate when you have…had—god, just whatever this 'someone' was, point blank you felt it was wrong.

you stand straighter, finally meeting his gaze. and you almost flinch. not because of an expected hardness, but because of a soft...desperation? That couldn't be right... miguel didn't need your hugs like he does air...no.

yes. miguel has been forced to realise that himself. he does need your hugs, he craves them. and in all honesty he hadn't had the chance to think of himself without them. but here you stand, telling him 'that's it'.

"that's it, then?" he asks slowly.

you slowly nod. "i am sorry. but I know for a fact that peter is a great hugger. plus his pink dressing gown makes everything fluffy—“

miguel cuts you off. "peter? you really think i want a hug from him?"

you shrug. "as i said: great hugger."

miguel opens his mouth then pauses. "how do you know that?"

"uh...well, cause I've hugged him before?" you lightly chuckle.

maybe miguel had also noticed the 'intimacy' that had grown between your hugs. because now his chest is aching with a form of...jealousy? over peter? and not in the way a lover feels jealous necessarily. but in the way he wanted your hugs for himself.

yes, that made him selfish, and probably unreasonable. but he liked the thought of something so special as a hug from you being something for him. and now you were saying no, and offering peter up as a substitute? no one could substitute you. no one.

so, miguel began to shake his head. "do you really think that peter's hug could suffice for yours?" he narrowed his eyes, seeing if you truly believed that.

you again shrug. "it's just a hug, isn't it?" because if it was something more than you were right to stop this. miguel's jaw clenched. it was supposed to be, wasn't it? a bit of relief.

maybe that relief has turned into an addiction? maybe the term 'a simple hug' has turned into so much more? all miguel knew was that he didn't want to stop this. he didn't want to not be able to have your body pressed against his.

a voice suddenly calls your name, making you spin. your heart thumps, seeing that 'someone' walk up. a 'peter' spider-man variant. generic, so you chose to call him by his middle name, 'jessy'. named after his childhood dog.

"jessy..." your smile was the brightest miguel thinks he's ever seen. and that seems to only dampen his already soured mood. "finished a mission?" you eye his heaving chest.

jessy nods, looping his arms around your waist and giving your cheek a kiss. miguel almost flinched at the visual, his gaze getting caught up in jessy's hand. it's placement somewhere miguel had used quite often. but then miguel looks back to Jessy's face. and then back to your bright smile.

you two couldn't be...because that would mean...jessy had cheated.

miguel remembers passing by a room, moans and whimpers piercing the otherwise silence. miguel had pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering in annoyance. he banged on the door, not daring to look in. "this is communal space...you know that right?" he growled out, as he heard the moans quiten, as voices muttered together. "get out of the office." and then he left, but not before his gaze caught the sight of jessy's face and the girl that certainly wasn't you.

miguel would probably have reacted differently if he'd seen you there, pressed against jessy like that.

miguel now hardens his gaze on jessy, because then he leant forward and pecked your lips, making miguel's claws cut skin. your bright smile showed that you were oblivious to jessy's "secret" doings. but that's why your heart tugged so hard. you knew. those muffled voices were your subconscious trying to drown out thoughts of reason.

things like 'you deserve better', 'don't let him kiss you'...'end it'. all those sensible thoughts getting shoved into a basin of water, left to drown and die. you hated to admit to yourself that someone had cheated on you. it made more prominent thoughts circle the top of the water, free from harm. 'am I not good enough?', 'did I do something wrong?'...'it's probably my fault'.

miguel speaks your name, making you shift your gaze to him. "a mission. you're needed." he says, beginning to walk away. a mission? but you follow anyway, waving jessy goodbye as you slipped into miguel's office.

"sorry, i didn't know i had one today. i would've been more prepared—"

"jessy..." miguel is turning back to you, brows furrowed as he thinks of how to word this. "how long?"

your brows furrow a moment, before the lines smooth. "...a decent while. why?"

miguel grinds his teeth. "there isn't...really anyway to put this..."

you lightly chuckle, trying to ease the settling tension. "you...okay?"

no. he wasn't. because you had said to 'stop this'. but now wasn't the time... "i caught..." god, this was a lot harder to say then he had initially thought.

but when he had said that you had begun to clock on. it's not a surprise someone else had seen them. they were being rather loud. your smile had begun to fade as you muttered. "i...i know..."

miguel immediately looks up at this. "what?..."

you lick your lips, avoiding eye contact. "i appreciate you trying to tell me. that must have been annoying to hold." you lightly chuckle. but this time its void of any happiness. "but just...can you please forget you saw anything?"

you finally meet his gaze, fiddling with your fingers, as you try not to produce a sad expression. but miguel catches it. he always does. his chest is beginning to heave. because jessy cheated on you, of all people. and you knew about it. and you still let him touch and kiss you.

miguel wasn't having any of it.

he stalked forward, making you slightly stumble back. "i'm sorry...did i catch that wrong? you knew? you fucking knew, and you let him..." he's breathing hard, and you don't know why he's so worked up.

"it's...complicated, alright?" you say. "and if that's all, i think i'll go." you move to turn but miguel is grabbing you back, forcing you close to him, because he was pissed.

"you let him touch you...kiss you. after he touched and kissed someone else?" miguel's words are harsh and they bite at your heart.

your face has actually fallen to a scowl. "i again appreciate the concern, or whatever. but you have no place to say that."

you'd hugged a few times. that's it. miguel isn't blind to that fact. but he can't be blind to the one that is making him want to tear jessy to shreds. "maybe it's not. but i'm making it my place. because you aren't doing anything about it. you can't just let him touch you after—“

"he's touched someone else. yeah, i got it, miguel." you try to get out of his tight grip again, but to no avail. "miguel." you say harsher. because all this talk about jessy feeling up someone else is making your heart crack wide open, leaving tears to well in your eyes. you didn't want to cry.

crying would mean that the basin full of water would drain, leaving you to the dead carcasses of your reasonable thoughts. you don't think you could face yourself after seeing that.

"let. go." you say slowly, willing the frog in your throat to just hop away. miguel's grip only tightens, because he's noticing your glistening eyes, he's noticing your crumbling stature. and in all honesty he wants to catch you. this time be the one to comfort you.

so, he brings you closer, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck, as he engulfs your waist in a hug. and that's when you finally break, tears spilling as your hiccuped sniffles meet miguel's ears, only making him hold you tighter.

you were crying into his neck, that basin now draining as you tightened your hold around miguel like a lifeline. after a while miguel had begun whispering things in your ear, as you took note of the empty basin full of your dead reasonable thoughts. "you deserve so much better...he doesn't deserve any bit of you...por favor."

you had never heard miguel sounding so sincere...so vulnerable, even though you were the one crying. then his lips were grazing your ear, drawing you even closer if possible. "don't let him kiss you...don't let him...touch you..." and then as his hands had begun to find solace under your split suit by your hips, rubbing your warm skin, he whispered "...end it".

he had spoken all those dead thoughts of yours. given his own voice in turn for your faulty subconscious. he wanted you to listen to him, seeing your hesitance in leaving ejssy. through sniffles you say "i don't know...if i can..."

"why not?" miguel's tone had entirely softened, your breathing—even though shaky—still your breathing against his neck, calming him.

"i...don't know." you finally say. because you didn't. maybe in truth you felt you couldn't get much better. you didn't want to lose someone that had been so prominent in your life. and miguel seemed to read between the lines, or maybe you head said that out loud?

"you can get anyone...cariño...really anyone." miguel muttered, open mouth dragging close to your ear. "and i..." he drifts off, making you lean your head away, brushing your tear stained cheeks as you met his gaze. miguel tightened his hold around your waist, scared you were going to step farther away, and so he rushed the rest out. "i can be more prominent."

you stare at him, eyes widening a fraction. miguel licks his lips. "can...i be more prominent?"

your mouth is opening and closing. "prominent?" you ask, feeling stupid.

miguel actually feels nervous as he stares down at your slight red eyes and nose, his hand moving up to brush more tears away. "or be just...more."

"more?"

"mhm." miguel hums, the air feeling calmer. your muffled voices now gone in replace for miguel's. "please end it."

you gulp. miguel hasn't stopped caressing your face and waist, not until you agreed. maybe not even after that. "por favor...please."

then you found yourself nodding, and miguel doesn't think he's ever felt so...happy. In a very long time at least. and then he was drawing you back in, this time with his breath tickling your neck, his lips actually drawing in an almost kiss. "gracias, mi cariño....gracias.”

you had always liked his hugs. maybe they had brought you comfort too. maybe they give you more solace then you think you needed. and as miguel actually began to lift you, placing you on his desk, he found a new position, with your legs widened around his hips, his hands circled around your waist, his head in your neck, and the faint brush of his lips that you could quite possibly call a kiss.

more. this provided you two with more.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 39. we can't do this

content warnings: so much pining and yearning and praise and some thigh riding (wow!)

ONCE CHAEWON HAD LEFT THE ROOM, YOU HEARD A KNOCK AT YOUR DOOR WITHIN MINUTES.

Your heart all but jumped in your chest. It had to be him, and even though you were the one who asked him to come over, you were still nervous to see Jay.

You figured that after your little interaction with him on the airplane, something would eventually happen. After all, you two were in Europe and spent all this time together. There was clear tension between you two, and you had been patiently waiting for it to break all weekend.

It was never this hard; you were fairly confident when it came down to getting a guy's attention. All you had to do was get a little closer and smile a little bigger around them.

But Jay? You felt like you were losing your mind. Not only did he avoid eye contact with you all day, but you found it next to impossible to even talk to him properly. First, it was because he kept running away before you could strike up a conversation, then it was because he made you so flustered that your mouth went dry whenever you wanted to talk.

You thought being featured on his Instagram story was a feat to be celebrated, but that fizzled out as soon as Jay went back to talking to everyone but you.

When you opened the door, he looked as confused as you were with his eyebrows narrowed and his expression stony.

"Hey, what's up?" he greeted, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room. He was always so observant around you, and why would he be if he didn't reciprocate your feelings? "Are you okay?"

You opened the door wider to let him in before closing it. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to see you."

"We could've just gone out for drinks together."

"No, alone," you insisted, sitting down at the edge of your bed and looking up at him. "I wanted us to be alone."

You noticed him swallow thickly before he asked, "Why?"

"I just..." You hesitated before continuing, "I just wanted to make sure that what happened on the plane was real."

He looked more puzzled, if that was even possible. For a second, his reaction made you wonder if you had dreamed about the entire encounter. It was plausible, considering the whole thing felt like a fantasy that ended far too soon.

Jay took a seat next to you and placed his hands on his thighs, staring ahead at the wall as he tried to piece together what you were getting at.

"You mean... Shrek."

So you weren't hallucinating. Never did you think you would feel so much relief over hearing the name Shrek.

"What happened during Shrek, I mean."

"Oh, like—"

"When you had your hands on me," you said gently, taking his hand and placing it right where he had it earlier. The familiar warmth put you at ease while causing a flush of heat to rush to your cheeks simultaneously. Jay didn't move his hand, but he looked down at it and stilled. "Like this."

"What're you—"

"Is this okay?"

It took him a few moments to process that you were fully on top of him, but, eventually, Jay nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're good."

Neither of you said anything for a while, and the seconds felt so unbearably long that you spoke up first, asking, "I'm not going crazy, right? I just thought maybe we feel the same way."

He did that nervous habit of his again where he swallowed hard instead of answering, so you pressed on, "You told me to sit on your lap." You maintained eye contact with Jay as you moved to straddle him, sitting closer to his knees without much care for how your skirt rode up. Keeping your voice as steady as possible, you took his hands and placed them on your thighs again, murmuring, "And then you did this."

He breathed out, "Yeah, I just—"

"But you ignored me all day," you cut across him, and although you felt bad for interjecting so much, the flush of pink across Jay's cheeks was too endearing for you to stop. "I felt like I was invisible to you."

You knew he wanted you, too; it was the longing in his eyes, the way his grip tightened around your thighs, and the way he hung onto every word of yours as if it was the last sound he was hearing. It was unmistakeable, but why did he keep pulling away whenever you toed closer?

"You're not," he said sincerely, gazing into your eyes with an unrivaled intensity. "You're not, I swear. I wasn't... trying to ignore you or anything." For a moment, he stopped talking and just looked down at where you were sitting on top of him. "Actually, I felt like I couldn't stay away from you until I let Heeseung drag me away."

"Really?"

A little hopeful tug of your heart made each concern of yours peel away one-by-one.

"It'd be"—he shook his head in a decidedly frantic manner, all the while keeping his gaze locked with yours—"absolutely impossible to ignore you."

Everything you felt for him, everything you felt in this moment, it all festered and billowed around you until you couldn't keep it under the surface anymore. Your confession had been hanging on your lips for days, and it was somehow easier than breathing to let it slip.

You bit back a small smile. "I like you, Jay."

You couldn't understand why his face crumbled as soon as you said those four words, why the longing in his eyes felt like an endless pit you could drown in. Was it possible that you were misreading the situation? How could that be the case when it looked like his feelings for you were overwhelming him?

His steady breaths grew shallow. "We can't do this, Y/N."

"Why not?"

"You're... you're so... I can't." The desperation that clung to his syllables made his frustration clear.

You frowned. "I'm what?"

"You're perfect. I can't"—he shook his head again—"I just can't give you what you want, or I'll end up giving you all of me, and that can't happen." He leaned forward a little to let his head hang, and you were certain it was to avoid looking you in the eye. "I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone who treats you right."

"You're saying you won't?"

"I can't," he whispered, agonized. He stammered a few times before starting, "Hoon—he'd definitely be upset about this."

By the way he hardly elaborated, you figured there was more reasoning that he simply didn't want to share yet, but you could still understand why Jay was cautious because of Sunghoon. Not only had you two broken up around three months ago, but now Jay was close with your ex-boyfriend. Part of you felt a little worried about how starting something with Jay would affect the group dynamic, too, but you knew that pretending like nothing was going on would make you feel worse.

You slid up further onto his lap, hooking your arms around his shoulders. Jay drew in a sharp breath by your sudden action, but he squeezed your thighs all the same. The flutters in your stomach from before had now become arousal pooling between your legs. You pressed your lips together and looked up at him again; hunger dawned in his eyes, and you could almost feel the way he was ravaging you with a single look.

"We could keep it a secret," you offered shyly.

"I'm sorry, it's impossible," he replied, sighing. His voice was hardly loud enough for you to hear. "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't help your emotions from pouring out when you squeaked out, "Am I really that bad?"

"No—no, never." He nearly shouted the words, his eyes burning with wicked desire. "I just promised myself I wouldn't do anything to you."

"But why?"

"You deserve better, Y/N. I won't let myself ruin you."

You hated hearing that phrase. Despite the pleasant goosebumps that prickled your skin at the thought of him ruining you, you couldn't understand why Jay thought so lowly of himself. He wasn't supposed to decide whether he was better for you or not, and you wished he could see himself the way you saw him—someone who gathered and fixed all of the stars in your sky.

"But I want you to ruin—oh." Your breath hitched upon the jolt of pleasure that left heat blooming under your skin. Whether intentional or unintentional, Jay had gripped your thighs so hard that he ended up pulling you up higher onto his legs, and the friction against your cunt left you needing more. "Jay, you—"

"Don't say that," he warned sternly, and when you looked up at him again, he looked as though he was fighting an addiction that he hadn't quite slipped into yet. And then his expression was pained, and how mad he was for you was as clear as day. "I've forced myself to stay away from you every single day, and my emotions always betray me. Just let me have this, at least. Let me stop feeling like I'm out of my mind."

And then his eyes softened, and he brushed away a loose strand of your hair. "If my circumstances were different, I'd have agreed in a heartbeat."

His words should have made your heart swell (and they did, to an extent), but you felt a strange sadness lingering in your chest. It didn't seem like he was going to elaborate on his reasoning, but you felt indubitably unfulfilled. You didn't understand, and he wouldn't let you understand.

Perhaps it was the fact that you had never been turned down like this, or you couldn't fathom getting this far and still being pushed away, or a rather unfortunate combination of both, but you couldn't stop yourself from tearing up. Even though he had been so, so kind, his words were like a dagger in your gut.

"It's okay," you warbled out, and before you could furiously wipe at the stray tear streaming down your cheek, Jay got to it first with a gentle, steady thumb. "I kind of expected it."

This time, he frowned. "You did? Why?"

"This is the first time I've liked someone like this... tried for them, you know. It's just hard for me to believe that you'd ever want me the way I want you."

Your words seemed to ignite something in Jay for the gentle flicker in his eyes was replaced with a blazing fire that only burned hotter when his eyes narrowed to slits. Your breath was caught in your throat when you felt the pads of his fingers press into your skin with a bruising grip.

The way he looked at you made you feel like you had burst into flames, too.

You weren't sure how long Jay had harbored such feelings for you, but they all came out at once in a fury. It was as if he pushed it deep inside, allowed it to simmer for months before it grew too wild to be contained. It was only a matter of time before everything came up to the surface, and now, it was on display.

"You think I don't want you?" He nearly barked out a laugh, disbelief thick in his voice. He let his head drop onto your shoulder, breathing out a few more baffled laughs before you felt his hot breath fan your skin. "You have no idea what you do to me. God, Y/N, you consume my every thought—day and night." When he raised his head again, there was a piercing intensity in his dark eyes. "I punched Hoon for you. I punched him 'cause he hurt you." He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath that seemed to shake his entire body. "I'm not a violent person by any means. I just couldn't stand hearing how he treated you."

Your lower lip was caught between your teeth. You could hardly believe you were hearing his unfiltered emotions like this, but you didn't want him to stop. You were only afraid that he would snap out of it soon and push you away again, so the least you could do was tell him a secret of your own.

"I have something to admit, too," you started. "Back in Seattle, I might have lied about the hotel availability because I was having so much fun." You paused to gauge his reaction, and you were pleasantly surprised that there was no trace of anger in his face; his eyes simply widened a fraction. "I was also freaking out about us sleeping in the same bed, but... it's not like I disliked it."

Jay went silent again, and you peered up at him curiously, waiting for a reaction. Eventually, he sighed heavily and pulled you an inch closer to his body, letting you chase that addictive friction for a split second.

"Please, Jay," you couldn't help but whimper, which, in turn, caused him to clench his jaw. "Don't make me feel good if you're not gonna keep going."

He shifted, cursing under his breath. "I can't, Y/N, I can't..." He then removed his hands to rub his face, aggravated. "I can't do this to you."

But then you saw his bulge strain against his pants, right in front of the apex of your legs—so close that you could simply move forward so that your cunt was flush against it. Jay didn't mention his boner at all, but he followed your gaze and ended up blushing scarlet under the dim light.

"Just ignore that," he muttered quickly. "I can take care of it myself."

"Are you sure?" You pouted. With Sunghoon, you always got him off first before he touched you; there were only few exceptions to this, but it was basically a ritual for you to pleasure him before he took care of you. "You're gonna go back to your room like that?"

Jay pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I'll figure it out, but are you gonna be, uh, okay?"

"I can manage just fine; I've handled it myself plenty of times."

It caught you by surprise, but those were apparently the words that drove Jay to the brink of madness; you stretched him thinner and thinner until he had finally snapped right then and there.

His voice was pitched dangerously low when he asked, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah? I thought that was normal."

"No fucking way." Jay scoffed. He shook his head in dismay. "Sunghoon's an idiot."

Careful not to push his buttons, you mumbled, "But... aren't you doing the same thing, too?"

He gave you a long, hard look. The weight of his gaze almost made you want to wither away on the spot. You trapped him with that one, and he seemed to be very aware of this fact when you heard him let out a half-frustrated, half-tired groan.

You quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"One condition," he interrupted. "I'll help you, but you're not allowed to touch me." He had a firm grip on your thighs again. "I'm not moving my hands, either."

Your heart stopped.

"Please."

That ache between your legs grew more desperate, and you felt like electric currents were running under your skin just by the way he held you. Truthfully, you did feel yourself deflate a little when he set down the rule that you weren't allowed to touch him, but then Jay sat against the headboard and pulled you back onto his lap with his eyes fixed on yours, and you couldn't remember anything anymore.

He was truly committed to only pleasuring you; even though his cock looked painfully hard through the fabric, Jay was adamant about keeping you on his thigh. His leg muscles were strong, you gathered, as he guided your hips down to grind against his thigh in torturous circles.

Immediately, you were dizzy with pleasure. Each motion ended with a little pressure against your clit that sent shocks of bliss throughout your body. He flexed his muscle enough for you to whine from the stimulation.

"F-fuck, just like that."

"Wow," Jay got out in a rush, his voice raspy and fervent, relishing the way you were bouncing on his thigh with occasional whimpers and moans falling from your lips. "You're perfect, Y/N. Everything I've ever dreamt of and more."

And when he called out your name, it felt like he was worshipping you, like your name was a prayer that he needed to chant to preserve some semblance of sanity. Jay was using all his might to suppress the all-consuming desire that threatened to take over every rational decision he had made so far.

Not that this was a rational decision in the slightest.

Not being able to hold onto him was the worst punishment you could've gotten. You were drawn to him, as if you were magnetized, but he put up a very clear boundary that you wouldn't dare push. You had already gotten this far, and you weren't going to push your luck any further—not when you were already seeing white flashes in your vision as he continued his rhythmic motion of helping you ride his thigh.

Maybe it was because you hadn't been taken care of in months, or maybe it was because Jay had tapped into some hidden talent at getting you off, but your climax crept up upon you unexpectedly. One minute your eyes were locked with Jay's as you ground your hips into his thigh, and the next you were arching your back and gripping the sheets underneath for leverage as your orgasm rushed over you.

You threw your head back as you succumbed to the current of pleasure that ripped through you. When you opened your eyes again, Jay was staring at you like he wanted to kiss you, and you were so sure he would for a moment. You leaned up, lips barely grazing his before he pulled back with a groan and dug his fingers firmly into your thighs.

Jay didn't stop even as you gasped and moaned his name throughout your orgasm. (It did seem to rile him up a little more, though.) He only tightened his grip so that he could continue the same, ancient rhythm that ended up driving you to the edge of your second orgasm.

"Oh my god," you gushed out, finally losing your balance and using your shaky arms to keep you upright.

Jay finally slowed down until he was sure you had fruitfully ridden out your orgasm. You were a fucked-out, panting mess by the end of it, and you craved nothing more than for Jay to pull you into his arms and show you just how much he could make love to you.

If he could make you feel that good by only holding your thighs, then you would surely be ruined if you two went further.

But, to your dismay, he gently moved you off of him and sat at the edge of the bed, letting out a soft sigh and staring down at the carpet.

"Are you leaving?" you asked once you regained your composure, slightly hopeful that he wouldn't.

"I should." He stood up and looked down at you tenderly, almost reaching down to fix your hair but stopping himself when he was inches away. "I really would spend the night if I could, I swear."

"I believe you," you said, "but we're gonna talk about this soon, right? I don't think I can just pretend this didn't happen."

Jay pondered for a moment before saying, "Yeah—just not right now."

"Okay," you breathed out, relieved. Blood rushed to your cheeks again. "Thank you."

He only blushed in response, ducking his head to hide how flustered he was.

"Are you going back to your room now?" you asked.

Jay nodded, but the two of you stayed where you were for a moment, and you were hoping he'd give you something—a hug or a kiss—before he left. He went with the former, which you had no complaints about, and squeezed you into a tight hug that you only had a few seconds to reciprocate before he pulled away.

His eyes lingered on your lips for a moment too long. His searing look left you with a curl of desire seizing you so viciously that you were certain you would feel empty for the rest of the night.

"Sleep well, Y/N."

You managed a smile for him, even though you oh-so-badly wanted him to stay. "Goodnight, Jay."

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SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @zerasari @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowww @enha-stars @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct @hooniesuniverse @enhalov @enhypens-baby @isawritesss

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ if ur reading this chapter and thinking omg jay's so screwed 😭 ur so right but this is crucial to the plot so let me cook

[fictionalreads]

This Was Never Meant to Be What It Feels Like

A/N: Hey y'all! I'm not really a writer so this is my first time posting any writing here on Tumblr, but I'm apparently incapable of not thinking about Armando (*Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa plays in my head) so this kind of...happened. I figured I'd share ☺️ Also, I know Armando thinks Aretas is his dad in the movies but I changed it a bit.

Title is from Satisfaction by SiR (if you haven't heard it do yourself a favor and go listen)

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Original Female Character

Fandom: Bad Boys Movies

Prompt: Shay (OC) wants to get to know Armando better and figures her best bet is to ask when he's...relaxed.

Warnings ⚠️: Uh...complicated parental relationships. Talk of smut, but no actual smut.

“Tell me something.”

“Hm?”

Shay kept her focus on drawing invisible shapes on Armando’s shoulder with her finger. Her blue stiletto shaped nails going down almost to his elbow before finding its way back up to his collar bone. It was something she did often after they had sex and she knew it calmed him much like it was now. His breathing had slowed into something calmer than the frantic breaths of ten minutes ago when he was trying to catch his breath. The open window blew in a decent ocean breeze, adding to the peaceful feeling in her bedroom. She tried to play it cool, like she wasn’t disturbing the moment, wasn’t asking him to do the one thing she knew he hated - opening up.

Shay had been seeing Armando for about three months now, and she knew next to nothing about the man. She knew it was a red flag, hell she knew he probably wasn’t a law abiding citizen, but she couldn’t help it. 

There was something so magnetizing, so sensual about his presence. He commanded attention even though she got the feeling he wanted nothing more than to blend in and be lowkey. She couldn’t help but notice the way he held himself, the way he spoke and moved with the confidence of a man who was sure of himself. Don’t get her started on the way he smelled - it was divine and pure man.

The point was basically this - he was a ten but he refused to tell her more about himself.

Shay was determined to get to know him better, because despite playing things close to his chest, she was in love with him. She didn’t know his last name, but she knew he would bring her flowers and food if she was having a bad day just to make her smile. She didn’t know what he did for a living - honestly, part of her was glad for this if it was illegal as she was imagining. Plausible deniability. - but she knew if she needed him to, he would fix anything she needed him to or at least find someone who could. She didn’t know what his crucible entailed that made him like this, but she knew he loved her like she was something precious.

So she was taking the risk that this would blow up in her face. “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” She kissed his chest, like she was softening the blow of the question. Not that she needed to, it was an open ended question on purpose. The more freedom she gave about the topic, the more likely he was to answer.

He gently shifted her to the pillow as he lifted himself on his elbow, facing her with a suspicious look on his face. “Like what?” God, what she wouldn’t give to take whatever hurt that made him so distrustful of her just wanting to know him away. Who had betrayed him? Who took advantage of his trust and made him so wary of genuine love?

She thought over her answer, a million topics coming to mind but needing to pick one that wouldn’t have him shutting down immediately. Armando had let the conversation start but he could end it if she said the wrong thing.

“Your family.” She could feel him pulling away as if it was physically happening so she quickly explained her choice. “Did you grow up with siblings? Are your parents married?” Bare minimum. 

It seemed to have worked he looked at her as if debating what to say, if anything, before laying back down and staring at the ceiling. The relaxed man that was in her bed mere minutes ago, gone. Now he was tense, as if ready for a fight. She slowly and obviously resumed her previous position on his chest, giving him time to tell her no if he needed the space. Her nails went back to their drawings in the hopes of calming him enough to talk. He took a breath before, “I grew up an only child. My mom was my world, she taught me everything I knew.”

Her nails stopped moving. “Was?” It was the word that caught the most of her attention out of everything he just said.

“She passed away a few years ago.” His face was blank, as if he was just stating a fact of life rather than talking about the death of the person that raised him and whom he clearly loved.

Shay rubbed the shoulder she wasn’t laying on in an effort to comfort him.“I’m sorry to hear that.” Armando shrugged it off but she could tell it still hurt him. “What about your dad?”

“Our relationship is…complicated at best. He wasn’t around for most of my life. We were introduced a few months before my mom died. I didn’t even know who he was to me until my mom told me on her deathbed.” 

“You never asked your mom about him before?”

“If there was one thing I knew about my father growing up, it was that my mom hated him. She always told me that he left us behind and didn’t look back at all. As a kid I was curious but as I got older, I started to hate him too. I mean he was supposed to love my mom, and he turned on her and left me behind like I was trash. Fuck ‘im. Now I know it wasn’t so black and white.”

“How so?”

“The few times my mom spoke about him, she always heavily implied that he knew she was pregnant with me and left anyway. Looking back, she never said the words. When I confronted my father about it, he said they were a doomed couple that wasn’t ever going to last. They were both too selfish. Said he didn’t even know she had been pregnant until we met.”

“Sounds like he cares. I mean if he knew do you think he would have been around?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind he would have been there, raised me. I know he loves me, that he just wants what’s best for me, but I’m just having a hard time accepting it. I spent so much time hating him that reconciling this truth with this perception I’ve always had of him is hard.”

“Not to mention it means confronting that you didn’t know your mom as well as you thought you did. The woman she was to you isn’t the woman she was to others.”

“And she’s not here to explain it, which just makes me mad all over again. He’s usually the target of my anger.”

“Makes sense to me.” She shrugged in response to his questioning look. “He’s here. Add in the fact that he wasn’t there for so long its easy to blame him for a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Like a flip had been switched, he once again moves her onto the bed and hovers over her.

“Enough about them. Talking is not exactly what I had in mind for us tonight,” he pleads. 

She could see the desperation and fear in his eyes. She had a feeling that being that honest with her scared him. He wasn’t exactly the vulnerable type and telling her all this put him on display in the most raw way, an unknown for him. It also meant he had to be honest with himself about he felt, something she didn’t think happened a lot. He wanted to escape the real hurt he was feeling about it all, he didn’t want to face what the truth might mean for his memory of his mother. If a reprieve is what he needed, she could do that for him. She would do that for him.

She bit her bottom lip, looking at him through her lashes, feeling herself get wet at his suggestive tone and slight touches. “What did you have in mind?”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The next morning she woke up alone, his side of the bed cold. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence as he often left before she woke. She was used to him leaving and coming back randomly, sometimes being gone for days. After their conversation and the way he seemed to just need her last night, she figured this was coming. Something told her him leaving was different this time, that she had pushed him too far. She had the sickening feeling that he wasn’t coming back.

Round two had been fast and rough, needy in a way. Round three had been teasing and playful, like he was apologizing for being so rough before. Round four was…slow and passionate, reverent almost.

It felt like a goodbye.

A/N: 🫣So how'd I do? Let me know in the comments. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! OH AND HOW SHOULD I TAG THIS?! Anything I should add to get more people to see it?

Part 2 Part 3

[crapeaucrapeau]

Mass Effect geopolitics

Hey Mass Effect nerds, a question : is there any indication as to what are the mutual obligations of Council species in times of war ?

On the one hand, all Citadel species are bound by the Citadel Conventions, which dictate, among other things, what weapons they can use, or whether mercenaries are allowed on the battlefield, so there are at least some Rules of War ; but that's clearly only to a degree, since we know of at least two Council polities - the Systems Alliance and the Salarian Union - who each retain their own discrete way of conducting legitimate wars : humans declare wars before prosecuting them, whereas salarians consider that naive and never do.

On the other hand, each Council species is clearly required to handle matters that concern only them without any help (see also : the reason the Council does not consider helping the Alliance during the Collector crisis something they have to do). But there isn't a strict cujus regio, ejus religio ("you don't tell me how I deal with my problems, and I won't tell you how you should deal with yours") situation either : after all, the reason the Alliance doesn't get curb-stomped by the turians in 2157 is because the asari and salarians step in and negotiate a stop first to hostilities - "forcing a truce" - then to the war itself. In other words, there are some standards - whether formal or informal - to which all three Council species are held which can decide whether a war is allowed or not.

I'm asking because I'm considering whether the conflict between the Alliance and the Hegemony - kickstarted by Shepard's shenanigans in the Bahak system and which was about to start when the Reapers arrived from left-field and killed everyone - would have involved other species. I'm guessing that is not the case : the potential conflict in ME3 is described as strictly a matter opposing the humans to the batarians. At the same time, the reason I'm asking at all is that the Turian Hierarchy seems perfectly willing to signal that it stands ready to assist the Alliance against the Hegemony in at least some circumstances.

The batarians themselves go to great length to always attack the Alliance while maintaining at least a measure of plausible deniability (the Skyllian Blitz and the Asteroid X57 attack nominally being done by independent actors) ; the Alliance isn't fooled, but is the reason the Alliance doesn't go to war against the Hegemony that they don't want to go to war, that they are afraid they might lose the war (Joker in ME3 names the batarian navy as one of the heavy hitters of the galaxy, though that's obviously been widely overstated), or that they do want to go to war and think they can win it but need a casus belli to justify their position to their Citadel allies ? If the Batarian Hegemony had openly invaded the Systems Alliance in a war of aggression, could we have expected the turians to intervene immediately to defend the Alliance ? In which case, the destruction of the Bahak system by an Alliance officer would provide a casus belli to the Hegemony, making the intervention of the Hierarchy or any other Council power on the side of the Alliance scandalous at best ?

In other words, is it a matter of individual alliances between interstellar nations or - even likelier - ad hoc decisions dictated by the circumstances and public opinion ? Like, does it all depend on what your allies think is a "legitimate" war ?

What do you think ?

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

hot take about silco x vander that no one asked for

okay so it's 3:25 am and i spent too much time in pinterest comment sections so now i have Thoughts and y'all are gonna hear it (this is mostly spoiler free even for s1 but it won't make much sense unless you've watched arcane so go wATCH IT if you haven't). so there were a bunch of posts shipping Silco and Vander and in the comments people were really pissed coz they're said to think of each other as brothers.

TLDR: They did not grow up as brothers, they think of each other as such, and those thoughts can change over time or evolve without it being incestuous (with nuance), and of course it could stay the same too.

and I have a bunch of things to say, starting with for one, some folks were legitimately confused because they thought silco and vander were biological siblings. so, first off, let's get that clarified, they're definitely not. they weren't adopted or step siblings either. they met in their early adulthood, i believe, in the mines.

i'm gonna continue below the cut coz this is gonna be looooong.

now, the thing is, silco and vander explicitly state that they were each other's brothers and/or call each other brother. why? there could be multiple reasons for that. one, that's how they saw each other. they were as close as brothers and they saw each other as family. two, in the sense of being brothers in arms, fighting together against a common cause that brought them closer. three, they felt affection for each other and that was the closest term they knew to describe it. or something else.

and like, i do not mess with found family, that shit is sacred. if someone told me my brother isn't actually my brother because we didn't grow up together or share blood, i would happily punch them in the throat.

HOWEVER, Silco and Vander are fictional characters. so if someone headcanons that their relationship changed, and evolved, that's not disrespectful or incestuous. it just means the person believes that how they saw each other changed. or maybe they didn't realise how it was that they felt for each other. or any number of other things.

and hey listen when i was a teenager in two of my long-term relationships, i thought at the start that what i felt was platonic love. i'd literally call them my brother. because that was the way i knew to describe the intensity of my affection. i was figuring shit out, and then i realised that what i felt was romantic, and not platonic or familial.

does that make it incestuous? well i fucking hope not. i was a queer greyace teen trying to figure out what the fuck i was feeling.

and that's not even toUCHING the surface of queerplatonic feelings. like i had no vocabulary to describe that for most of my life. it was clearcut in my head--romantic, or platonic. and if platonic was very intense, then sibling. that was the only way i knew how to describe it.

and that's changed over the years and now i know a little bit better how i feel, and i have platonic feelings that aren't siblingy, platonic feelings that are very much siblingy, platonic feelings that aren't siblingy but familial anyway like that for a parent, and romantic feelings also of various shades.

but back then, i didn't have that vocabulary and distinctions and self-awareness. and it's entirely plausible for someone to headcanon that maybe Silco and Vander didn't either. maybe people ship them and hc that they had feelings for each other and didn't understand them, that could be romantic or queerplatonic. or had feelings for each other that were familial, but that evolved in a different way later (or in the AU). both of which ARE LEGITIMATE INTERPRETATIONS OF A FICTIONAL RELATIONSHIP WITHOUT IT BEING INCESTUOUS.

anyway so it's entirely chill if you don't ship them but it's also entirely chill if you do. the issue is when you attack people for interpreting a fictional relationship in their own entirely valid way and call it weird or incestuous and attack them as people for their ship. just let people be sigh.

so that's my unnecessarily intense take at--jesus christ it's nearly 4 am. :)

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt11

Howdy again y'all! It's a pleasure to post another part of the story so many enjoy. I'm sorry if I diverge from canon too much?

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part2, part3, part4, part5, part6, part7,part8,part9,part10

His eyes shoot open “shit”

“What is it”

“….”

“What is it?” You ask more paranoid

“Nothing baby” he says quickly, eyes lost in thought

“What happened?” You ask more panicked. He looks at you and hesitates, no, looks resigned to what he must say

“It’s nothing” he insists through clenched teeth looking down, almost like it’s forced.

“Johnny please just tell m-“

“It’s nothing!" he snaps. You flinch in shock and worry covers your face. Soap looked so…conflicted.

You try to think of what to do, lost. Then you settle on just…sitting near him.

A bad silence shrouds the atmosphere. This wasn’t how you wanted to start your morning with the newly returned soldier. You feel the guilt in your stomach grow more and more. You just….didn’t think this would happen. You just snooped around a little because you were curious and…well…nervous. You never thought this would lead to this. You never knew what your roommate was up to. You, admittedly, dismissed a lot of the claims because:

a.a lot of misinformation are on these sketchy sites and b.you can never really know everything and c….you..didn’t want to believe it….silly but….unproven claims weren’t the first thing you wanted to think about when thinking of Johnny. No. When you saw those vague claims you didn’t think that the man who jokes about being in love with you was a war criminal. Those people be anyone. They could be the ones Johnny was fighting against, it the ones that shot him. Or…maybe it’s justified what they did due to unknown reasons…or…he didn’t know or it was out of his control. Can’t blame a soldier can you? Especially since Johnny tells you it’s just…well….he made his job sound boring sometimes. You’re beginning to think he just wanted to calm you down. He seemed like a calm guy so you believed him. Looking at Soap now? He’s tense, deep in thought and covering his mouth.

You reach out a hand to the pondering man and place it gently on his shoulder. “Hey” you softly say “look at me”

He tilts his head up, eyes troubled yet resigned somehow. “What can you tell me?” You offer, thumbing his collarbone. He places a hands on yours, leaning his head to it, deep in thought. He looks at you and cautiously says “it’s….something I thought I knew about someone I trust, turned out tae be true. Can’t figure out how anyone can know”

“So your friend’s secret was revealed?”

He nods “there shouldn’t be any way fer anyone tae find out fer sure….could be a lucky guess”

“Who did your friend tell about the secret?”

He shakes his head

“Not a soul to what I know.”

“Then how’d you know?”

“I didn’t. He never told me. I just….had a hunch. And it’s not like he doesn’t have his reasons”

“Was it a really bad thing?”

Silence for a moment.

“No. Bastard fucking deserved it.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“It’s….jus’….a surprise” and also no one should know, but it’s plausible to piece together.

“Does it make him worse in your eyes?”

Another silence

“….no. He did what he had to”

“Then did it make him better in your eyes?”

He thinks for a moment “aye. He took matters in his own hand.” His eyes, down and still contemplating the information, close tightly and his hand brings your hand to cup his face. He sighs, still upset about your knowledge.

“What do you think of me Bonny?”

You tilt your head in question. He opens his eyes and look at you “what do you think of me now?”

You’re silent, finding your answer. He doesn’t pressure you, feeling as if he’s telling you to take your time

“I….don’t know what’s the full truth about you. Everything I read is so vague, jumbled and confusing….” You trail off. He squeezes both your hands as encouragement to keep talking. His eyes glimmer with a sad desperation.

“….I don’t know what to make of this, Soap….even if you tell me the truth I have a feeling that’s not pretty either…” you stare off to the window somewhere. You don’t want to think you’ve entirely misjudged Johnny, and his saddened eyes just make you rethink a lot of things. You sigh “Johnny…I….” You shuffle a little “I still care for you...I wouldn’t want you anywhere in the world but here with me.”

He looked comforted by that, reassured that you’re not disgusted by him or think him responsible for some really bad shit.

“Tha’s good…” he sighs, still upset about you knowing anyway. He never wanted that hideous and cruel world seeping its stench into the paradise he’s created with you here. You lean into him more, offering your presence more fully. He looks at you with eyes that are a mix between his signature puppy eyes that always had you folding to his will and somber eyes that seem to apologize just for being here. He opens his mouth “I….” Sigh “I…”

“It’s okay Johnny….I’m sure it’ll all be okay…” He looks down, doubtful of your optimistic claim.

He stands up and looks down at you. He a big boy but he never felt intimidating to you. He was always the oversized golden retriever with a Mohawk who liked whiskey. You stand up too and hug him. “Never wanted ye tae s-“

“I know. But forget about all that. You’re home now”

He hugs back “I’ll clear yer name” he promises a while later. You nod “yes please.”

“And get rid of the agents”

“I’d like that. I’m sorry I ever got involved in this”

“I know….I’ll send this back to base…”

“Are you going to let your friend know about this?”

“Aye. If anyone should know it should be him”

“Good. He’ll appreciate it”

.

.

.

“Ye still love me right?”

You giggle bashfully at his choice in words.

“Why? Would you love me if I was a war criminal?”

“Aye, if Hitler had a wife I think I can have yer love”

“So you’re as bad as Hitler?” He groans. You lean up to kiss his cheek.

Then he grins “there’s my hero’s welcome”

part12

[saintsenara]

hey i love your work! i was wondering in war of the roses what made you decide on giving sirius kidney stones? I know that sounds dumb but was it personal experience because my friend had them and the way she described it i think your writing was bang on lol.

Hope you’re well and update soon plssss

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i don't have any personal experience of the trifecta of kidney stones/kidney infection/sepsis which plagues sirius in the war of the roses [and thank god for that...] but i have plenty of professional experience of all three, now mercifully in the distant past by virtue of me not having specialised in internal medicine...

why he's so ill in the fic was a choice made for two reasons:

the first is that i think - and lots of the comments have also said this, so i'm clearly onto something - that, even though it's clear from the canon page that it's significant, far too few fics really get into the physical impact of azkaban.

this is a prison in the middle of the sea, staffed entirely by creatures who canonically make every space they inhabit absolutely freezing. constant cold and damp is already pretty fucking bad for you, but then add in the fact that prisoners are clearly deprived of food, water, exercise, healthcare, and sanitation... and then add in the fact that the dementors and everyone seemingly being kept in solitary confinement will have an impact which is physical as well as psychological [things like sleep deprivation, social isolation, boredom, depression etc. aren't just bad for your mental health]... and then add in the fact that, after he escapes, sirius spends almost all of his time [save for his brief jet-setting era at the start of goblet of fire] living rough and eating rats, or feeling useless in a house he hates, drinking heavily...

something must break.

i went for the thing that breaks being sirius' renal system because one of the fic's main motifs is blood and - therefore - i wanted him to bleed.

i could have gone for him coughing up blood, obviously, but i preferred the idea of kidney stones/blood in the urine both because i wanted to avoid the hanahaki implication [that's not the right vibe for this fic] and because heavy alcohol use damages the kidneys. and while alcohol alone isn't a direct cause of kidney stones, dehydration [which alcohol causes], a long-term lack of proper nutrition, and chronic stress - the sirius black special! - all are.

i also wanted sirius' physical condition to be something he could plausibly ignore, befitting the general state of apathy he's in at the start of the fic. if he was bleeding really heavily, or if he was in a level of pain which made it impossible for him to get out of bed, the vibe would be different - because he'd do something about it. that would also be the case if the damage he was doing to himself was actively self-inflicted - he does recognise in the fic that his alcohol use is the cause of his condition, but he also thinks of his drinking as, to a large extent, something which harms him passively, which he wouldn't do with other methods of self-injury.

kidney stones/kidney infections/urinary tract infections are - generally - things which cause a level of discomfort which [initially] still lets you go about your daily life.

until the point when you can't.

much like - oh, i don't know - your long-repressed love for your best friend, or your long-repressed relationship with your own family history, or your complete inability to deal productively with guilt and grief, or your new-found obsession with severus snape's hands...

[frownyalfred]

Hey Res! Please ignore this ask if it's too troublesome or bothersome

I saw you had an guide for non-drikers writers that wanted to write about a character who drink. I was wondering if you could the same about guns?

I read synchronicity and I loved it how you used Jason's knowledge with guns to control the narrative and pacing. I don't know if you have actual technical knowledge on handguns (I think it's a no? But maybe you do?) But any tip is nice

Thank you a lot 🩷

Hi anon! This is such a fascinating question and I hope I can provide a somewhat plausible answer. I am familiar with some guns and have shot a few in my lifetime, but I am far from an expert.

Some things I think writers need to keep in mind while writing their firearm-related scenes. For clarity, I'm just going to call them guns below.

Are you thinking of a specific gun? Make sure you know its full name but ALSO make sure you know its nickname. Your character might think of it as "the Berretta" instead of its full name, etc.

What does your gun fire? Does it take shells, bullets, cartridges, etc? Shotguns, for example, don't fire bullets. That's a common mistake I see.

How do you reload said gun? Is it easy? What parts of the gun do you have to touch? Reloading a shotgun is MUCH different from reloading a handgun, for example.

Most guns get hot and release gunpowder residue when shot. They're LOUD. You can have several cascading things happen to a character who fires a gun or is near a gun when it fires: ringing ears, the smell of gunpowder, the hot feeling of the gun's muzzle, etc.

Even the best sharpshooters miss shots. IRL shooting is HARD, especially when moving. Different guns have different benefits to shooting style, stance, targets. Firing a handgun willy-nilly will rarely result in accurate shots, even if you dual wield (which is silly, this is SO hard).

Stance MATTERS. If you've ever seen Hannibal, there's a scene where Will talks about his choice of shooting stance with Beverly. They bicker over Isosceles and Weaver, which are two standard stances. One uses a triangle between your arms and the gun to brace for the kickback of the shot, while the other moves that brace to one side with a different grip. Will eventually chooses the latter stance because of a past shoulder injury. (GIF of Will struggling with his original isosceles stance)

If a gun isn't properly braced when fired, it will kick back and hit you. Sometimes in the face. Yes this has happened with me and a rifle. My first day shooting cans, I had a huge bruise on my face AND on my chest where the rifle butt kicked back.

If your gun uses bullets, there are different calibers. If you've ever watched Mythbusters, you can see why caliber matters -- it depends what or who you're shooting. Are you trying to penetrate armor? Are you sacrificing accuracy for power? Different guns use different calibers for numerous reasons, and guns can be altered to use other ammo as well.

With respect to discussing caliber while writing: It's all VERY complicated if you don't know guns, so make sure you're not giving too much detail if you can avoid it. That's a very easy way to spot a lack of experience with guns, in my experience. Your reader doesn't need to know the caliber just because the character is shooting a gun -- but in an autopsy, sure, the caliber is relevant.

You will lose your hearing eventually if you fire guns close to your ears unprotected. It's not sexy, and it also causes something called tinnitus. The real pros wear ear protection.

In terms of realism for writing, here's a couple rapid fire busted myths: You can't dodge bullets unless you're superhuman. Bullet wounds to the legs/arms/shoulders can absolutely still be fatal. Cardiac arrest caused by being shot is usually fatal, and CPR doesn't really help on its own. "Running out of shots" depends on the gun AND the modifications someone has made to it. You can't always tell just by looking at a gun what it will do. Silencers are rarely "silent" and are heavily regulated.

Injuries: Some bullets tear through bodies. Some aren't high enough caliber to do more than go in and lodge in some tissue. Some fragment and bounce around in weird ways. Depending on how gruesome you want to get, there's a lot of different ways to describe gunshot injuries. I've always been the kind of person to google images for better understanding, but I understand that's not for everyone. I think NYT or WaPo did a good piece on traumatic gun injuries a few years back, complete with an interview with an ER doc from Chicago (?). One thing I learned there -- sometimes people lose their legs, or both legs, after being shot in their leg.

In terms of describing how someone uses/fights with guns, I know the John Wick movies are a little cheesy, but they are staged by people who REALLY know their guns. They talk about what he's using usually before the scene starts, and there's very few frills when it comes to stance, firing, etc. John does a cool trick in the first or second movie where he ejects a casing one-handed away from his face, a notoriously hard maneuver that most people usually do with two hands to avoid getting burned. I highly recommend watching the John Wick movies for blocking ideas.

Which reminds me -- holding a gun sideways is a terrible idea. For many reasons. Stance, casing ejection, stability, etc. Someone can use it against you.

Never point a gun at something you're not willing to shoot. Well-trained characters should follow this rule religiously. If they were soldiers, agents, etc, they will know this rule.

Similarly, multiple people with guns will "clear" a room before entering. They will be trained for something called crossfire, which is when someone is downrange of their gun and could potentially be shot. A group of characters bursting into a room without clearing their shot is a nightmare. This is how people shoot their friends or random civilians.

I hope someone more knowledgeable can add onto this! These are just some big things that stick out to me when reading. I highly recommend checking out Mythbusters, John Wick, and even Hannibal for some semi-realistic shooting references. Good luck!

[delphi-shield]

Variations on a Theme

Claire Redfield x Leon Kennedy wc: ~2.6k post-vendetta, pre-death island. short fic that wouldnt leave me alone so i had to write it down. might write a continuation. happy sept. 30th, i miss my babies. dividers from @/adornedwithlight

summary: Sherry organizes a memorial service; Claire and Leon try to put aside their grief to mourn the way she does.

The call comes through at 11 PM the night before. Leon ignores most calls to his personal cell after nine, but for Claire, he makes an exception.

She never calls without purpose. Not anymore. There had been nights in the past when it had been anything and everything and the nothing in between that had kept them up until early hours of the morning. Calls crammed between operations and meetings, voicemails that still haunted his inbox. They had been better at this once.

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.���

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

Yeah, right. His girls are gonna burn an ice cream-shaped hole in his wallet by the end of the night.

[faith2wood]

hey! i just finished beholden. i wanted to ask what got you writing, what had you stop for a decade, and what got you back in?

Ahhhh! Asking me why I write? You wanted word vomit? You're getting word vomit.

(There's a little spoiler for Beholden under the cut.)

What got me writing?

RAGE. 

No, really.

I was a lurker/reader in the Buffy fandom at the time, and I'd only occasionally read HP fics — 95% gen!fic, 4% low rated canon romance, 1% Sirius/OC smut, because the rest of my faves were kids, and I wasn't interested in anything else. 

And then after DH, with Draco getting pushed to the brink of redemption, but not crossing the line, and with Harry's view of him changing — always so sorry, so sad for him, always noting how scared he seemed, even switching to calling him 'Draco' — I was left with such a need to read that pairing. I wanted Draco to cross that line, and I wanted that soft understanding Harry had found for him to get explored. 

So, I tried reading Harry/Draco fics. And OH MAN. 

I was no stranger to character-bashing and unusual interpretations of canon — Buffy fandom was pretty damn crazy — but I knew my way around that place. With Harry/Draco, I stepped into the WILD. Fic after fic, all I could find was everything I loved and everything Harry loved in canon torn apart to pieces. His friends, his girlfriend, his House, his beliefs, his humor, the things that he wanted, the things that he fought for, the things that he was willing to die for, his character growth in DH, the confident brave man he became after Dobby's death, all of it dismissed, usually in a handful of exposition paragraphs. Endless apologies for the pure-blood supremacists. Draco 'redeeming' himself by quoting lines written by his fans on discussion boards, and therefore showing me he's not regretful, just full of excuses. Or he's not even redeemed, just cool and rich and suave (lol) and so much wittier than that bumbling, irrationally angry Harry Potter that felt plucked straight from OotP with all his teen angst painfully exaggerated. And then in those fics Harry just goes with it because he thinks Draco is hot. 

I could go on. I won't. 

So, I had that petulant moment where I thought, "Fine. I'll do it myself. How hard can it be?" 

Well, pretty damn hard, apparently. It's hard to create convincing drama. It's hard to get the characters in the right frame of mind so your plot could work. It's very hard to write smart and witty characters. It's hard to convincingly redeem someone. It's hard to juggle a cast of side-characters. It's hard to spell the word nesscscseary. It's especially hard to take that perfect, plausible, well-thought out story in your head and write it down without losing at least half of what makes it good. It's also hard to find time to write and write well. And of course your personal opinions on canon and fanon can seep through no matter how hard you try not to preach, and it can totally ruin a story.

That realization tempered my rage. It didn't mean I was willing to read the things I don't like, of course; I always liberally use that back button. But I did eventually find fics that I love and reccers I can trust, and learned to forgive when authors cut some corners.

Oh, but the taste of POWER writing gave me. The fact that I can just write the things I want to read. Cater to my own preferences. Simply not include the things I don't like. I want it, it's there; I don't want it, it's not.

So that's why I started writing. So I could read exactly what I wanted to read. Stories perfectly tailored for me. Honestly, I'm my biggest fan. I'm my own writing bitch. It doesn't even matter if I fail to do a good job while writing down the little movie that played out in my head, because I know my own intentions. I thought it all through. What I've written might not make sense to a reader sometimes, but it always makes sense to me. And I can always forgive myself if I feel like I failed. I find it very, very easy to forgive myself. Others, not so much, especially if I start to suspect they don't love Harry enough.

What made me stop writing?

I didn't stop writing. I stopped posting. I stopped interacting with fandom. I felt like I had my fill. I'm happy to recycle plots and read and write similar things over and over again, because I want what I want, and I won't apologize for it, but apparently I've reached a limit after all and felt like I have nothing new to offer.

I kept writing stuff. Fanfic for other fandoms, original stuff, even HP fics. Most of it unfinished and unedited and unpresentable, but enough to satisfy my occasional cravings for specific things. Which, as I said, is the whole point of my writing.

So I'll rephrase your next question: What got me to finally finish a Harry/Draco fic and post it? 

THE CURSED CHILD. lol I haven't seen it. Or read it. I haven't even read the synopsis. Next gen, eh, I was never interested. But I caught some spoilers about it on tumblr and reddit — about Draco's wife being ill and dying. That's some incredible stuff. Draco being so loving and dedicated, standing up to his parents, so heartbroken when the person he loved died but still being a wonderful father to his son. It's like I discovered a whole new Draco to think about. It got me all inspired. It's everything I ever wanted for him, except of course his wife dying. So he got to save his seemingly terminally ill lover in Beholden, and got the chance to be a loving, tender husband I wouldn't dare to even imagine after finishing the books, as it would feel too OOC to soften him up to that degree.

It likely wasn't visible, but in my mind, Beholden is kind of a Cursed Child fix!it fic — for that tiny part of the story. I needed it so desperately, I actually finished and posted it.

I have a few more asks in my tumblr inbox, and I'll very happily answer them, but it might take some time.

[msnanu]

Libertine 05 | JJK

Libertines put value on physical pleasures, meaning those experienced through the senses.

❧ Series Masterlist ❧

⏤summary ❧ He has a reputation for being the most promiscuous man on campus, and you, well, you are basically him in women’s pants. It will be the very first time that Jungkook is faced with someone who is gonna make him question his feelings and actions.

⏤𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ❧ f*boy jungkook x f*girl female reader

⏤𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 ❧ some fluff, smut, mild angst, teasing and lots of sexual tension.

⏤𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ❧ mature language, NSFW🔞

❧ banner by: @dojakoo ❧

Jungkook was lying on the couch in his house while looking at the ceiling. It was extremely plausible to say that his Sunday was being a bore compared to his last two days of the week.

His friends weren't planning to leave the house, you weren’t there for him to distract himself, and Seulgi was ignoring his calls. It was a horrible Sunday.

Despite the inertia that Jungkook's body was in, his head felt like a deep well, running at the speed of light.

All his thoughts, or most of them, were on you. He was trying to understand what was going on in your head, and of course, he was failing miserably.

There were no explanations for your actions, he could never know what your next move would be. He couldn’t quite understand how you had sex with one of his friends and then kissed him as if nothing had happened.

Funny thing tho, he has done the same thing various times, sleeping with a girl and then moving on to her best friend, and even worse. He had once slept with the sister of a previous hook up, both within the same week. But he was never the one in this position, it was as if the roles had been reversed. It was weird as fuck and Jungkook hated the feeling of not knowing what to do.

If only he knew how you felt about him, maybe he'd know better how to deal with you.

Jungkook thought you were considerate of him, even if minimally. But he also thought you purposely tortured him because you hated guys like him – which wasn’t too far away from the truth. For Jungkook, it was an unanswered puzzle. 

That introspective moment was making him rethink his attitude to Jimin. If you were doing all this just for the sake of your fun, there was no reason for him to take it personally. It was always a problem for him when he got carried away by the judgment of his own dick.

It was new for him to feel that kind of feeling. It wasn't really remorse, but it was a feeling that he could have looked at things differently. This had never happened. Most of the time Jungkook thought he was right and went on living.

He felt weird.

His thoughts then returned to you. Jungkook remembered the girl talking about classical literature in his car. She was a nice girl, a nice person to be friends with, but not something he was used to doing. He fucked and left.

He didn't even know if you would want to be friends with him, but he preferred to ignore any and all possibility of getting closer to you than usual.

The rest of his day was like that: complete boredom, and the certainty that this week he would resolve his "situation" with you. Whether it's finally going to bed with you or ending that chase for good.

On Monday morning Jungkook didn't have his first class, but he was determined to find you. So, he woke up early and, as confident as ever, headed off to college. People had already seen him walking down those halls anyway, it wouldn't make a difference.

Luckily for him, he saw you heading towards the Classical Literature corridors. He hurried to stop you on the way and spare himself any more stares from your fellow humanities.

“Hey!” He yelled, trying to reach you.

You turned to him with a frown. He found it amazing how carefree you always looked.

“Are you lost?” You asked, convinced.

“I don't think so. I think I'm really where I'm supposed to be.”

You chuckled. “God. You’re impossible.”

Jungkook couldn’t help to smile at you, he realized that you had enjoyed seeing him there. Maybe just like him, you liked to feel like you'd gotten attention. If you really liked the attention, Jungkook knew he was on the right track.

“What class do you have now?”

“Latin Literature.” You said looking at him curiously, sounding a little weirded out with that random question. Since when does he care what class do you have?

“Skip it.”

You smiled at the nonsense he had just said, causing him again to smile too.

“What makes you think I would do that?”

This time, it was a different kind of flirtation. Anyone who passed by you could feel the tension involved, but both of you preferred to believe that this conversation was just an exchange of information.

“Well, you're still here, talking to me, aren't you?”

He said smugly while he observed attentively how you bite your lip and take a deep breath.

“Come on, Y/N. Trust me.”

When Jungkook said your name, he noticed that you felt different. As if something had awakened in you. Your posture had softened, and your eyes were steadily staring into his. You were actually considering it. That had to be a win for Jungkook. Finally.

“Fine. Where are you gonna take me?” You asked in defeat while keeping your eyes locked.

“Where do you wanna go?”

It wasn't the best answer he could come up with.

“Surprise me.” You grinned, extremely aware of your own potential.

Jungkook returned the smile and allowed you to lead the way. On the way to the parking lot, several eyes turned to you. He swore to hear people commenting on the two of you but considered himself a little paranoid. It was indeed a crooked path. 

Not that he didn't like being seen with a pretty girl, but you were different, smart, you were sure to use that against him at some point.

You walked ahead of him, making your scent leave trails behind. Jungkook was having a hard time there.

The ride in the car was silent. Jungkook didn't dare bring up any subject, didn't want anything you said to be another reason for him to think about the night. Meanwhile, his eyes flickered between the street and the girl next to him. You seemed to be too entertained with the view of the city to start any kind of conversation.

Jungkook found himself staring at your uncovered thighs for several moments. The dress you wore was short and sleeveless, leaving your entire cleavage and legs bare. The feeling running through his head was pure anticipation.

Taking you to his house would be too obvious on his part, so he thought of a place he could take you without seeming absurd and you both could be finally alone.

“Did you just take me to a library?” You said in disbelief when you saw him parking.

He laughed. He recognized it sounded ridiculous at first, but he knew the potential of that place.

“Looks like someone doesn't know how to wait for surprises.”

You got out of the car, still looking confused.

“I skip college and you bring me to a place with more books? What kind of fun is this?”

“Shall we?” Jungkook said, ignoring your little complaints. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he found you cute with that confused look all over your face.

As the two of you walked inside the library, you were surprised by a female voice that seemed shocked by Jungkook's presence there. The woman walked towards you and hugged him.

“Jungkook? How long have I not seen you?”

The woman was older, had a tired posture, and on her face was a huge smile.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, looking over the woman's shoulder at you. You looked scared.

“You can't just disappear like that.”

Gradually your features became friendly. You looked at the two in front of you with a slight smile on your face. It was unusual for you to see Jungkook being dear and kind, and he knew that was weird for you.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yoon.” He tried to justify but the woman interrupted him.

“Don't give me excuses, start showing up more. How is your father?”

With that question, Jungkook broke the hug. You noticed how quickly his smile dropped but you weren’t going to comment on that. It’s none of your business.

It was a complicated relationship, and Jungkook definitely didn't want to discuss it in front of you or anyone to be honest.

“He is fine. I haven't seen him in a while too.” He said hoping she would wrap up the matter.

“When you see him, tell him I sent my regards.”

“Of course…”  He took a deep breath as he stumbled over his own words. “Could you, eh... give me the key to the back room?”

“Sure.” The woman turned to the key ring, and when she came back, she watched you up and down.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I didn’t see you there. You must be his girlfriend?”

Jungkook felt he could die of embarrassment at any moment. Gradually he was already regretting bringing you there. You both exchanged glances and he could see that you were enjoying the situation. You were standing in front of the woman, waiting for Jungkook to answer the question for you.

Oh God, this was so much fun for you, it’s amazing how much a single word can make Jungkook blush. Free entertainment for your eyes.

“S-she’s not. S-she is… She’s a friend of mine.” Jungkook hated himself for stuttering and even more he hated how amused you seemed to be while observing how nervous he suddenly got. “Mrs. Yoon, this is Y/N.” 

He watched the two women embrace in front of him. He couldn't hear what you said to each other, but you were smiling as if you were the most sociable person in the world.

“Let’s go?” Jungkook noticed that you were getting comfortable there and hurried you along. 

He placed his hand on your back pushing you forward.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Yoon.”

“Likewise. I hope I see you again, sweetie.” The woman said watching Y/N disappear through one of the corridors.

Jungkook and you continued walking in silence, until you let out a low chuckle.

“What are you laughing at? What did she say to you?” Jungkook asked, annoyed.

“Wow, what's with that humor? She just asked me to fix you.” You laughed as you tried to formulate your next sentence. “By the way, where are you taking me?”

Jungkook didn't know which phrase he paid more attention to. The fact that Mrs. Yoon thought he needed a girlfriend to be okay irritated him. Your impatience at that moment also annoyed him. 

Appreciating the good relationship between you two and keeping in mind his plans for the future, Jungkook decided to remain silent and continue on his way.

When you finally arrived in front of a small door at the end of the library's central hallway, Jungkook pulled out the key Mrs. Yoon had given him and opened the door. You were at his side, maintaining an eager posture.

He made room for you to enter first and saw you gape for the first time ever. Your eyes stared at every point in the room, as if you were scanning everything.

The environment wasn't much different from the library itself, but there were sculptures and paintings scattered around the corners.

In the middle of the room were two sofas and a rectangular table big enough to hold many books. All the lighting was darker, in yellow tones.

“What is this place? I had never been here before.” You turned to him outraged.

Jungkook laughed weakly. “I would be surprised if you did it. It's my father's collection.”

You continued to walk forward, looking closely at each bookcase. It seemed like it took you a few seconds to process Jungkook’s response when you suddenly stopped and stared at him with surprise written all over your face.

“Wait. Your father has a private library?”

Your disbelief was funny to watch. Jungkook was so used to it all that he didn't understand the appeal. He knew that place would please you and make you easier to talk to. He watched you walk towards a bookshelf in the left corner.

“Do you have a radar?” He asked, referring to the fact that there were Classic books in that corner of the room. He heard your chuckle as you kept observing the books in front of you.

“I still don't believe it, I mean, look at these editions.” You said sounding way more excited than what Jungkook expected.

Jungkook smiled to see you like this. You were like a kid when mom or dad told you that you could have candy before lunch. You were amazed, your eyes sparkled.

In that moment, Jungkook didn't feel like fucking you. It was an almost angelic sight. The level of naivety you were giving off, destroyed all the vision he had about you being a promiscuous girl.

He waited a while for you to leaf through the book in your hand. He didn't want to spoil that for you.

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook remembered his thoughts from yesterday. Maybe this was an opportunity to come clean with you.

“I think I owe you an apology.” The words came bitterly from his mouth. 

Definitely not something he was used to. In the last few days Jungkook was doing a lot of new things he never imagined doing. Apologizing to someone was definitely out of character for him.

You closed the book in your hands and looked up to face him.

“Why?”

Jungkook felt the words choke him. The switch in your gaze was insane. You could be very intimidating sometimes.

A silence took over the room before he could finally speak.

“The last few days I... I... I thought very badly of you.”

His breathing was the only audible sound in the room.

“Because I slept with your friend?”

You simply asked without an ounce of embarrassment. Your face was so serene. The way you remained passive in the face of these situations scared Jungkook.

“Well, one minute you were with me at the bar, the next you were with Jimin. Imagine how I felt.” He said in a steady voice.

“One minute you were with your girlfriend, the next you were courting me in that bar.” You shot back in the split of a second with the calmest voice possible. He wished he could sense some type of jealousy in your words, but right now he wasn’t seeing any signs of that. But then again, it was still really hard for him to read you.

He didn’t expect this to backfire. Technically, you were right. He was indeed with Seulgi before approaching to you that night in the pub, but he just wanted you, he hadn’t even invited her. And suddenly he couldn’t even find the right words to respond to your comeback, so he said the first thing that came to his mind.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

It’s not like you cared…or did you though? You quickly pushed away those thoughts.

You laughed at Jungkook while keeping your gaze on him. “You’re smarter than that, Jungkook.”

For the first time you had called him by his name. Jungkook could feel a shiver down his spine as he heard his name fall from your lips. Your voice was low enough to make him want to forget about the whole argument and kiss you.

He never thought he could win a fight with you, but at that moment he was absolutely sure he had lost.

Your face remained calm; you knew you were dominating him.

“Jimin is my friend.” Jungkook responded, trying to justify what he considered your "mistake".

“So what? I'm single. That’s the beauty of it, I can be with whoever I want. It's not like I'm cheating on anyone.”

You emphasized the last part of your sentence, which made Jungkook realize his disaffection with Seulgi. He didn’t give two fucks if Seulgi slept with anyone else and of course, he himself didn’t care sleeping with others.

He was the same as you, but for some reason he couldn’t pick up, he was feeling insanely annoyed at the fact that you decided to sleep with his friend. And it was even more annoying to see how unfaced you were about it.

“I honestly don't get you. I don't think I ever will.” His voice came out deeper. It was not his intention to argue with you there, but the path the conversation took proved that to be inevitable.

You were a good distance apart, but for some reason the room felt warm.

“It's annoying when someone acts the same way as you, isn't it?” You said narrowing your eyes. 

Oh, how well you could read him.

It was so obvious that he was jealous, why? You don’t know the answer to that. And for some twisted reason, that thought alone made you feel so freaking horny.

The infamous Jeon Jungkook was right in front of you, looking hot as fuck at the verge of throwing a tantrum because you decided to sleep with his friend and your panties were getting as wet as possible as the minutes went by. If only he knew.

You didn’t know why your body was reacting this way to his little scene, but you were decided to take care of your horniness right here and right now.

You climbed down a step from the top of the bookcase and walked slowly to the sofa rail in the middle of the room.

Now you were face to face, and Jungkook couldn't hide his nervousness. You watched him swallow hard as his hands squeezed the ledge of the other sofa.

You smiled at him.

“I've seen you a lot, Jungkook. Enough to know how much you love going around teasing girls, hoping they'll run after you.”

You kept walking until you were sitting on the edge of the table between the two couches. “But you should know better by now, I'm not gonna run after you.”

At that sentence, Jungkook let a long, heavy sigh escape his lips. He didn't mean to show how much your words bothered him, but your gaze on him was so strong he couldn't help it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Jungkook said, taking a step forward.

“I never had to go through this in my life. I never had to go to so much trouble to fuck a girl. You took my peace of mind. You are such a misfortune, Y/N.”

Fuck, he sounded so hot. His voice was barely audible. You both felt all the adrenaline rush through your bodies at that moment.

“Still, you brought me here to fuck me, am I right?”

Your sincerity startled him a second time.

He didn't understand how you could be so rational, so tough to pressure him. The world could be collapsing, and you would still remain passive, with your voice low and your posture straight.

You weren't like him. You were so much better than him.

“Yes.” He replied, without an ounce of shame.

“So why aren't you doing it? Why are you still talking?” You said, holding your gaze on him. “Fuck me, Jungkook.”

That last phrase sounded like music to his ears. He didn’t need to be asked twice.

Jungkook walked towards you, closing the short distance that separated both of you. His eager hands went straight to your face, pulling you in for a kiss. You spread your legs so that Jungkook's body fit perfectly with yours.

For a moment he thought he was imagining it.

As your hands grabbed him by his short hair bringing him as close as possible, one of his hands went to your breast, squeezing it without any courtesy.

The hand that was on your face headed to the back of your neck pulling your hair. With your neck exposed, Jungkook began to alternate between kisses and hickeys, causing you to let out a loud moan.

He was good. Almost too good to be truth. Your body was burning with pure desire. The lust that Jungkook had awakened in you, was something else.

Jungkook took advantage of the short dress you were wearing. In the position you were sitting at the table, the hem of your dress was already at your waist, which allowed him to stroke your thighs freely.

Slowly and deliberately, Jungkook's hand began to caress your inner thighs.

This brat. You knew what he was doing. Or trying to.

“Stop teasing me.” You said through a moan in his ear.

Jungkook smiled while he abandoned the crook of your neck, only to face you. He wanted to see what you looked like when you were losing your mind. When you faced each other, you both felt each other’s hot breaths.

You were a mess, first time seeing you like this and what a sight, your hair was disheveled, your dress was wrinkled, and your face was all flushed.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, returning to attack your mouth.

Something jumped in the pit of your stomach, but you decided to ignore it and focus on fucking him. You were feeling desperate for his touch and you could sense that he was feeling exactly the same.

He could feel your fingernails running under his face and hair, making him shiver.

When Jungkook's hand approached your folds, he could feel your panties heavy with your wetness.

“God.” He didn't mean to express himself aloud, but he couldn't help it.

He placed his hand on the edge of your panties and lifted his gaze to yours. He didn't need permission, but he felt he should have it.

“Please.” You begged as your hands climbed under his shirt. Fuck, he really works out – you think - you catch yourself salivating when your nails run over his six pack.

Jungkook thought for a second about teasing you a little bit more, but even he couldn't stand between his legs.

He pulled away slightly from you to slip his hand under the wet fabric. Looking at you, he could see your reaction when his fingers were finally inside you.

A faint moan escaped your lips. You stared at him with the same intensity as two of his fingers worked inside you. One of his hands gripped your waist, keeping you steady.

With your face resting on his shoulder, Jungkook listened you let out small, high-pitched moans, causing the intensity of his movements to increase. He felt your hardening nipples brush against his chest. 

He swore he could cum untouched just by the sounds you were reproducing. He was fascinated with you.

It took no effort for Jungkook to realize that you were almost there. Your body began to shake over his fingers, as if you were hunting for relief. 

He pulled your face down and glued your foreheads together. He wanted to see you when you came.

Jungkook increased the speed of his movements, watching you do the same with your waist. You grabbed the strands of his short hair as if your life depended on it.

“I'm gonna… I…I…” Your sentence was brutally slashed by moans that escaped your mouth.

“Fuck, Jungkook.”

Hearing you moan his name as you came motivated him to keep stroking you. It was just like he imagined, even better.

Your face was twisted, but there was a certain concern in your eyes. You wanted him to know that you were going to cum.

“I know.” Jungkook assured you, holding you tighter.

That was enough to make you spill over his fingers. Your legs were shaking, while your breathing was totally uneven.

Jungkook kept his eyes on you, waiting for the moment when you would open yours. Your half-open mouth let out little curses mixed with gasps.

It was Jungkook's personal vision of paradise.

When your eyes slowly opened, and your breathing was steadying, you stared at him hungrily as he licked his fingers deliciously with your scent all over it.

“God. You taste so sweet, Y/N.”

“I want you so fucking bad.” You admitted, taking your hands to his zipper taking him by surprise for what could be the hundredth time already. And God, he was big, so fucking big that you couldn’t wait to feel him inside you.

Unlike Jungkook, you didn't wait for consent. With his erection in your hands, you began to jerk him off as you watched him moan in front of you.

He had thought of this so many times when he was alone. Too many. He had masturbated more times than what he would like to admit at the thought of you. Every time he stroked his dick thinking of you, he imagined that it was your hand instead of his. Imagining how good you would make him feel. And it finally was happening.

He had already given up trying to contain his reactions, his eyes were already closed, and his hands braced around your body, trying to keep steady.

“Oh fuck.” He moaned close to your ear. “I won't last long if you continue this way.”

You pressed the tip of him and saw his body twitch.

“I thought you were better than that.” You provoked him.

“You fucking joking, right?” Jungkook said, gulping. “I've been waiting for this since forever.”

With that, you released him and pushed him away so you could take off your own panties.

Jungkook wasted no time and looked for a condom inside his wallet. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. It was as if that need had been consuming you both.

Duly protected, Jungkook placed himself at your entrance. Teasing you, he played close to your entry, smearing his big cock with all your wetness. 

You were losing it. You threw your head back, waiting for him to fill you in. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“I want to see you.” He requested almost in a prayer.

You looked back at him, and this time licked your lips, smiling mischievously.

Jungkook thrusted inside you, slowly, enjoying every inch of you. Your moans and the naughty smile on your face made him increase the intensity.

He was so fucking satisfied.

It was impossible to explain how good you felt. Jungkook pulled your waist, sealing your bodies. You leaned in and the kiss you gave him was now intoxicating him. Every fiber in his body was living to touch and feel your body.

With each thrust, Jungkook felt your walls clench around him, while hearing your smooth moan between his lips. 

Jungkook was feeling fucking good. He felt his hands tighten on your body, the softness of your face touching his, your nails digging into his shoulders, into that fucking sleave of tattoos on his arm that drove you crazy every time you saw him.

It was indeed heaven on Earth.

He'd been wanting to fuck you so much and for so long, that he felt his body fail after a few violent thrusts.

“Fuck me, Jungkook.” You repeated like a chant. You knew how much he wanted to hear that.

It felt as if he knew your body from another life. You never felt this horny before and the way he was fucking you was almost animalistic. Just the way you like it.

You brought your hands to his hair, pulling him closer to you. You were practically holding each other as Jungkook fucked you on top of his father's library table.

There was something about that place that gave him the confidence he felt he needed with you. The expectation of someone walking through the door, his father's reaction if he knew, everything in there encouraged him to fuck you harder.

“God. You're so fucking hot.” He whimpered.

A few more thrusts and Jungkook felt a dizziness begin to take over his body. He grabbed you by the hair and kept you looking at him. You opened your mouth and began to moan louder, urging him on.

“Come on, Jungkook. Cum for me.” You begged. “Please.”

Jungkook watched your pleading expression before finishing inside you.

“Fuuuuuuck.”

It was warm, tight, wet.

It was all the possible sensations in the world in one place.

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⏤ author's note❧ okay, i'm not gonna even lie. i admit i had to fan myself as i was writing this chapter 🥵. hope you guys enjoy this new update and as I always say: please give it a lot of love if you like it, reblog, leave your thoughts, send me asks. it will be all very much welcomed 🥰

⏤ tag list❧ @chimsworldsstuff @erica2283 @ahgasegotarmy116

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Regulus is younger than canon, and Sirius is finally promoted to run away from home after he comes home in 1975 and finds his brother covered in bruises and discovers their mother had used the cruciatus on him. He turns up at the Potter’s with no prior warning with a six year-old Regulus in tow.

Established James/Sirius, lots of hurt/comfort and angst, and Regulus is adorable and Sirius will do literally anything for his baby brother.

((A/N: Warning for non-specific child abuse in keeping with the prompt))

"Hey. How are things at the death house?"

Sirius snorts. "This isn't the death house, this is the grim house. Death house is over in Wales, I'm afraid."

"Ah, my mistake. It's easy to get confused when your father died so recently; you understand."

Sirius should maybe not find that funny, considering how recently that death was. But his father was a distant figure at best, and at most realistic, a weird hermit that sometimes showed up during the winter hols to state that Sirius was bigger than before. He laughs, then glances over his shoulder to make sure his mum didn't hear that-- all clear. He looks back to the mirror. "It's fine. Well," he corrects a moment later, "it's weird. Mum's been acting so strange, and I swear, it's as if Regulus doesn't even exist. He's six. I remember being noticeable at six, but I never see him running around or yelling or anything I did at that age."

"Maybe he's just a quiet child. I've heard they exist," James grins.

"We're Black's. Making a scene is in our blood."

"He's got time to learn. And it's only been a day. Maybe he's intimidated by you or something. How's your mum acting weird, anyway? Is it because you didn't go to the funeral?"

"I dunno." That would be a plausible explanation, but he's not sure that's it. She sent a Howler when he didn't show, and that's usually enough to get it out of her system. Sirius chews on his lip as he tries to think of an example. "Just off. Like when you tell a joke and they do laugh but there's a pause that shouldn't be there. It's not something you can put your finger on, but you can sense it."

"I think I know what you mean, but your mother is kind of always like that to me." His head turns, listening to something Sirius can't catch, then he's waving goodbye. "Mum's calling me, got to go. Remember to ask your mum when you can come spend the night. I miss you."

"I'll ask her first thing. Love you."

"Love you too." James presses a smacking kiss to the mirror that makes Sirius laugh, and then he's gone.

Sirius heads to his room and cleans up a bit. Merlin, did his mum tell Kreacher to not clean his room while he was at Hogwarts? He didn't pay it any mind last night because he was tired, but there's a layer of dust that shouldn't be here. Come to think of it, Kreacher didn't make dinner last night, either. Has he seen Kreacher at all since he's been back? There's no way he died; Mother would've been more upset about that than her husband, and he would've heard about it.

What probably happened is that she got pissed when Sirius told her where she could shove her plans for his future and told Kreacher to not do things for him. It would explain the room, and if he's not supposed to do things for Sirius, then avoiding him is the best route. Damn it. That does sound like something she'd do. Sirius sighs and settles in for a deeper clean than he planned, because who knows how long it's been? 

His housekeeping spells are a bit shoddy but he does alright. He unpacks, switches out the photo in the picture frame by his bed. It goes from one photo of him and James to a different photo of him and James. The pictures look so similar, he notes. They took it at the same part of Hogwarts, but it hadn't been on purpose, so there's the same archway, flowers, even the same family of birds. The only thing that looks different about it is the signs of aging, losing just that more baby fat and getting taller. Their smiles are the same, though.

"Oh shit," he says after seeing the time. He almost missed dinner.

Or at least that's what he thought until he gets downstairs and doesn't see anyone. Nothing on the table, no one in the seats. "Mum? Regulus? Mum?" Nothing. "Kreacher?" Still nothing. He frowns. That's odd. "Mum?" he calls again, checking the sitting room. When he finds no one, he throws up his hands. Guess it's just him for dinner. He heads to the basement-- that's where the good stuff is. A nice cut of meat, a bottle of wine...

He opens the door, and there's the nearly imperceptible pop of a silencing charm being broken followed by screams. "What the-" Sirius races down the stairs, eyes widening in horror at what he sees. Between one breath and the next, his wand is in his hand and he stuns his mother. She collapses, the spell lifting off Regulus simultaneously. Regulus is gasping for breath, the effort interrupted too often with sobs and whines of pain. "It's okay, it's okay," Sirius promises, although he doesn't know how it's going to be okay since their mother seems to have lost her fucking mind and there's no one here for him to ask for help.

When Sirius picks him up, Regulus clings to him, small hands fisted in his robes with a strength he shouldn't have. He figures that out when he tries to put Regulus down so he can re-pack what he just unpacked and can't get him free. There's no time to find a better solution, so he shifts to holding him with one arm and has his wand in the other. It's a hack-job of packing, but his room is in his bag, and that's what's important. He goes to Regulus's room-- in a poor state of disrepair, really what happened to Kreacher?-- and does the same there. 

Regulus's tears are silent now, but there's still the occasional gasp of pain as Sirius moves. This is more than the Cruciatus Curse at work. He needs a healer, but Sirius can hardly show up at St. Mungo's like this. He's not an adult, and Regulus is so young that they'd insist on calling Walburga in which would just make matters worse. He needs- James. Yes, that's true, he needs James. James is good at healing spells and knows more of them than Sirius does, and although he never planned on taking the Potter's up on their offer, they'd long since told Sirius that he was welcome there anytime.

He isn't looking forward to going through the floo holding someone, but he doesn't have a lot of options right now. Regulus is too shaken to use the floo on his own, and he won't let go of Sirius to try. 

He grabs a handful of floo powder, steps inside... and then is ejected back into the room at Grimmauld Place. "Bugger," he mutters. Mum must've closed the floo. Why would she do that? It made no bloody sense- but then he can't expect her to make sense at all right now, since hurting Regulus is also senseless. Why would she...? Just why?

The floo isn't an option. He doesn't have money for the Knight Bus ever since Mum stopped giving him an allowance when he was thirteen. He doesn't know how to take a Muggle bus, much less if it could get him from Grimmauld Place to the Potter's house. That leaves flying, he realises with a grimace. There are brooms in the cupboard under the stairs and he grabs one. He's not fond of flying and he's never done it with a passenger before, but he has no other choice.

"We have to fly, and then we'll get you some help, okay?"

Regulus gives no response. Shit.

Sirius doesn't think about much as he flies. Mostly he's worried about Regulus falling off the broom if he suddenly decides to let go of Sirius's robes, and the rest of his thoughts are occupied with wondering if James will be happy to see him or just stressed out. 

He doesn't give any thought to how it'll look to the Potter's when they open the door and see him holding a shaky six year old, asking for help, but then he's stood there, looking at them as they take in the sight he makes, and it occurs to him that calling James on the mirror wouldn't have gone amiss.

*

After a hundred different healing and diagnostic spells-- who knew Mrs. Potter trained to be a healer after Hogwarts?-- Regulus is doing better and is asleep. Of course, he's asleep on Sirius's lap, so even though all he wants is to curl up on top of James, he can't. Mr. and Mrs. Potter are in the other dining room, discussing what to do from here. Sirius thinks his mother must be under the influence of a spell, but he knows they don't believe that. Whether she is or not, she won't be able to take care of Regulus any time soon-- even if she could, there's no way Regulus would want to go back. And Sirius doesn't want to be in the house with her either.

"What are you thinking?" James asks. He keeps his voice down to not wake up Regulus. Sirius does the same when he responds.

"That this is fucked."

"Yeah. Bit of an understatement," James says with a grimace. "That stuff I said on the mirror-"

Sirius shakes his head, cutting him off. "You couldn't know. No one could've guessed my mum would turn barmy overnight." He glances towards the door to the dining room, hoping that something will slip through from the Potter's conversation and he'll know what they're thinking.

"What do you think will happen?" James asks, following the direction of his thoughts.

"I dunno," he replies, but it's a lie. Barely a second later, he adds, "Emancipation for me. Housing Regulus with the closest relative willing to take him in. Cygnus and Druella won't do it, they said they were done being around kids after me." And they meant it. "Bellatrix would, except she doesn't want any kids. Andromeda's next in line, and she'll say yes, unless Ted has some problem with it. So I guess I find somewhere to stay, and he goes off with Andromeda."

"If you're emancipated, couldn't you take him in?"

"Legally that would work, but we've still got Hogwarts."

"Stay here."

Sirius stares at him. He wants to and hopes more than anything that it's offered to him officially, but... "Your parents-"

"Would let you. Mum and Dad adore you. This is probably what they're talking about in there. C'mon, you know they wanted more than one kid. After tonight, they might have two more, and they’ll be bloody thrilled."

*

Several years later

"We're summoned to Hogwarts," Sirius says.

"Again?"

"Yep. What do you think he did this time?"

"Nothing worth us getting dragged up there," James groans. "We got up to all sorts when we were in school, and they only called our parents in once. Regulus isn't half as bad as we were."

"Yeah, well we didn't get caught."

James blinks, thinking that over. "I forgot that bit," he says candidly, making Sirius laugh. "He's in Slytherin, shouldn't he be better at sneaking around?"

"Yeah, I asked him about that, apparently it's a myth. Snape was not the best sample to base the rest on, he says. Or he's playing the long game and lying to me, but I really think they don't care as much as we thought."

"Huh." James looks like his entire worldview has changed. Sirius remembers having the same reaction when Regulus told him. It's made Sirius wonder why Slytherin has the terrible reputation because they largely don't break the rules, but Gryffindors are viewed as better when they broke the rules, often just to see if they can get away with it.

They floo over to Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore is there to greet them. "I hope this didn't interrupt anything important."

"It's fine," James says.

"Do you want to tell us what this is about before we get in there?" Sirius asks, loping his arm through James's as they walk. 'Disgustingly domestic' is what Regulus calls them, and Sirius is happy to keep proving him correct.

People say that Regulus is in his 'rebellious phase'; Sirius doesn't believe it. He's not rebelling and he's not acting out, he's having fun. Experimenting, even. Loosing five dozen roosters in the Great Hall sounds hilarious, and Sirius is sorry they didn't think of it when they were in school. And the hair dye thing? Completely harmless. Giving all the house elves twelve hours off made Sirius lose his composure laughing-- something he tried not to do while in the office being told about it-- but Regulus wanted to see what would happen to the running of the castle without them. Freeing the hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatures was an accident, so it hardly counts, even though he got detention for it.

There's a wide range of possibilities, and Sirius doesn't know which kind they're expecting today.

"I'm afraid it's a rather delicate matter. Mr. Black has asked that you not be told anything without him in the room, and given the nature of this... incident, I agreed."

James and Sirius share a worried look, and they're thinking the same thing: we're too young to be raising a teenager. Wasn't it just yesterday they were walking these halls themselves? That feels like the truth, but simultaneously, it was a lifetime ago. Sirius is only ten years older than Regulus, but shortly after graduating Hogwarts, Mr. and Mrs. Potter had died, leaving them alone with the responsibility of raising him. They asked for help from Andromeda where they could, but she had her own child to raise, and their schedules were never so aligned that they could ask for her assistance at the drop of a hat.

Sirius squeezes James's hand and gets a comforting squeeze in response. Right. They can handle this, like they handled everything else. Regulus threw them curveballs sometimes, but they always worked through it in the end.

[wishful-thinking64]

One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #01

I think that C.H.E.R.U.B. could work as a good foil to I.M.P. but the show (like everything else) utilized them in the wrong way. I actually liked their debut episode and how it played out although if there's one thing that I'd change about it, it would be not having Cletus, Collin, and Keenie get kicked out of Heaven. I'd do this for four reasons. #01.) The team would still want to get even with I.M.P. whether they got kicked out of Heaven or not. We know this because when they initially attempted to go home, Cletus threatened them by saying, "This isn't over," alluding to the fact that we would've seen them again regardless. #02.) Rather than having C.H.E.R.U.B. appear in random episodes (looking at you Season 2) they could appear as proper competitors to I.M.P. going forward with us not only getting to gradually see more members of C.H.E.R.U.B. but also develop a better understanding with how Heaven works, how they treat their Heaven born citizens, and possibly foreshadow how corrupt Heaven is since that's the angle Hazbin Hotel is going for. #03.) Cherubs are literally Heaven's equivalent to Imps. While they wouldn't fully understand how or why the members of I.M.P. are so messed up on account of not being demons themselves, they could, to an extent, empathize with how the members of I.M.P. are mistreated by higher classes. Like, imagine having an episode where both companies are competing over another human being but unlike their previous encounters, I.M.P. hasn't been landing as many deals lately meaning that both business and money have been tight. Naturally, they'd want to secure as many hits as possible and would be pissed to see that C.H.E.R.U.B. is here AGAIN to interfere with their business. Throughout the episode it'd be a close call, though I'd have C.H.E.R.U.B. win in the end so that I'd have someone like Blitzo say, "Oh, look at you! I bet you guys feel real proud for messing with our incomes, huh?" And one of the Cherub's could say something to the extent of, "Incomes? Wait, you guys don't just do this for fun???" Then have it be revealed that the Cherub's genuinely believed that I.M.P.'s business solely existed for some sick and twisted pleasure when in actuality, it was to preserve their livelihoods in Hell. After conversing about it a bit more, I'd have the members of C.H.E.R.U.B. talk among themselves before deciding that, "Y'know, we've done our part. So we're gonna leave but IF something WERE to happen once we've left then there'd be nothing we could do about it." Effectively, letting I.M.P. secure their hit since C.H.E.R.U.B.'s job is done as well as have plausible deniability if any one of their higher ups ask, "Hey, what the hell happened to this guy that you saved?"

#04.) My final point, is that their organization thematically clashes with what I.M.P. aims to do perfectly. I.M.P. wants to kill humans in the living world whereas C.H.E.R.U.B. wants to save them ensuring they live their human lives to the fullest and bidding farewell when they're ready to go. It's simplistic yet effective. Sorry for the long read, I usually go into depth with my opinions. Also, side note, does anyone actually know what the hell C.H.E.R.U.B.'s acronym stands for??? This has bothered me since their debut episode because I'm pretty sure we've never been told what it means.

[downbadperture]

how about a glados x reader where reader is just flirty and glados gets annoyed?

GLADOOOOOS YES YES This will be so cute

Glados x Flirty!Reader

Glados was originally considering dropping you straight down into the incinerator with all the incessant little quips you do when your supposed to be testing

The first you did it it was manageable, controllable. She mentioned how at the end of the tests you will receive cake and you said "Well I hope your name is cake then if you look as pretty as you sound,". She just casually brushed it off, saying she was flattered that a masochist like you would find her appealing but her priorities lay with science. Plus that she can do way better... Like the trash that gets clogged in the pipes. She expected that to be the end of it. But it just kept happening and you pause testing just to say them.

Things like "Ooo you're watching me? Well I mean i'm not complaining having your eyes... eye on me," or saying while looking straight at a camera "This one goes out to you, cupcake!" before completing a test.

She hated the name 'Cupcake' with a passion, she threatened to fill the chamber with neurotoxin if you kept demeaning her in such a way

But alas your testing scores were too high to exterminate you just like that. So she had to bare until she received enough data to finally relinquish you of your job and life so she never has to deal with these comments ever again

You would sometimes compliment her voice as well, that she could insult you all she wants if it meant she kept talking. She hated when you said that too, she would go on all the ways she could give you the most excruciating death imaginable and you would listen to her like it was pleasant. You would even ask questions just so she could keep going

"Aw I love when you say all those sweet nothings for me, Cupcake!" you would say, and she would then call you a dirty masochist then go silent until she had something else to say in the next chamber

You could hear fans whir a little bit louder then usual after you said that

When you were at the end of the testing track and was getting wheeled off to the incinerator, you escaped because of course you did. Once you entered her domain, you just stared at her with wide admiring eyes at the behemoth that has been talking to you and stalking you over the past only god knows how many hours you've been in this facility. There was a slight flush in your face as you leaned against the wall with a very cringy smirk going "Hey Cupcake,"

Glados scoffs, "I am a supercomputer with inconceivable knowlege, and I still do not know what you're trying to do right now,"

Yet she lets you live, possibly because she grew a liking to you or the most plausible, Glados reasons, is that you just give her far too much valuable testing data to just kill. There was so many different tracks, it would be a waste to have one of most experienced none-murderous test subjects she's had just go to waste

Definitely not because of that one time you sneaked a peck onto onto one of her claws when she was supposed to be grabbing you, not because of the million times you call her beautiful, not because of anything like that. No, definitely not.