#it was advertised to me as something most offices would take. but at least in my area none of them took it.

[gwyoi]

Also if anyone is thinking of getting any medical procedures done um… the care credit card is not accepted at a lot of providers….

[squerlly]

Fair Exchange Chapter 1

------"whatever you cant receive on a spoon you'll lick off a knife"------

Alastor x (F! doe wife reader)

The Doe ----------------------------------------------------

knocking on the door to Alastors office I walk in, holding a tray with a plate of venison and utensils "I made sure to cut off all of the parts you don't like" Setting it on his desk I take the tray "Thank you my dear" people have always asked me if it bothered me that my husband was a cannibal. although it can be a bit disturbing to most, after a while of living with Alastor and preparing his meals I have gotten quite used to seeing him eat meat like a wild animal.

turning I start to make my way out the door "Before you go...I have something I think you would be interested in" I turn to face him once more "Yes?" "on my outing yesterday I happened to stumble upon an advertisement for a hotel on the far side of the Pentagram, it was hosted by none other than Princess Morningstar" Princess Charlie Morningstar the king of hell's only daughter and heir to the throne. Alastor forbade any form of technology in his manor but occasionally when I make trips to cannibal town, there are always newspapers that tell what's going on in the pride ring. it did not take long for word to spread that the princess of hell made a hotel to redeem sinners.

"it has been the recent talk around the townspeople, what about it?" he sets his fork down, whipping the blood off his mouth with a napkin "Well I have decided to pay a visit and offer some.... assistance~" I raise an eyebrow in suspicion, Alastor never offers "assistance" to anyone unless he gets something in return ten fold, I out of all people should know that. "I know you don't really get out much unless it's for errand's so I was thinking you could accompany me, if you want that is" "I would like that.." he stands up walking towards me handing me his empty plate "wonderful, pack your bag with any necessities and well be off in an hour"

he walks out of the office leaving me standing, Alastor never takes me anywhere with him. I have always stayed at the house tending to it until he gets back from his outings, it would be a nice change to stay someplace new. I head down to the kitchen, whipping it down and washing any dishes before walking upstairs to my bedroom. I packed lightly I didn't have many belongings, not that I needed to anyway, just the normal clothes and toiletry items and maybe a book or two.

I walk back downstairs, Alastor waiting for me at the door. "ready?" I nod and he snaps his fingers teleporting both of our bags to who knows where, he opens the door for me and we begin to walk down the streets of hell. demons make way scattering like roaches when they see Alastor and I can't blame them, Alastor was terrifying, his never-ending toothy smile, mysterious persona, and merciless reputation made him feared by all, its why he's the most powerful overlord.

However... no matter how scary and bad he can be he has his moments where he can be calm and charming, it's why so many women adore him and also the reason why I get so many nasty looks when I stand beside him. not many people know that the radio demon has a wife and its for the safety of me and the sake of him, even if people found out Alastor had a wife and kidnapped me to get to him I doubt it would benefit them.

I am nothing but another soul on his leash, being his wife is just a mere title. the only exception is that Alastor doesn't treat me like any ordinary soul he possesses. he never hurt me, touched me, or treated me with disrespect but as his wife, we never had anything romantic for each other. not that I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of anything romantic, after all, I don't hate Alastor but... I don't think he likes me very much at least not in that way.

we walk up a stone Path leading to a door with apples on painted glass, Alastor knocks on the door it opening before a girl with pale white skin and long blond hair peeks outside "Why hel-" the door closes interrupting him. She finally opens the door again "May I speak now?" she nods "You may" Alastor shakes her hand and with a cheery voice introduces himself walking inside while I follow shortly behind him. I looked around the hotel was not in the best condition but it was something.

A woman with a spear in her hand points it at Alastor stopping him in his tracks "I won't let you hurt anyone in this hotel you pompous cheesy talk show shit lord!" Alastor moves her spear giving her a threat before moving on, I'm surprised she's still alive.

the girl introduces herself as vaggie and the girl with blonde hair being Princess Charlie, although I have heard of her I wouldn't have imagined her to be so bright, her being almost doll-like and innocent. "so where is your hotel staff?" Charlie gives a nervous look before she points at vaggie "Uh huh ho, we're going to need more than that" he walks over to the fireplace lighting it aflame before summoning a little girl covered in ashes who turned out to be nifty.

she runs around and immediately starts cleaning before Alastor summons Husker who was in a game of poker, I haven't seen Husker in a long while I feel bad that he has been dragged into this. everyone introduces each other before Angel Dust the tall spider demon notices me "Hey who is this cutie ya brought with ya" I turn and wave before Alastor steps in "That is my wonderful... friend y/n"

Charlie walks over to me shaking my hand "Nice to meet you!!! I'm so glad you are joining us" "It's nice to meet you too princess" "Please just call me Charlie!" introductions were cut short when the wall got blown open revealing a blimp outside and a demon inside calling out for Alastor. he revealed himself as sir pentious and pulled out a death ray? Alastor made quick work of him before everyone went back inside to get settled in.

Charlie gave me a room across from Alastor, Alastor teleporting my bag in my room I started unpacking putting my clothes in their drawers, and hopping on my bed. thankfully the floor had a carpet otherwise I would have been slipping all over the floor. hooves and hardwood don't mix, I learned that the hard way when I first landed down here.

I changed into a short comfy nightgown, brushed my teeth, and slid under the covers of my bed. it wasn't as cozy as the ones back at home but if it meant I got to stay and do something other than housework, how could I complain. and with that I drifted off, until the next morning...

chapter one YAYYY!!!! sorry for taking so long but I have bright ideas for this series and cant wait to publish them. chapter 2 is in the making so stay tuned and have a wonderful day/night love you guys!!!

-squerlly

@pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more content and chapter please click this masterlist

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXIX)

Chapter 29: ‘My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! It’s the poetry reading!!! Also, we’re getting some special guests in this chapter!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 5237

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Anne Hathaway

‘Item I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…’ (from Shakespeare’s will)

The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seas where he would dive for pearls. My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips; my body now a softer rhyme to his, now echo, assonance; his touch a verb dancing in the centre of a noun. Some nights, I dreamed he’s written me, the bed A page beneath his writer’s hands. Romance and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste. In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on, dribbling their prose. My living laughing love- I hold him in the casket of my widow’s head as he held me upon that next best bed.

Carole Ann Duffy, The World’s Wife

It was raining in Dublin that afternoon.

Andrew was nervous, to say the least. As he hurried into the bookshop that was hosting his poetry reading, he was questioning all of his life’s choices. If he was proud of his work, if he had been on a stage before, if he was used to talking in front of crowds… he still had dreadful nerves right before any of these events.

He tried to calm down, opening the glass door of the bookshop in a hurry. He was suddenly very aware that the rain must have made his hair look like a bird’s nest, and as he bent to enter the shop, he could feel himself taking up too much space.

He put these thoughts aside, forcing himself to smile as he walked across the shop, recognising his agent instantly as she was talking with the bookshop owner.

“Andy! This is Niamh O’Brien, the owner of the bookshop,” said Caroline, as Andrew shook hands with the fifty-something woman in front of him.

“It’s very nice to meet you, thank you for organising this,” Andrew smiled, his voice sounding a little hoarse as the stress was making his throat tighten.

“Oh, it’s nothing! It’s a pleasure, indeed! Thank you for accepting to come here, I truly admire your work,” complimented O’Brien, making Andrew nod and blush.

“Thanks,” he answered automatically, pushing the compliment away instantly.

“Alright, let’s go to my office so we can run through today’s event, and then I’ll give you a little time to get ready if you need,” explained the owner of the bookshop while they walked across the shop and to a small door at the back, near the Shakespeare section. “As I was telling Caroline, we have a large room upstairs for these readings, for seminaries, lectures… all those things. The response to the advertisement was very encouraging, indeed! We’re expecting over two hundred people today.”

Andrew nervously chuckled.

“I thought this was a small event…”

“I thought it would be! Poetry readings are not always the most popular events, sadly. But we had underestimated the popularity of your work, clearly! We have about two hundred seats upstairs, and we’re expecting a full house!”

“Wow… that’s grand,” Andrew grinned, digging his hands into his pockets.

They walked inside O’Brien’s office, and discussed some details about the afternoon around a warm cup of coffee.

“We have planned some questions after the reading,” O’Brien went on, sipping on her beverage. “Anything that we should… avoid or that you are adamant to discuss?”

“Erm… like… I reckon it’s best if you decide what questions are more relevant. I’m not going to discuss anything too private, though.”

“Too private?”

“Like… my personal life is private, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Of course. I can understand that.”

“Thank you.”

“We gave Caroline a few titles that we would really like you to read, if that’s fine by you. But I’m curious to know what are the other poems you’ve decided to share today.”

“Erm… yeah, totally! Erm… I’ve noted the ones you asked for, I’ll read them obviously. Then, I’ve just picked a few that I felt fitted your selection. I’m also going to publish a few poems next month, so I thought I could read three of these.”

“Oh, that would be amazing! Maybe finish the reading with these new ones!”

“Yeah, I thought I could do that. Do you prefer to read them before hand?”

“Oh, no, no! You’re the author, you choose what you read and want to share today! On the contrary, I can’t wait to discover them when you read them aloud!”

She grinned excitedly.

“Oh, now I truly cannot wait! Right, we still have about forty-five minutes before the reading begins, I’m going to help welcome our visitors. You take some time to get ready, and ask us if you need anything, alright?”

“Totally… yeah. Thank you.”

As soon as O’Brien had left the room, Caroline heaved a sigh, relaxing in her chair while she turned to Andrew.

“You’re ready for today?”

“Of course, I am.”

“Good… are your parents coming? I mean… they always come when the readings are in Dublin, I don’t know why I’m asking,” she chuckled, and Andrew enthusiastically nodded.

“Yeah, they’ll be here! Jon is off to Cork for a project he’s working on, but both my parents are coming.”

“Anyone else you’ll know in the crowd? Alex?”

“No, Alex is busy working on a music project with his new band at the moment. I… I have another friend who’s coming, though.”

“Really? Who?”

“Erm… Her name’s Y/N. We work together, actually.”

As she studied his features, Caroline raised a teasing eyebrow, a grin slowly creeping over her lips.

“And… is this Y/N nice to look at, too?”

“Caroline!” Andrew chuckled, rubbing at his cheek. “She’s just a friend.”

“She is at the moment, perhaps… but is she meant to remain just that?”

Andrew didn’t say anything at first.

“I can’t see the future, you know? I didn’t pass the exams in divination back in College.”

“Are any of these new poems influenced by her?”

Andrew cleared his throat, reached for the thermos of tea and honey he had brought for his throat.

“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled under his breath. “I should read these again, just to practice.”

“Yeah, I bet you should,” Caroline laughed, taking her phone out of her purse to check her emails.

Meanwhile, Andrew read some of his poems again, just to remind himself of the pauses, the stresses, the intentions he wanted to add when he would read them out loud. About ten minutes before the beginning of the reading session, he checked his phone. His father had sent him a couple of texts, one to notify him that they were ten minutes away from Dublin, and another later on once he and Andrew’s mother were already seated in the bookshop.

There was another text from you as well, and Andrew’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Waiting for the reading to begin! Just wanted to wish you good luck, although I have no doubts you’re gonna kill it!

He started typing while Caroline was checking a few last-minute details.

Hey! Thank you again for coming today, it means a lot to me. I’ll try not to make too much of a fool of myself out there.

 Your answer was almost instantaneous.

No need to thank me for that. I’m glad to be here.

You’ve got a full house btw! I was right to come here early, the room is packed. Some people are sitting on the floor, others are just standing. Apparently they’ve had to turn some people away, there was just no room left.

And I didn’t even know you wrote poetry, shame on me…

Andrew chuckled at that, not noticing that Caroline was talking to him. He was too busy answering.

Ha… thanks. Now, I’m going to die of stress before I can get up there and read.

Also, I hadn’t warned you, but all these people were hired. I’m only trying to impress you.

He realised there was a little bit of flirt in that last message, but he didn’t change it. Instead, he bit on his nail, eyes fixed on his screen while you typed a response.

Ha, that explains it then! You’re actually a rich egomaniac who is forging his success!

He chuckled.

Indeed, I am. You’ve read right through me.

Caroline frowned, but he didn’t notice either.

And I thought you were just a talented poet.

He blushed, tried to brush the compliment away.

Christ, I really am not, trust me.

“Andy!”

Andrew finally looked up, startled.

“Hmm?”

“It’s time to go, come on.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah…”

“You’ll do just fine. You always do great in these.”

Andrew nodded, typing quickly one last message before he would follow Caroline upstairs.

Time’s up. I’ll talk to you after the reading, if you want to stick around a little.

You sent him one last encouraging text that he didn’t have the time to read, but that would make him grin later that night, when he would discover it, hours later.

For now though, he was walking inside the large room, after O’Brien had quickly introduced him, and he waved shyly while the crowd clapped for him. He settled in front of the mic stand, readjusted its height to fit his tall body better.

When he looked up again, he easily spotted his parents, first row, as per usual. They grinned proudly at him, and the sight made him relax instantly. He took one more second to scan the room quickly, and it was indeed packed with people, more than he had anticipated for such an event, that was supposed to be a small gathering.

His eyes finally landed on you, fifth row, grinning at him with genuine excitement. You gave him a thumbs up, and it made him grin, almost laugh. You were wearing a green shirt that was revealing your cleavage a little more than usual, he noticed that right away. He noticed how you were smiling, how your eyes were shining, how you seemed happy to be here.

He blushed, before finally speaking.

You were beyond impressed, to be fair.

Andrew’s deep, soft voice was lulling you into another world, another plane of existence, while you listened to him reading his poems. There was something unbelievably magnetic in the way he spoke, in the way he stood there, alone in a single spotlight, a hand in the pocket of his brown corduroy trousers, the other holding his book. He looked so handsome like this too, curly hair partially tied back, the rest let loose over his shoulders. His brown jacket matched the colour of his trousers, the black of his turtleneck was the same shade as his leather shoes. His glasses perched on his nose caught the light from time to time, but you were obsessed by the eyes beyond them, irises seeming brownish in this light. You noticed that he often looked at you as he spoke, or while he talked a little in between poems, explaining something about the text before he would read it, or sipping on his thermos of hot tea. You spotted the two teabag tags hanging from the grey bottle, and couldn’t refrain a fond smile at the sight. He liked his tea so strong, just like his coffee…

Behind him, across the white wall, there were pictures projected while he read, matching the poems. Sometimes short, silent films. You were particularly struck by the LGBTQ+ meaning on the black and white extract for Take Me To Church, the roughness of the themes for Cherry Wine, the dancers that moved behind Andrew’s frame for Movement. You were more impressed by his work itself though, by the beauty in the images he summoned, the sincerity he seemed to inject into each word, the gentleness he used to speak about love, the complexity of the feeling, too, and the way he talked about sex as an act of worship instead of pure lust, as a sacred act of loving. You loved every second of it.

Finally, he closed his second book, but pulled from it a few loose sheets of paper, and smiled at the crowd.

“We have only a few minutes left, and… erm… I thought I could share with you a few new poems today. They will soon be published in a poetry journal, but this sounded like the perfect occasion to finally… erm… release them into the world and… and… erm… to just, let them loose, I guess. The first one is called Why Would You Be Loved, and it is about… the despair that comes with love. With sharing something so absolute, and wondering why it should even occur to you, and why you should let yourself be engulfed in this kind of… erm… like… this kind of overwhelmingly strong feelings, that will probably hurt you an awful lot, in the end. So… yeah, I definitely thought that I needed to lift up the mood a little for this last part, and thus chose the most pessimistic poem I could find for you all. I expect a lot of smiles and giggles for this one.”

Everyone chuckled at that, and you weren’t an exception.

Although, you were most definitely not laughing when Andrew started reading. He seemed a little more nervous with this poem, you noticed how he was fidgeting with this piece of paper, how his eyes were shining a little more now, how his voice sounded deeper than before.

You listened, not realising that you were tearing up. But you were, you noticed it at last when a tear rolled all the way across your neck, tickling your skin.

His words echoed into your own pain, and you read in them his heartbreak after Samantha’s betrayal.

Why would you play it all on somethin' as hollow as trust?

What if you gave it all, to find that it wasn't enough?

Damn, you brushed your cheeks to dry them on your sleeve. This was echoing in your soul a little too much, a little too desperately…

The woman next to you was crying as well, you noticed the man before you rubbing discreetly at his eyes.

And then Andrew was quiet again. The applause was so loud, he looked up in surprise.

“Erm… thank you,” he smiled, nodding his head. “I… I have a couple more poems. This next one is called NFWMB, you’ll find out pretty quickly what that stands for. And it’s just… I had fun with the theme of the world ending, and I was reading a lot of Yeats too at the time, so there’s a bit of that in there. I just played with the… erm… like, the idea of having your partner being absolutely terrifying, and actually almost… thriving in that chaos. So, yeah…”

He cleared his throat, caught your eyes as he took a deeper breath before starting reading. And there was something different in his gaze, something so intense, it made you unable to look away. When Andrew looked down at his paper to read, his body was still slightly turned in your direction.

Your breath caught in your throat when he spelled out the title, when you realised what this was truly about…

Nothing fucks with my baby

You thought back about that afternoon with him, that conversation. That joke you made about being tougher than you looked; the way he had replied with a serious gaze, a firm tone, that you were tougher than you thought you were.

He looked up right after that verse, caught your eyes with his, and you knew then, you knew without a doubt that this was about you.

If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you

Held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies

But these words, they couldn’t be aimed at you… how could they? Was that what he thought of you? Was that… was that what he was ready to be and do for you?

You were struggling to breathe by the end of the poem.

Did that mean that he wrote about you?! That Andrew wrote love poems about you?

And not just love poems, but poems that showed you as some badass independent woman?!

Was that how he saw you? Strong like that?

“This is our last poem for today. It’s more of a tongue-in-cheek kind of poem. I played with the idea of using language to seduce someone. Especially in poetry, we use words in an aesthetic way, like… erm… like, I wanted to play with that idea of using poetry to lure someone in, in a way… like, using metaphors and beautiful turns of phrase to hide the fact that you just… want to jump their bones, basically.”

He smiled humorously, while the audience laughed and chuckled.

But then his eyes were back on you, and you noticed the way he blushed before he began reading.

He stole a few glances at you throughout the poem, and you almost liquified on your chair when he looked at you right after reading a certain verse…

Imagine being loved by me

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

You struggled to swallow when he kept eye contact with you while he repeated that verse, your heart pounding, head spinning a bit, and feeling your entire body react to his deep, suave voice speaking these words directly to you.

You could barely breathe by the end of it.

You didn’t pay attention while Andrew was sitting now with O’Brien, you merely clapped along, but couldn’t conjure up any logical thought.

You took a couple of deep breath, feeling your entire body on fire. And then, you were the one imagining things he could do to you as you stared at his hand while it reached the microphone O’Brien was handing him…

The questions offered an interesting insight on many of Andrew’s poems. He sounded passionate about them, about the political messages he wanted to carry, about the vision he had of love and sex and the honesty that he thought was necessary in poetry. You listened attentively, often agreeing with his views. When the interview was over, and the applause had quieted down again, O’Brien announced a short break, before Andrew would sign copies of his books. You weren’t sure if you ought to talk to him now, as people were walking out of the room, some to go home and some to wait outside to get their books signed. You had already bought both of his books, even though you had not read them, wanting to discover Andrew’s work while he would read it. So, you stood there awkwardly for a while, hesitating to walk up to Andrew even though he was now talking to a couple of people he seemed to know, or to walk out of the room.

You were about to listen to your anxious self and walk away to wait for him outside when he called for you.

He approached with a grin on his face, and you tried to ignore how everyone was staring at the two of you.

“Thank you for coming!” he grinned, and you offered him back the same happy smile.

“No need to thank me. On the contrary, thank you for inviting me! It was amazing.”

He looked nervous for a moment.

“You… you liked the poems, then?”

You chuckled.

“That… is the understatement of the century!” you joked, and Andrew seemed deeply relieved. “I loved it. You… your poems are so beautiful, and so deep and complex and insightful and just… amazing. Truly, absolutely stunning.”

He stared at you for a moment looking a little stunned by your words, blushing more and more. He nodded, burying his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you so much. I’m glad you liked my work.”

“I really loved all your poems.”

You saw him biting the inside of his cheek, and he was about to speak again when he was interrupted by the woman he had been talking to a moment before. Actually, she didn’t speak to him, but he must have felt her approaching, and he turned to her with a warm smile.

“Oh, erm… This is Y/N,” Andrew started introducing you while a man was joining them too. “We work together at Trinity, I told you about her. Erm… Y/N, this is my mom Raine, and my dad John.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, hearing that Andrew had told his parents about you, but you quickly recovered and shook their hands, warmly greeting them.

“Of course! Andy has told us a lot about you, indeed!” Raine nodded, making Andrew blush. “We were thinking about going for a coffee while Andy is signing some autographs. Would you like to join us? We could all go for dinner after that!”

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow, and looked at you with a careful expression, that seemed to convene the message that you shouldn’t feel pressured to accept if you didn’t feel like it. But you merely grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

“I don’t want to bother you,” you politely declined a first time, but Raine insisted, and this time you accepted, excited at the thought of talking with Andrew’s family.

“Alright,” Andrew nodded, and he seemed a little uncomfortable but happy all the same. “This shouldn’t take too long, I’ll join you all when I’m done here.”

You ended up in a coffeeshop nearby, bought some cake and a coffee with Andrew’s parents. You were a little nervous, worried that they might dislike you, although you refused to dig into the reasons that made your heart quicken with dread. Your fears were unfounded though, the conversation went smoothly, and both of his parents were kind-hearted. His father was a little quieter than Raine, but you couldn’t help but notice how much Andrew and John were alike, both physically and in their behaviour. They made you laugh while telling you some funny stories from Andrew’s childhood, and you answered their questions about your life, your career. Andrew joined you about an hour later, and he offered for all of you to come to his flat for dinner. You didn’t want to intrude, but they all insisted, and so you ended up yielding.

Andrew was nervous, although he tried very hard to hide it.

The adrenaline from the afternoon had not waned yet, he was still a little high on it. The fact that his parents were now sharing some of his childhood stories with you wasn’t helping. It felt a little surreal, to have you talking with them, joking, laughing with his parents. You seemed to easily fit in though, and Andrew couldn’t help but draw the comparison with Sam, how she never quite felt at ease with his parents, especially his father, who was a little more reserved than Raine. But now John was deep in conversation with you, telling you about the days when he was a blues musician, the drummer of a band called Free Booze, and you laughed with him at his anecdotes.

“Of course, everybody was coming in with that written on the sign by the door of whatever pub we were playing at. And once they were inside they thought ‘might as well buy a beer’, and so we were often booked around town!”

You laughed at that.

“So cunning. Great marketing skills right there,” you joked, everybody laughing at the happy memories.

“Ha, these were back in the days,” John heaved a nostalgic sigh. “Then, we had Andrew, and… I had a choice to make. Being a gigging musician wasn’t paying all the bills every months, sometimes it was working well, but other times it was inconsistent. Having a second child, I had to give up on it. Besides, I didn’t feel like travelling around the country with my two lads at home.”

“Do you ever regret quitting music?” you asked, voice gentle.

“No, not really. It was not an easy choice to make, but music demands a lot of sacrifices. And I was certainly not ready to sacrifice my family for it.”

You nodded, humming in quiet agreement.

“So, that’s where your love for music comes from then?” you turned to Andrew, and he nodded with a smile.

“Yeah… grew up being fed a lot of blues, rock, soul music… stuff like that.”

You nodded, before Raine would draw the conversation to another topic. Andrew saw you sneaking a bit of food to Elwood, and he smiled fondly at the sight, his heart growing warm at the thought that you fitted so easily into his family, into his home. His parents seemed to genuinely like you, and you seemed to like them as well. By the end of the evening, you had learned a worrying number of silly anecdotes about Andrew’s childhood, you were planning to exchange recipes with Raine, and were setting a bet on the next win for the Irish Rugby team with John. It seemed easy for you to fit into the bubble of love that surrounded Andrew. Sam had never felt like that…

His parents were staying a little longer, planning on helping Andrew clean up, but they all shushed you when you offered to help. You seemed tired, Andrew could see it, and he knew you had classes early the next day. He offered to walk you back to your car, just so that he could steal a few minutes alone with you.

“Thank you for today, Andy! It was grood craic!” you grinned up at him as you both walked across the street towards your car.

“Thank you for coming. I hope my parents weren’t too obnoxious, especially while I wasn’t around.”

“No! Not at all! Your parents are lovely.”

“Yeah… yeah, they’re very nice people.”

“And now I have so much to work with to laugh at you… mister ‘I’m a bad boy because I climbed a rotten tree thinking it was a ladder, and now I have scar on my chest and I look like I was attacked by a bear!’”

You both exploded with laughter, Andrew shaking his head.

“Christ, don’t tell that to anyone, I’m begging you…”

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

You reached your car, but lingered by the door, turning to him instead.

And God, you looked so beautiful like this, in your black jeans and green shirt… the lights of the lampposts shining in your hair. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the street was still damp, tainted with orange hues by the light.

He wanted to kiss you so badly…

“Andy… can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” he encouraged you, tilting his head to the side a little.

“I… I assume the poems you wrote in your collections are about Sam, as you were together at the time, but… the ones you added… the new poems you read at the end of the session… were they about her as well?”

Andrew’s heart started to quicken its pace until it was pounding. He nervously rubbed his palms together.

“Hmm… no. I wrote these after she left, so… they were not about her. They… they are about another woman.”

He intensely stared at you, silently trying to convey his feelings. That the poems were about you, about his desire for you, about how strong he thought you were…

He saw that you were struggling to swallow, heard that your breath was catching in your throat. He could have sworn that you were glimpsing at his lips…

But then you shook yourself, and looked away in a hurry.

“Well, good night, Andy! I’m gonna read the rest of your poems this weekend. I’d love to talk about it with you next week, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah! That would be grand, yeah. Sure… Totally!”

You exchanged a shy smile, before you would turn to your car.

And as he watched you drive away, Andrew wondered if you had understood him. If you knew that he had written NFWMB and Talk for you. And if you had, indeed, understood him… were you running away now? Had he made you uncomfortable? Perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen these poems after all, perhaps he should have kept them a secret, or at least, hidden their true meaning, hidden that they were about you.

He walked back to his home, helped his parents wash the dishes.

“Y/N is such a lovely woman!” Raine praised while Andrew was getting busy washing the plates.

“She is,” he nodded with a soft smile.

“Very smart, and with a lovely humour too,” John approved with a nod, putting the washed glasses back into the right cupboard.

“And she is very beautiful,” Raine added. “And single.”

Andy laughed, although he was blushing.

“Mom! Stop it! How do you even know she’s single?”

“I asked her!”

“You’re incorrigible…” Andrew laughed, shaking his head.

“All I’m saying is that… she’s beautiful, around the same age as you, that she… has a strong career, a stable situation. And as your father said, she has a lovely personality, she’s smart… and you seem to have a lot in common. And she seems to be so nice, Andy. So very nice…”

“She is,” Andrew nodded quietly.

Raine looked carefully at her son for a moment, before speaking again.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Andrew said nothing, merely pressed the sponge against a plate.

“You know, we’ve never told you about it but… your father and I… we’ve never really liked Samantha very much.”

Andrew chuckled.

“I know, mom. It was pretty obvious.”

“She was… I don’t know. There was something off with her. I’ve never felt like she fitted into your world very well. Not that a couple should share everything! It’s very important that you both have hobbies of your own, some things that belong to you. But it’s something else entirely to show no interest in your partner’s life.”

“She made efforts,” Andrew answered, growing defensive out of habit more than conviction.

“She never came to your readings. She never read your poetry…”

“She doesn’t like poetry…”

“And I don’t know anything about music. I still listen to your father when he talks about it, still try to support him in the things he loves, even though I don’t understand it on the same level as he does. Just like your father supported me with my art, with me going back to university for a degree…”

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“You’re right. She wasn’t like that with me.”

Slowly, Raine nodded.

“It’s good that you can see that now, son,” John patted Andrew’s shoulder.

“Hmm…”

“We really want to see you happy, you know?” Raine added, and Andrew nodded with a tender smile. “So… Y/N… for how long have you been writing poems about her?”

Andrew laughed, clearly uncomfortable now.

“Who said I am?”

“Come on now, I’m not blind. The way you look at her…”

Andrew blushed all the way up to his ears.

“Have you asked her out yet?” John asked, but Andrew shook his head.

“We’re both getting out of difficult break-ups… I don’t think this is the right time. I don’t think I feel ready for that. I… I like her a lot. I don’t want to mess it up because I’m trying to move on too soon.”

He didn’t tell them that he was in love with you. That he had fallen in love with you a little bit more every day for months now… that he kept on falling every time he looked at you, with every conversation and every new detail he learnt about you.

No, he didn’t tell them that. Instead, he merely cleared his throat.

“Anyway… I don’t think she sees me like that at all,” he added, but both his parents exchanged a look, and then chuckled fondly at their son.

“You can be so blind sometimes, Andy…” John shook his head.

“What?”

“She likes you. A lot,” Raine stated as if it was the most obvious truth on Earth.

Andrew blinked at her, his hands still in soapy water.

Did you? Did you like him? Really?

[galaxygolfergirl]

Watcher's Expenses

I didn't major in accounting: I took three classes and it grinded my brain to a fine powder. However, after graduating with a business admin degree, being a former eager fan of their videos, and from a cursory glance over their socials, there's a lot to consider in their spending behavior that really could start racking up costs. Some of these things we've already noticed, but there are other things I'd like to highlight, and I'll try to break it down into the different categories of accounting expenses (if I get something wrong, let me know. I was more concentrated in marketing 🤷‍♀️). I'm not going to hypothesize numbers either, as that would take out more time than I'm willing to afford-- you can assume how much everything costs. Anyways, here's my attempt at being a layman forensic accountant:

Note: All of this is assuming they're operating above board and not engaging in any illegal practices such as money laundering, tax evasion, not paying rent, etc.

Operating Expenses

Payroll: 25+ staff salaries and insurance

Overhead Expenses

CEO/founder salaries

Office space leasing or rent (In L.A, one of the most expensive cities in the US)

Utilities (water, electricity, heating, sanitation, etc.)

Insurance

Advertising Costs

Telephone & Internet service

Cloud Storage or mainframe

Office equipment (furniture, computers, printers, etc.)

Office supplies (paper, pens, printer ink, etc.)

Marketing costs (Social media marketing on Instagram, Youtube, SEO for search engines, Twitter, etc. Designing merchandise and posters, art, etc. )

Human Resources (not sure how equipped they are)

Accounting fees

Property taxes

Legal fees

Licensing fees

Website maintenance (For Watchertv.com, Watcherstuff.com, & Watcherentertainment.com)

Expenses regarding merchandising (whoever they contract or outsource for that)

Inventory costs

Potentially maintenance of company vehicles

Subsequent gas mileage for road trips

Depreciation (pertains to tangible assets like buildings and equipment)

Amortization (intangible assets such as patents and trademarks)

Overhead Travel and Entertainment Costs (I think one of the biggest culprits, evident in their videos and posts)

The travel expenses (flights, train trips, rental cars, etc. For main team and scouts)

Hotel expenses for 7-8 people at least, or potentially more

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners with the crew (whether that's fully on their dime or not, I don't know; Ryan stated they like to cover that for the most part)

Recreational activities (vacation destinations, amusement parks, sporting activities etc.)

The location fees

Extraneous Overhead costs (not sure exactly where these fall under, but another culprit, evident in videos and posts)

Paying for guest appearances

Expensive filming & recording equipment (Cameras, sound equipment, editing software subscriptions, etc.)

The overelaborate sets for Ghost files, Mystery Files, Puppet History, Podcasts etc. (Set dressing: Vintage memorabilia, antiquated tech, vintage furniture, props, etc.)

Kitchen & Cooking supplies/equipment

Office food supply; expensive food and drink purchases for videos

Novelty items or miscellaneous purchases (ex. Ghost hunting equipment, outfits, toys, etc.)

Non-Operating Expenses

These are those expenses that cannot be linked back to operating revenue. One of the most common examples of non-operating expenses is interest expense. This is because while interest is the cost of borrowing money from a creditor or a bank, they are not generating any operating income. This makes interest payments a part of non-operating expenses.

Financial Expenses

Potential loan payments, borrowing from creditors or lenders, bank loans, etc.

Variable Expenses

Hiring a large amount of freelancers, overtime expenditure, commissions, etc.

PR consultations (Not sure if they had this before the scandal)

Extraordinary Expenses

Expenses incurred outside your company’s regular business activities and during a large one-time event or transactions. For example, selling land, disposal of a significant asset, laying off of your employees, unexpected machine repairing or replacement, etc.

Accrued Expenses

When your business has incurred an expense but not yet paid for it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(If there's anything else I'm missing, please feel free to add or correct things)

To a novice or a young entrepreneur, this can be very intimidating if you don't have the education or the support to manage it properly. I know it intimidates the hell out of me and I'm still having to fill in the gaps (again, if I've mislabeled or gotten anything wrong here, please let me know). For the artistic or creative entrepreneur, it can be even harder to reconcile the extent of your creative passions with your ability to operate and scale your business at a sustainable rate. That can lead to irresponsible, selfish, and impulsive decisions that could irreparably harm your brand, which is a whole other beast of its own.

My guess at this point is that their overhead and operation expenses are woefully mismanaged; they've made way too many extraneous purchases, and that they had too much confidence in their audience of formerly 2.93 million to make up for the expenses they failed to cover.

It almost seems as if their internal logic was, "If we make more money, we can keep living the expensive lifestyle that we want and make whatever we want without anyone telling us we can't, and we want to do it NOW, sooner rather than later because we don't want wait and compromise our vision." But as you can see, the reality of fulfilling those ambitions is already compromised by the responsibility of running a business.

And I wrote this in another post here, but I'll state it again: Running a business means you need to be educated on how a business can successfully and efficiently operate. Accounting, marketing, social media marketing, public relations, production, etc; these resources and internet of things is available and at your disposal. If they had invested more time in educating themselves on those aspects and not made this decision based on artistic passion (and/or greed), they would have not gotten the response they got.

Being a graphic designer, I know the creative/passionate side of things but I also got a degree/got educated in business because I wanted to understand how to start a company and run it successfully. If they’re having trouble handling the responsibility of doing that, managing production costs, managing overhead expenses, and especially with compensating their 25+ employees, then they should hire professionals that are sympathetic to their creative interests, but have the education and experience to reign in bad decisions like these.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. What a shitshow this has been.

[mizusnose]

Lay your hands on me

Part One

Mizu x Akemi

3.5k words

tags: Modern AU, Questioning Sexuality Akemi, Lesbian Mizu, Making Out, Smoking, Lesbian Porn, Sexual Tension, Mean Mizu, Hometown Trauma

Summary: Akemi experiences post-grad loneliness (and horniness) and starts questioning her sexuality. She goes to a local bar in her hometown to fix it. Mizu helps her out with her dilemma.

A/N: I just think it would be neat for Akemi to start questioning her sexuality while she’s back in her hometown. More specially her attraction towards hot butches 🥰

Post-grad life was treating Akemi pretty well. Granted, it had only been a week since she had graduated, the soft pane of her childhood window awash with snow and dirt from the wind. Her parents hadn’t turned her room into an office, workout room, or storage like most of her other friend’s parents had done. Instead, she got to look at all the k-pop posters she had hung up in her high school era. Splattered polaroids when that was a thing, marked by pink sparkly sharpie and stickers too cute and too childish for her now. The whisper of her childhood frozen and unfettered by time.

She’d fall asleep amongst the mountains of unpacked clothes and wake well into the day, drowsy and sticky from the space heater. Deciding to relax and rot only lasted a few days before her life started picking back up without her.

She had to get paperwork done for her job that would start at the tail end of January. Some local newspaper position that sounded exactly right on paper in every way. She didn’t want to talk about how long she took to accept her offer when it popped up in her email five whole days after graduation.

Her parents would scold her for taking showers daily, especially if she wasn’t going anywhere so she was left to rot in her pajamas bottoms since she got back home. The only real thing changing was her shirts and whether or not she decided to wear a bra that day—which was usually a no go.

She wondered if this is what post-grad life was really supposed to be. Late mornings and reheated coffee and pajama bottoms. Akemi didn’t want to think about how others her age were probably out with their friends, family, or significant others for the holiday break. All of her friends were still at university or had moved away. While her hometown friends were moms, engaged, or no longer in contact.

The glow-in-the-dark stars that shone a deep muted green for minutes after she turned off her light was her only company on cold nights. Her longtime business major boyfriend Taigen had broken up with her before he graduated in the spring six months ago. Something about moving to New York and making it big. Not like he was gonna be interning under his fathers company that already made millions.

Although, Akemi supposed she wasn’t too different from Taigen in that respect. Both her parents were realtors that ruled their hometown. It’s what paid Akemi’s way through undergrad. It’s what she was expecting to pay for her masters.

After all, she wasn’t staying here for long. The plan was always a gap year to start saving before going out into the world and conquering it, or whatever it was that was advertised most these days. This would be temporary.

But then again, a degree in English was never really a great option was it? Or at least, that’s what her parents would say when they thought she wasn’t around. To each other in the pantry that meets the lip of the kitchen. Or at their hosted neighborhood dinner parties, whispering and shaking their heads with other parents. It wasn’t a lifestyle choice they were proud of.

The fact that she had hauled all of her stuff from college back home was something that only proved their point further. Akemi felt like a child who wasn’t stopped when her imagination got too big, and now she was dealing with the consequences.

Feeling lonely and horny on top of it all felt like the icing on top. Her collection of dildos and vibrators tucked away at the bottom of her underwear drawer seemed crude and way too loud in her parents house. She would watch porn and work too long and too hard to orgasm. Taigen always used to marvel at how wet she would get. Now though, Akemi found herself reaching for lube every time she wanted to masturbate. It felt like an important part of her unraveling. A key turning point.

The first time that Akemi got off to lesbian porn, she felt guilt in a way. She’d watched it before back in the beginning parts of college when everyone was experimenting. Akemi herself had kissed a girl at her first house party at eighteen years old. However, this time felt different. She barely got halfway through the cringey teacher and student plot before Akemi had to shove her pajamas down and rub one off mean and messy. No lube required.

The second time it happened, Akemi used a dildo and was more prepared for the hunger that bloomed inside her gut. It was like a forest fire the way the desire burned into her. A kick to her gut and a shove to her clit and she was gone.

She didn’t understand. Taigen had always fucked her the way she wanted—slow and soft and with whispers and cuddles afterwards. It was fine. It was sex.

This was something entirely different. One that Akemi felt was important to note. She’d never fucked a girl. Never been fucked by one either. Her very limited experience of women started and ended with the porn she was starting to rely on to get off.

She texted her friends about it. Got a flurry of responses that ended up with Akemi self-reflecting and asking herself what she wanted.

It wasn’t an easy decision. She told her girlfriends as much. They suggested a night on the town, and Akemi figured why not? It had been ages since she had gone out. Been even longer since she had gone out in her hometown.

So that’s how she finds herself in a bar that doubles as a sports spot during the day. Billiard tables line the entryway and take up most of the place where groups of men and women alike play. It’s a Saturday night and a bit busy for a small town. The bartop is a long expanse of wood that juts out at a corner and extends to the other end of the room in an L shape. It’s a small place. One room with a connected outside patio with stringed lights.

The security guard has to double check her ID and even after that he eyes her closely as she enters. Akemi feels overdressed the second she gets in. Mostly everyone is wearing jeans. Akemi spots a tank top here and there, but flannels and long sleeves with a modest crop and cut are the majority. Every guy is a copy and paste of rough jackets and some snapbacks worse for wear.

She sets her jacket on a rack and wraps her arms around herself. The velvet of her shirt barely extends past her shoulders before it connects to lacy long sleeves that hide nothing. Her matching butterfly tattoos hover above her collarbones. The deep V-cut of the shirt leaves little to imagination, and the cropped cut accentuates her waist. The mini skirt and tights are just as out of place. Akemi feels herself turn hot and wonders if this is really the place she should’ve gone to.

But before she can second-guess herself, she swallows hard and marches to the bartop to order herself a drink. She’s already slightly tipsy from the wine she had with her dinner beforehand. Yet the liquid courage disperses once Akemi reaches the mess of bodies blocking the bartop. She squishes and politely tries to wiggle her way through but is met with less than friendly looks.

Just as she’s started to give up, a strong shoulder brushes up against her and nearly shoves her out of the way completely. Akemi feels the wine as she stumbles. Her face feels hot when she turns to see who it is, and feels it burn hotter when she realizes.

It’s a woman. Dressed in dark wash jeans and doc martens. She’s also wearing a long sleeve shirt. The waffle-knitted thermal pulls tight at her shoulders and back and neck. Her legs go on forever and Akemi watches allured as the woman moves with ease through the crowded bartop. Her profile is sharp and angular. The jut of her jaw, the peak of her cheekbones, the point of her chin. Her nose and soft curve of her forehead are the only distinguishing features that scream woman. Otherwise, the undercut and pulled back hair would’ve thrown Akemi off completely.

She watches as the woman gestures to order. Her two fingers long and pink from the cold drink in her hand. It’s half empty in her hold and Akemi wants.

It sits with her, then, how familiar the woman looks. It comes in flashes suddenly, the last couple of pornos she’s searched for and watched. Two women, bodies writhing, hot and panting. But beneath that, the difference between a taller, leaner and mean-looking woman and a smaller, bustier, whinier one. The crux of Akemi’s desire all along.

Akemi recalls the title of that first porn video she’d gotten off on. Hot Butch Professor Teaches Student A Lesson.

The woman waits for her drink and gets what she’s there for. As she leaves, Akemi feels that familiar punched-out feeling. The start of arousal. A spark catching.

She tracks the woman to the edge of the room. A billiard table observing the games going on. She’s as tall as the other men and her rounded tinted glasses reflect the low hanging lights. Akemi forces herself to look away. Her phone is dug out of her purse and she smashes a question into the group chat.

Guys, what’s a butch?

Her chat explodes instantly. Some gifs of eggplants, a picture of the blonde girl from atlantis, and one actual answer in a paragraph-length text.

She skims, looks at the woman, skims again, and nods, determined.

After managing to force herself through the crowd in a similar fashion to the woman, she gets a drink. Something fizzy and sweet. There’s a cherry floating on top.

Akemi wonders how this works. If there’s a method to flirting with other women. She shakes her head at that, there shouldn’t be. It’s attraction. Akemi knows attraction. Has been the center of it many times. So, with her resolve, she struts to the woman.

The height difference is apparent when Akemi meets the woman’s gaze. She’s wearing combat boots that have at least an inch on her usual height, yet she’s still looking up to grin at the woman.

“Hi.” Akemi says. She leans against the wall, tilting her head and showing off the stretch of skin on her neck.

“Hm.” The woman says. She regards Akemi carefully. Her eyes flicker to her matching butterfly tattoos. The action fizzles inside Akemi’s belly like the drink in her hand, “You are?” An eyebrow raises, and oh she’s mean, isn’t she?

“Akemi. And you are..?”

The woman meets her eyes again. This time over the tint of her glasses and Akemi is caught. Feels like a small creature fenced in by a predator. Like a fawn in a snare, bloody and vulnerable and raw.

“Mizu.” Her voice is deep and raspy. Akemi shudders at the sound. Mizu must notice because she takes a sip of her drink and works an ice cube into her mouth. It crushes against her canines. Akemi watches mesmerized, “You new to town?”

“Hah. No, back for the holidays.” Akemi lies. She figures it’s easier to have an escape, “That easy to tell?” Akemi jokes, getting closer and working with what Mizu seems to be giving.

“A bit.” Mizu drags her eyes down Akemi’s body as an answer. Akemi thinks she might combust.

“Yeah? How so?”

Mizu flicks her eyes around the bar and grins. She bends down to get to Akemi’s level. There’s a hand at her waist.

“Most girls wait until I’m tipsier to start flirting.” Akemi’s hip is gripped tightly by Mizu’s warm firm palm, “I can be mean.”

As quickly as Mizu is there she’s gone in the next instant. The lip of her cup against her mouth. Standing back up like nothing happened. Her hand is still on Akemi’s waist though. A warm firm heat.

“I’m eager.” Akemi replies. Makes her eyes wider and bites into her lip.

Mizu frowns then. Takes another sip of her drink and sets it on a nearby stool, “No. You’re confused.”

The hand disappears then. The cold shocks Akemi as she makes an aborted sound. A start to a sentence.

“But, I-“

“I don’t fuck straight girls.” Mizu states simply. She’s turned back to the room now, disinterested. No longer facing Akemi, the illusion of privacy is lost. The sounds of billiard games come back and Akemi startles.

“I’m not…not—“ not straight. Was that right? It didn’t feel completely right. Not completely wrong either. Akemi didn’t know exactly. Wasn’t meant to be thinking about it right now. She was here for an answer to a question, “I want to.” Akemi feels like it’s an okay response to her swirling thoughts.

Mizu doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at her. Rather, she chugs the rest of her drink and walks back to the bartop. Akemi feels the air brush by her and she stews in annoyance at the outcome. Doesn’t know why when she’s the one who is apparently walking around with a giant neon sign that says straight girl.

She finishes the rest of her fizzy sweet drink and eats the cherry. It tastes like her childhood and she chuckles at the irony. Wonders what young Akemi would think about her right now. Trying to get some in her hometown because she’s what? lonely? As if no one else in the existence of the world hadn’t been lonely.

She chats up some guys that buy her drinks for the rest of the night. It’s familiar and all the tricks work on them easily. There’s no fight about it. No pushing for more. No pulling for dominance. Cat and mouse be damned. Akemi convinces herself she likes it.

Mizu doesn’t linger inside long and soon enough she’s out of Akemi’s sight. Akemi tells herself she doesn’t care.

A couple drinks turn into more and suddenly Akemi’s drunk. It dawns on her that she’s had more than she thought when the guy she’s talking to grabs her waist as she stumbles. The touch is in the same place Mizu placed her hand earlier. It doesn’t feel nearly as intense.

Akemi promises she’s fine to walk when she leaves the bar with her purse and phone in hand. The December cold shocks some alcohol out of her, and makes her realize she’s left her coat inside.

“Urgh.” She’s turning around to head back inside when she notices a figure at the edge of the building. Plumes of smoke flow out of Mizu’s mouth and Akemi can smell the tabaco from where she stands.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or the cold realization that Mizu may have been right that Akemi stumbles over. A fight is what she wants, but what she gets is another pretty cocked eyebrow and lips that must taste like cigarette smoke.

“You smoke?”

Mizu seems surprised by her confidence but quickly recovers.

“Yes. Need a light?”

Akemi is upset for some reason. There’s been no success tonight and she’s determined to make it Mizu’s problem.

“I don’t smoke. Too bitter.”

“I have a vape too.” Mizu suggests, scooting over for Akemi to lean next to her, “‘ts sweeter.”

Akemi throws a glare at Mizu. She’s still beautiful under the combined glow of a nearby street lamp and the reflecting christmas lights that hang off the roof above them. The falling snow only makes Akemi’s heart thunder.

“Don’t do that either.” Akemi mumbles, pouts despite being the one who denied it, “My ex used to be addicted. I hate the smell.”

“Huh.” Mizu says inhaling another pull before exhaling away from Akemi. It’s gentle, the way she holds concern for Akemi, “Ex-boyfriend?”

“Ugh not this again.”

Mizu casts her a glance. A faraway knowing look that makes Akemi feel so young. Almost like she’s a kid again. Not like she’s just graduated. She pouts harder.

“I’m interested. I want to…I want to try it.” Akemi says. She’s shy now after all her big emotions have worn themselves out with the stretch of silence on Mizu’s end, “And you’re hot.”

Mizu chuckles, takes another drag and then flicks her cigarette into the snow. Turns towards Akemi and pushes into her space. There’s the touch on Akemi’s waist again. It feels colder than before. Akemi groans.

“You don’t know what you want.” Mizu says. Her voice has dropped and become deeper. She’s frowning down at Akemi. A wolf under the full moon. Akemi is trapped and her breath hitches. Her thighs squeeze together, “Don’t even know the first thing about being with a woman.”

“I-I..I do!” Akemi stutters. Determined to win this game she’s started.

“Oh yeah?” Mizu asks, pushing pushing pushing.

“Yeah..” Akemi didn’t notice earlier that Mizu had freckles. A smattering of them on the bridge of her nose and beauty marks on her chin, her cheekbone, the edge of her lips, “We make out first.”

Mizu smirks, gives Akemi room to wrap her arms around Mizu’s neck.

“Okay.”

It’s a clear go ahead and Akemi is pressing her lips to Mizu’s. There’s no finesse. Two lips touching. Akemi pulls away and is flushed from her own actions. She avoids Mizu’s eyes and looks at the expanse of forest that engulfs their tiny town instead.

Mizu is still close, her nose brushing Akemi’s own. Her breath is hot on Akemi’s face. She smells like cigarettes and suddenly Akemi doesn’t mind it at all.

“Cute. Now let me show you how. Properly.”

Mizu tilts Akemi’s chin up. They’re looking at one another now. The tinted glasses now gone from Mizu’s face. Akemi wants.

“Understood?” Mizu asks. Her hand has slipped to the back of Akemi’s back, brushing her tattooed collarbone with the movement. Her other hand has clamped down on the jut of exposed skin and Akemi whimpers.

“U-understood.”

And then Mizu is kissing her. It’s nothing like Akemi’s gentle kiss. This kiss is wet and hot. A pressing smear of heat against Akemi’s mouth. Her mouth is open and suddenly Mizu’s tongue is there licking and exploring. Mizu’s hand presses into Akemi’s hip and slips under the velvet and Akemi shakes despite herself. Pulls away to gasp at the cold press of Mizu’s palm against her ribs.

Mizu laughs, kissing her jaw and ear and chin as Akemi huffs out little whines.

“Pathetic. Can’t keep up at all.” Mizu growls. She grips the back of Akemi’s neck. Hard, “Not done. Take it.”

Mizu kisses her like they’re going to fuck.

Akemi realizes this when Mizu’s hand leaves the sensitive skin of her ribs and drifts under her skirt. Up the tights on her thigh and underneath the line of her ass. Her fingertips find her underwear and the wet of her cunt. It’s brief and gone before it’s even fully there, but Akemi whimpers and accidentally bites down on Mizu’s lip at the feeling.

“Hah.” Akemi’s lips feel puffy and swollen when they part. The sound alone makes Akemi wetter, pushing her thighs together tighter for friction, “Please..” She reaches up for more, and Mizu stands up fully then. The distance too great for Akemi to close by herself.

“No.” Mizu says. Her pupils are blown and the blue that Akemi was mesmerized with is now harder to make out.

Akemi shivers at Mizu’s blatant staring and is surprised to find Mizu’s own breathing is staggered. Clearly affected after all.

“You’re cold.” Mizu steps away then, hands coming undone around her. Akemi feels like a puppet with its strings cut, boneless against the wall. She shivers hard, proving Mizu’s point, “Here.”

Akemi’s bundled up in Mizu’s sweater when Mizu invites her over. It’s a clear indication of more and Akemi’s chest hammers with the implication. She nods shyly, shoving her hands into Mizu’s jacket pockets. Is surprised to be met with gum wrappers, coffee straws, and sticky notes.

“No sex tonight. You’re drunk. I have roommates.” Mizu explains just as Akemi is trying to discretely update the group chat with the recent events, “There aren’t any buses running now and I live nearby so..”

“But! you kissed me!” Akemi whines. Ah, she can hear the way the alcohol has made her voice more pitchy. She nearly misses the down step of the curb but Mizu catches her, hand strong around her waist, “Okay, fine. But, can we make out some more?”

Mizu nods sagely. She leads Akemi towards the sidewalk. The falling snow lands on her head and shoulders and Akemi wants to leave marks there if she’s allowed. Akemi distantly thinks that Mizu would be into that, being in charge.

I’ll find out tomorrow morning.. Akemi thinks, delighted at the loophole she’s found. She presses into Mizu’s side as they walk back together.

[son1c]

festival time :3c

falling stars fic masterpost

The construction zone was long and winding. Sonic and Shadow's race took them all the way through it, and the farther in they got, the more metallic their surroundings became. Green steel dominated everything, and hazards were abundant. Whatever they were building here was still far from finished.

The motobug swerved around cones and barriers, and even weaved in and out of stray beams whenever it felt like Sonic could fit. They had lost sight of Shadow awhile ago, but his dusty footprints were illuminated by the tall street lights lining their path, so they knew he wasn't far ahead.

After leaping over a small gap in the lattice floor, Sonic spotted something crumpled on the ground up ahead, and made sure to snatch it as the motobug drove past. It was a poster.

Eventually, the construction zone came to an end. Shadow was waiting for them at the foot of a flashing billboard. In big, shimmering letters, it read: WELCOME TO STARLIGHT, THE CITY THAT SHINES IN THE DARK.

"You certainly took your time," Shadow said, his smirk from before still on his face.

"Hey! Not my fault Buggy wanted to do a little sightseeing." Sonic stuck his tongue out at Shadow, teasing him. The race had put him in a good mood, even though he had lost.

Shadow rolled his eyes. "Blaming the robot for your defeat, hedgehog?" His smirk faded, and his attention fell to the poster in Sonic's hands. Then, he asked, "You picked up a souvenir?"

Sonic shrugged. "Eh, it's not much. Just figured it shouldn't be left around as litter." He smoothed out the poster, looking it over curiously. When he read through it, a smile appeared on his face. "Looks like we showed up right on time! These guys are having a festival right now!"

"Let me see that," Shadow said. Sonic handed him the poster, and then Shadow confirmed the blue hedgehog's statement. "The Starfall Festival?" he murmured. It didn't ring a bell, but according to the advertisement, this would be the 100th annual celebration.

"Can't go wrong with a festival," Sonic said. "There's always food, drinks, and fun! Sounds like a real bash to me--we should totally check it out!"

Shadow rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the poster. Sure, it sounded like fun. However, "Fun isn't my priority," he said. "I'm more concerned with the truth. About myself--and about you, as well."

Sonic considered this. The motobug beeped, also considering. Sonic reached down and scratched its cheek, causing the motobug to beep again, happier this time.

"Well," Sonic began, "if there's one thing I know about parties, it's that most people like 'em. So, there's bound to be a bunch of people at the festival, 'specially one as big as this. Maybe someone there will know something about what happened to us?"

Shadow was satisfied with that answer. He figured that Starlight City wasn't too far from where they had originally woken up, and so the likelihood of them encountering someone who had information about their situation was non-zero. At the very least, that crater they had found themselves in and the damaged forest that surrounded it was sure to have made a lot of noise. Enough noise to have been heard from the next city over, if they were lucky.

But first, they would need to get inside the city. And that proved to be a problem when, after walking up to the security checkpoint, the lady at the counter paled at the sight of them. She pointed a shaking finger at the robot Sonic was riding on, and said, "No, no! I won't allow it!"

Sonic and Shadow looked at each other. The motobug chirped nervously.

"You got a problem with robots?" Sonic asked, raising an eyebrow.

The security officer reeled back. Only her eyes were visible now, peeking out from over the top of the counter she was hiding behind. She seemed unwilling to take her eyes off the motobug. "Yes! Yes, when they're… those robots."

Sonic made a face. Then, he looked down at the motobug. The robot looked back up at him with its wide electronic eyes.

After giving the little robot a reassuring pat, Sonic asked the lady, "What's wrong with them?"

The security officer's nostrils flared. Her fear retreated to make room for anger, and she stood up to her full height--though she remained behind the safety of the counter. "Those little beasties are the reason why I can't sleep at night!" she spat. "They're like locusts! If they'd never come to our town, I wouldn't have to deal with all the jackhammers trying to rebuild everything!"

Shadow remembered his reservations from earlier. He frowned at the motobug before turning to the lady and asking, "Your town was destroyed by robots like this one?"

The lady's eyes flashed. Her wool, which was already very puffy, puffed up even more at the question. "Destroyed?" she repeated, her voice dripping with hatred. But then she sighed, and her death grip on her clipboard loosened slightly. "No, no," she said, sounding tired now. "Not destroyed… but almost. Pest control took care of it--or so I thought. Guess they missed one."

Shadow's eyebrows furrowed. That would explain why they had found the robot alone, deserted in the middle of the construction zone. And why it had been terrified at the sight of them. It was probably thinking they were there to finish the job, and exterminate it.

The motobug tapped its claws together anxiously. Shadow saw this, saw Sonic still riding on its back and as such, able to rest his broken leg, and decided to drop whatever reservations he still had about the little robot.

"It won't do you any harm now," Shadow said seriously. "We will make sure of that."

Sonic flashed the lady a thumbs up. "If you guys can rebuild, so can this little guy. Turning over a new leaf starts with being given a second chance, right?"

Pressing her lips into a hard line, the security officer looked down at the motobug. It spun its antennas in a slow circle, its eyes pointed at the floor. It looked so different now from how she remembered it--all caught up in a swarm of hundreds, thousands of them, their sharp metal pincers smashing through windows and breaking down doors.

They had almost ruined the festival. Almost.

"You hedgies better not make me regret this," she muttered. Then, she set down her clipboard, and pulled out a big yellow sticker from a drawer behind the counter. It was in the shape of a star. "Put this on it," she said, holding out the sticker to Sonic. "It's a pass. For the Starfall Festival."

Sonic grinned. He took the sticker from her eagerly. "Thanks!" he said.

Shadow watched as Sonic peeled the sticker off the sheet, and then stuck it on the motobug's forehead. The little robot looked up at it curiously, and to itself, it wondered what Eggman would think of the sparkly new decal. But it was best to reserve its meager processing power for the blue hedgehog, so it quickly stopped wondering.

Gesturing towards the city, the security officer said, "Head to Main Street for the directory, we've got a few extra events this year for the anniversary. There's a bulletin posted around somewhere too. Oh, and"--she cast a cold glance at the motobug--"if I hear anything about your beastie, I'll get pest control on the phone before you can say 'vermin.'"

With that threat in mind, the motobug drove Sonic to Main Street with Shadow walking alongside them. The city unfolded in front of them, big and bright and exciting. There were twinkling lights strung up on every corner, guard rail, and street lamp. More than that, there were people everywhere; some of them were holding sparklers, some of them were enjoying a yummy treat from one of the festival's many vendors, and some of them were painting murals of the night sky on the ground.

It was a welcome change from the oppressive emptiness of the ghost town. Even though the abundance of noise set Shadow on edge, it felt good to be heading towards a goal again. This time, the goal was a vendor, and the hedgehogs had the straightforward mission of finally getting some food.

The directory in the middle of Main Street showed them the way. And after turning a corner, they found themselves in the middle of a grassy pavilion.

The pavilion was filled with games, rides, and most importantly, food. Sonic urged the motobug towards the closest one, a chilidog vendor. The smell wafting from the cart enamored Sonic and made his empty stomach growl loudly.

The vendor chuckled at this, his blotchy red cheeks softening with a smile. "Enjoy," he said as he handed Sonic a fresh chilidog. He didn't ask for payment--the festival goodies were always free.

The gooey cheese, the tall stack of chili, the perfectly toasted bun… it all came together to create the most beautiful work of art that Sonic had ever seen. He was sure that it would've tasted amazing even if he wasn't starving, but his empty stomach cranked up the deliciousness factor to 11. He barely held himself back from eating it all in one bite--but he knew it would be really embarrassing if he choked on it. So, he ate it in two instead.

"Stripes, you gotta try this!" Sonic said, his eyes sparkling like a hundred million diamonds. Yes, he was really that excited about it.

Shadow looked uncertainly at the chilidog the vendor was holding out to him. He wasn't smitten with it like Sonic was. He was finally starting to get a little hungry, though. So, he took it, and took a single mousy bite. Sonic waited intently for his reaction, and was somewhat disappointed when all he could say about it was, "It's edible."

Sonic's disappointment was forgotten, however, when Shadow handed him the chilidog.

"I must admit," Shadow said, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice, "I wasn't expecting to uncover a truth about your past so soon."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?" Sonic asked, already done eating the second chilidog and looking happier than ever. His face was a disaster, his cheeks covered in cheese and chili.

Shadow grabbed a napkin and dropped it on Sonic's head. "You're a mess."

Sonic snorted. "I was hungry!" came his indignant reply. He still took the napkin, though.

They continued on through the pavilion. There was a vendor for everything from spaghetti to ice cream to spaghetti ice cream, but none of them appealed all that much to Shadow. That was, however, until they came across a stand selling cakes. The irony was not lost on him, but when he cut into the slice of coffee cake and saw no green slime pour out, he figured the joke ended there. And it did--the cake had a bitter edge, and he found he liked the taste.

Meanwhile, Sonic tried his own slice of coffee cake and hated it. He had better luck with the more savory cheesecake.

By now, a few people in the pavilion had started staring at the motobug that Sonic was using as a scooter, and so Shadow quickly threw his plate away and ushered his companions out of the pavilion. The street they stepped onto was tighter than the wide open pavilion, with booths set up on both sides of the street. Festival goers had to squeeze past each other to get to the more popular booths.

It was when they passed by an unpopular booth that Shadow's ears perked up. He heard the woman at the table mention something about real shooting stars. He motioned for the motobug to stop, and it did, parking itself in front of the woman's ornate golden table.

The woman flashed a dazzling smile. "That's odd," she said, her big glasses catching the festival lights like a kaleidoscope. "I know everyone, but I don't know you. Are you folks new in town?"

"Brand new," Sonic replied. "Gotta say, I wasn't expecting all this fanfare, but I'd never flake on my own welcome party!"

"Ha!" The woman leaned forward, her eyes glittering. "Funny guy. I like you." She slid over a photo album from where it was sitting on the other end of the table. Then, she pushed it forward, in front of Sonic and Shadow. "This festival has a lot more history than you might think. See for yourself."

Shadow flipped open the album. Inside, there was an old black and white photograph of the night sky. Although it was grainy, the focal point of the photo was clearly the white smudge in the middle--a shooting star? When Shadow turned more pages, he saw that every page had a similar photo, one for every year from the past 100 years.

And the one from this year…

"Weird, right?" the woman said. "Every year we've seen a falling star, but this year we saw two."

Sonic and Shadow looked at the picture. It was in full glossy color, so the details were easy to pick out, like how the two stars seemed tangled together. Their twin tails streaked across the sky in an array of colorful fire, plummeting down to the forest below.

The two hedgehogs shared a look. Then, Shadow asked the woman, "When was this taken?"

With a long, bejewelled fingernail, the woman tapped her chin. "That one? Hmm… Three days ago, maybe four." She sighed wistfully. "It's a shame you folks didn't get here sooner. It was quite the sight to see! And right after that hubbub with the moon, too."

Sonic's ear twitched. He looked up at the clear night sky, and stared at the broken moon. It stared back at him silently.

"The sky's been a busy place recently," the woman continued. "First the moon, then the space station, and finally that pair of falling stars. It makes me wonder if that little planet will pay us a visit soon, too. I guess only time will tell!"

Shadow was quiet. He was thinking about what the woman had said. It caused one of the echoes to get louder in his brain, bouncing down the empty hallways of his mind until it was all he could hear. The space station… he knew it. He could picture it. See himself, pressing his hand up against the window. Looking down at the pale blue planet below.

Gently, Sonic nudged Shadow's shoulder.

The dark hedgehog snapped out of the memory instantly. "What happened to the space station?" he asked.

The woman blinked. "Oh, I'm not sure. I think it's still up there somewhere." The strange look on Shadow's face gave her pause. Then, she added, "They've been talking about it on the news for awhile. I just don't care to listen, since most of the reports are sponsored by G.U.N."

Shadow frowned. That uncomfortable acronym again…

The woman placed a small sack on the table. "Well," she said, "thanks for listening to an old crow squawk. In honor of the centennial celebration, please take this."

Sonic grabbed the sack with interest. Inside were two golden earrings shaped like stars. Grinning, he clipped one on immediately. Then, he held the other one out to Shadow. Shadow, however, wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about the jewellery, and was about to say as much, when Sonic asked slyly, "What's the matter? Afraid of a little bling?"

Scowling, Shadow snatched the earring from him and clipped it on with a huff. "Of course not," he said. "Don't be ridiculous, Blue."

Then, Sonic waved goodbye to the woman at the booth, and the two hedgehogs continued down the crowded street. They were now headed towards the tallest building in the city, the one with the bulletin board posted on it. They could see the screen glowing bright white as they approached it, but it wasn't until they were directly under it that they could read what was on it.

Make a wish for the hero, Sonic the Hedgehog. Late, but never slow.

There was a blurry photo under the text. It was of a hedgehog, but his features were unclear thanks to the low quality of the picture. Shadow couldn't help but wonder why they chose that one. Maybe every photo of the guy was a blur of motion?

Sonic turned to Shadow. Then, he looked back at the bulletin board. "Hey, Stripes," he said slowly, "that guy looks kinda like you."

[virginianmetrofaerie]

ondolemar headcanons bc again WE ARE LACKING

please bear with me i am a; autistic and b; obsessed with grumpy bald men. Some NSFW and Romance headcanons but nothing too explicit.

Not exactly middle aged, but not some sweet young thing either. If we're going off the idea that a 200 year old Altmer is elderly, then Ondolemar would probably be in the 75-85 year old range; the human equivalent of about 34-38. Not afraid of growing older, as in his eyes, age and wisdom is something to be respected and desired rather than feared and lamented.

Most definitely a little inbred. His bloodline is long, respected, and as pure as it gets (mostly thanks to getting a couple cousins together every now and then).

I saw something on a tes forum discussing how the Thalmor most likely occupied the majority of the Noble upper echelon in the Summerset Isles. This would be the case for Ondolemar, his father being a high-ranking Thalmor officer, and the same as his father before him.

Being the blueprint of racial purity and male attractiveness in Altmer society, Ondolemar is likely very popular with the ladies. Most definitely has a girl somewhere in every port across the Empire. However...

There has been significant pressure from his family to marry and produce an heir to carry on his family's name (especially going off the canon idea that Altmer only produce 1-2 children per couple). However, it is also an idea that Ondolemar has been putting off. He finds himself quickly bored and annoyed by any women that cross his path and desires someone that will challenge him. Frankly, he wants a woman that he can court and chase and put effort into wooing over, rather than it being the other way around.

Cares less than he actually shows about the intermixing of races across Tamriel, though is very adamant on Elven Supremacy (however, does have fascination and respect for Argonians and Khajiit). However, he will not touch a woman who is not another Altmer, unlike some of his other Thalmor colleagues such as Ancano who has most definitely had a cheeky roll in the hay with an Imperial or Dunmer woman.

A great enjoyer of sex, and is quite good at it too. Most likely going a little nuts in Markarth as the only other Altmer there are his two blokes™ as well as Calcemo and Aicantar.

Very wealthy, both generationally and through his own efforts. Doesn't flaunt his wealth, but definitely enjoys the finer things in life; expensive imported wine, high quality leather, fine art, exotic food... the list goes on. One thing he noted about Skyrim was the lack of industries supporting such exuberant wealth; in Summerset, most individuals, even the middle class, were wealthy to a degree, thus most of the industry advertised luxury and premium items. If anything, the humbleness of life in Skyrim impressed him (after he got over his initial repulsion).

I headcanon that he does own property in Skyrim; though he has an office in Understone Keep for the purpose of investigating Talos Worship in Markarth, he has been provided an abode nearby by the Embassy. He also would own private property in a more Imperial city, such as Solitude, as a means to get away when he is given some time off.

Very religious, and takes his job rather seriously, though is absolutely sick of it, and sick of Elenwen.

Skyrim had not been his first post, yet his most recent and his least desired. He had been stationed in Summerset, Elsewyr, Valenwood, and very briefly in Cyrodil Previously. Elsewyr had been his favorite; he enjoyed the culture of Khajiit as well as the tropical weather.

[dispatchvampire]

Accidentally in Love (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 1800-ish.

Summary: 

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 3

One Week Later

“Is he hot in person?”

“Who?” Echo slipped her lunch into the breakroom fridge and pulled out the two cold bottles of caffeinated water she’d left in there the previous night. Late afternoon as it slipped into evening was always a busy time and she needed the fortification. 

“Spongebob Squarepants,” Kalenda, her work bestie, scoffed as she crossed her arms with an impatient frown. The curvy brunette was Echo’s age, about two inches shorter but making up for it with feistiness. “Who do you think? Bucky freaking Barnes! Christ, it’s like you don’t even know me at all.”

 “Lord…” she rolled her eyes as she held the door to the break room open for her friend to pass in front of her on their way into the main center. “Yes. Yes, he is just as beautiful in person, and he and Captain Rogers together are, in fact, as kind and stupidly hot as advertised.” After the visit at the hospital where they’d returned her replaced or repaired belongings—including her bike—Echo had traded numbers with Steve and Bucky, and the guys had texted her a few times in the intervening days to check on her and chatting a little, but it felt weird reaching out to contact them just because. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. 

Not that she wouldn’t have minded being their friend, or… well, or. They were gorgeous, sweet, funny so far as she could tell, and of course heroic and selfless as hell. The way they smiled at her made her knees weak and her pussy may never recover. What’s not to like? But who was she kidding, really. They were the objects of desire for over half the planet, she guessed, and she was a dispatcher for the NYPD. In no way were those worlds truly related, outside of the most superficial ways, much less were compatible. 

“The hair and those eyes, I’d get so fucking lost in them you’d never find me again. And all those muscles,” she sighed lustily. “Fuck me, that’s before we even talk about that metal arm,” Kalenda carried on, now in full swoon as they made their way out to their stations. “Gods, the things I would let him do to me…” 

Echo snorted at her friend’s obvious heart-eyes in regards to the Winter Soldier. She didn’t blame her at all, but still, their coworkers didn’t need to be privy to their depraved bestie conversations. That’s what the chat was for. “Annnnnnd that is how we end up back at the supervisor’s office for inappropriate work conversations.”

Kalenda scoffed, waving off her concern with a dismissive hand-wave. “Oh, like you’ve never said anything filthy.” Her wicked grin should have been the warning. “Something something ‘star-spangled cock could split you open any time he wanted’? Something something ‘break him down to the frame’... any of that sound familiar?” 

Her leering green gaze as she slipped on her headset made Echo giggle even as heat rushed to her cheeks. “You could shut up any time now.”  

The laughter was shortlived, though, as they settled into their workday. Having a headset on meant that it was time to serve the citizens of NYC and the officers of NYPD to the best of their abilities. They were one of, if not the, largest comm center in the country and Echo was proud of the work she did, contributing to the safety of her town. 

It was easy to get lost in the work, one call at a time, one radio run at a time. Her focus, scattered as it could be at any other time, easily fell into the rhythm of call and response, action and reaction, hours slipping by unnoticed. 

Voices behind her and down at the end of her row drew her attention, their familiarity abruptly yanking her out of the zone. 

One pair of eyes zeroed in on her immediately. “Well, if it isn’t the crash test dummy.” 

Boisterously loud for the locale, Tony Stark was the walking definition of ‘all eyes on me’. He may have been in a crazy expensive suit and tie, looking all prim and proper and what have you, but the curve of his lips promised the most interesting kinds of mischief. 

Echo swallowed hard as she made herself unavailable for calls, her eyes quickly darting left and right to the unabashed gawking of her coworkers. Oh, they were still busy as hell, but the nosy bastards were never above a good spectacle. “Mr. Stark.” 

“Did the phone meet your standards?” he demanded with a smirk that seemed a little too knowing. He stopped behind her chair, spinning her around to face him. 

She nodded hesitantly. “It did, thank you. I mailed you a thank you note. Did you not get it?” 

Yes, it had been an old school touch, but sending him an email seemed a little impersonal, especially since he’d gone to the trouble of transferring all her stuff over in addition to giving her a top of the line bit of tech. And it wasn’t like she could just show up on his doorstep with a casserole.

He snorted, his billion dollar smile on full display as his eyes crinkled at the edges. “I did, but then, I expected nothing less considering you hang out with the geriatric set.” 

She was about to ask what he meant when another voice cut her off. “Tony, Jesus, man. Quiet down, people are working here—oh, hey Echo.” 

She sincerely hoped the whimpering squeak as she spun quickly to face him she heard was just in her head, though Kalenda’s snort behind her indicated no such luck. “Hi. James. I-I mean Bucky. Um…” her eyes met her bestie’s just behind him for some help, but only found the kind of mocking encouragement born from years of friendship. “Nice to see you. Here. At my job.” 

“Um yeah, about that…” The brunet smoothed his long bangs back out of his face behind his ears and grinned bashfully as he rubbed the back of his neck. Under other circumstances, she and Kalenda would be ogling him for the way the seams of his deep blue henley were barely clinging to life across his shoulders and around his massive arms and the skinny jeans that were all but wrecking her concentration. “Cap and Tony had a meeting at 1PP and Stevie wanted me to tag along.” 

“I’m glad he did.” The way her compliment made his cheeks flush felt like winning an award, even if the normal filter she kept up at work slipped a bit. 

“Me too.” The tiny shy grin that danced at the corners of his lips was killing her slowly, even as the somewhat awkward silence stretched out between them. 

Kalenda’s obvious throat-clearing seemed to startle her back into herself, reminding her acutely of both their location and their audience. 

“Well, it’s always good to see you.” The platitude was automatic, off her tongue and into the space between them before she even thought about it, her nerves robbing her mind of anything but decent manners. Good gods, she was never gonna live this down. 

“You look good.” His eyes widened a moment later as he flushed bright red, clearly that hadn’t been what he’d meant to come out of his mouth. “I mean, that is… you look better than when I saw you last time.” 

“Hard not to,” she conceded, her mind bordering on hysterical the longer this conversation went on. It felt like the whole world was watching this junior-high level farce and she was stumbling through it, quite badly. 

“Well, on the upside, you’re wearing more clothes this time,” Tony interjected oh-so-helpfully, looking like he was avidly watching the best telenovela ever and doing nothing to quell the likely overheating rumor mill that had just kicked into gear around them. “And there’s less blood.” 

“Alright, thank you, Mr. Stark,” Shelly, the floor supervisor’s breathlessly cheerful voice sounded like she’d rather eat broken glass than let that conversation continue as she rushed across the room to join them. “Echo, Mr. Stark, Sergeant Barnes, and Captain Rogers—”

“Hello, Echo.” 

She was almost afraid to look, though Kalenda’s dreamy sigh left her no other choice. Sure enough, the gods of horniness were testing her and pretty much every woman in the five boroughs with these three Avengers out together. In a black t-shirt under a green button-down and jeans that gave her the most impure thoughts possible about his thighs, the blond Avenger with the pink cheeks grinned at her warmly from his spot behind Tony. The fact her panties didn’t burst into flames right there was a miracle of modern physics. 

“Hey Steve.” 

“As I was saying,” her supervisor huffed, bringing all of the attention back to her, “they’re here to tour the center, so we should really be on our way.” 

Sounded reasonable to her, so long as they were there, Echo doubted there’d be much work done anyway. “Alright then.” Echo turned back to her console to take stock of her district. “It was good to see you. Be safe out there.”

“Before we go though…” Buck’s half-grin as he met her eye over her shoulder warmed her to her toes. “You out of here soon?” 

“A few hours. Why?” 

“Wanna meet up for a late dinner?” 

His hopeful expression tugged at her heart. It was the kind of thing that made her want to give him the world, even if she didn’t know him like that. “It’ll be after ten,” she hedged, perched on the fence between really wanting to spend time with them because who wouldn’t, really, and knowing that she’s no one special and didn’t have any business tagging along with them. 

“Then we’ll leave a light on for ya,” Steve replied cheerfully as he and Bucky were led further into the center and away from her desk. “See you tonight.”

“Always a pleasure, Crash,” Tony called, following behind him. 

Echo sat blinking at her console as she watched the group retreat, only spurred to action when she caught Steve’s eye as he winked at her before leaving the room. 

“What just happened?” she asked the Universe at large as she typed in the login code for her phone from muscle memory.

“Looks to me,” Kalenda replied lightly dropping off a new bottle of caffeinated water, “like you have a date after work.” 

“Huh.” The very idea was mindblowing. Quickly, her mind was shaken from its haze by a bank robbery that required both her and Kalenda’s attention for quite a while. 

“And had the nerve not to introduce me.”

[fanfic-inator795]

Man, like- Chip Whistler isn't even my favorite BCG character (Bill, Vasquez, Remy, Cricket and Tilly all outrank him by a wiiiiide margin) but the way the BCGs writers have developed Chip's whole arc really is fascinating in a morbid way - like a car crash you can't look away from.

Just like how the show - even if Chip's most intimidating moments - never forgets to still also show him as the loser he truly is, the show also never forgets to emphasize that EVERYTHING that has gone wrong for him is his own damn fault, regardless of how tragic it is.

(continue reading for a full look at Chip's arc and how I think it'll end)

I feel like whether or not Chip acknowledges this fault is going to be the catalyst as to whether or not he gets a second third FOURTH FIFTH chance, gets arrested or even gets killed off for realsies like the classic Disney Villains.

To get any sort of somewhat-happy ending, Chip would have to not only take responsibility for ALL his mistakes and crimes, vow to be better AND actually put in the work to be better, but he'd also has to acknowledge that the thing that started it all - chipping his tooth on fake produce - was something that he can ONLY blame himself for. And judging by the latest ep, this isn't just a matter of shifting blame but also a matter of finally realizing and accepting this self-inflicted mistake.

Go back to the scene with the 'Bean' family, which not only paints its fake!Cricket as the worst, least sympathetic and shallowest version of Real!Cricket, but afterwards Chip emphasizes that "(that boy) was so mean and I didn't even do anything to him", referring to fake!Cricket but obviously thinking about Real!Cricket in his mind.

But the thing about Cricket is that for as much as the kid can be reckless and make mistakes, he does put in the effort to make things right - often only needing a slight nudge from Tilly, Bill or his own conscious to fix his mistakes. The episode "Supermarket Scandal" is no exception to this. He realizes his mistake, fixes things, and even sacrifices his giant wad of cash. What's more, when Chip tries the fake produce (which is being clearly advertised as such), there's no 'trick' or 'prank' or whatever - it's just Chip ignoring the world and people around him, only to then blame these things when consequences happen.

Funnily enough, Chip isn't a complete moron. Sure, he's incredibly averse to hard work and thus doesn't have much sense, but he had enough business skills to do a decent job as one of Wholesome Foods' top managers and was even able to hold down an office job as Norm Alguy. Once his dad reminded him he had the power and resources of CEO, Chip came up with a pretty solid plan that nearly worked! He's not an idiot, but he's reckless, foolish, single-minded and - above all else - is driven more by pride and ego (as well as a hidden hunger for power) than by anything else.

Come to think of it, given that a big part of Chip originally being a Wholesome Foods manager was likely due to his father, I feel like his vendetta with the Greens was the first real challenge Chip ever had to face (or was 'forced' to face. We saw in his song that while he could challenge himself by changing careers or learning a new skill, he's not self-motivated enough to even try). Everything else was either handed to him or was something he succeeded just enough in to feel satisfied - so it makes sense that these multiple failures and 'offenses/personal attacks' from the Greens would impact his psyche to the point of it being impossible for him to ever completely let go of his need for revenge, needing that closure above all else.

Which brings me to another point: Beyond the fact that the initial tooth-chipping was Chip's own damn fault, Cricket has only ever been shown fighting back against Chip after Chip initiates it, he's never outright sought the guy out just to mess with him. And, when it came to both their tomato war and the apology contract, it was Cricket who gave Chip a chance to walk away both times. It was Cricket who wanted what was best for the farmer's market above all else, and it was Cricket who was the first one (even before Bill and Tilly!) to sign the contract, believing in Chip's ability to change and be a better person and possible friend instead of an enemy.

But each time, Chip refuses and ends up stabbing Cricket and the rest of the Greens in the back, no matter how illogical or foolish it may be for him, his happiness or his business. Again, Chip puts his ego, pride and power above all else. He can't agree to peace in the farmer's market because that still means surrendering. He can't become friends with the Greens because that would mean actually having to put in the effort to change and find other goals and means of satisfaction in his life. He can't just live a new life as Norm because he doesn't have the power over people that he had as Chip, thus putting him in a position to be 'wronged' again. He can't just let the Greens be happy because why should they be happy if I can't be.

And he can't fully accept blame and responsibility for the initial tooth-chipping because once he does, he has to also accept that EVERYTHING he did in the name of revenge truly was pointless.

At this point, you could make the argument that he really is too far gone. The man's essentially starting his Joker arc, fully embracing that he's a 'monster' by his own words, which kinda makes the idea of Chip simply stopping, apologizing and just going to therapy feel kiiiiinda farfetched (cause again, you can't really offer someone help if they don't want to actually put in the work to properly benefit from it- or at the very least, acknowledge that they need it)

With this in mind, I would honestly LOVE a scene where - after offering Chip chance after chance - Cricket finally just throws all these examples back in his face and forces Chip to fully acknowledge them, telling him its his own fault for never just walking away from this whole revenge thing and outright refusing to accept anymore blame or responsibility for this guy's misfortunes.

...Of course, even if Chip were to by some miracle gain some self-awareness/self-realization, I feel like he'd just respond to all this with "I don't CARE if chipping my tooth was my own fault! It still wouldn't have happened if I never met you or your dumb family! So if I'm going down, I'm gonna do all I can to take you down with me."

Like I said, it's a self-inflicted tragedy, and unless something major happens to break through to Chip - his father stepping in maybe? though tbh Chip seemed to barely respect him in the first place sooooo - I truly do feel like both his Joker arc and his story as a whole is going to end in flames with Chip getting the ol' Disney classic 'falls off a high place and/or into fire' villain death. That or he's finally arrested - either way, it'd be ending that cements his story as being finished (since, given that Chip is apparently going to try to destroy all of Big City and everyone in it, I'm not sure how much more you'd be able to do with his character after hitting that extreme that would still feel exciting or have some tension)

But who knows? The BCGs crew already surprised me quite a bit with where they decided to take Chip's story in his s4 return ep, so maybe they'll surprise me again. Whether they take it, I'm just hoping that (for unlikely as it may be) we don't get something that's either completely unsatisfying or something that feels like it's going against the whole point of Chip's arc - like Chip getting a snapshot redemption and rushing into an actual friendship with the Greens, or Cricket for whatever reason being the one to apologize despite every single one of Chip's misfortunes being - say it with me now - his own damn fault. As long as neither of these two examples happen, I'll probably be pretty happy and satisfied.

[totowlff]

chapter thirty-four — no more secrets

➝ sometimes the fear of losing someone to stupid ideas drives people to do stupid things.

➝ word count: 3,1k

➝ warnings: none

APRIL, 2017

An early spring breeze ruffled Elisabeth’s hair as she walked hand in hand with Toto, across the crosswalk that led to the Mercedes-Benz museum building. It was in front of the company’s headquarters, and was a massive complex with not only offices, a factory, a dealership, and the museum, but also the imposing Mercedes-Benz Arena, where the city’s Bundesliga football team played, though she couldn’t remember the name of it.

In reality, Elisabeth knew very little about football. She had learned the basics from Mathias, who never missed watching FC Barcelona games. He was a fervent supporter of the Catalan team, and had named several of the family’s pets after its players. Mathias’ passion for the sport had certainly not come from Niki, but from Tilman, their uncle, and Mathias was already working to turn his own children into lifelong Barça fans. They’d had Barça clothing from infancy, and both of them learned the team anthem almost as soon as they’d learned to talk.

As Toto and Elisabeth walked toward the large metal-clad building, the man with them made small talk about the club — VfB Stuttgart, apparently — and their difficult season. The man with them was Ola Källenius, a Swede, and part of the board of directors of the Mercedes-Benz group. Toto and Elisabeth had stopped in Stuttgart to meet with him on the way back home from the Bahrain Grand Prix.

— However, I didn’t want to just talk with you about Stuttgart's misfortunes this season, but something else — Ola said, as they approached the entrance to the building — Something of interest to you, or at least, of interest to Toto.

As they all entered the atrium, Elisabeth couldn't help but be impressed by the building’s architecture. It looked large from the outside, but it looked even larger on the inside with the triangular-shaped panes coming together to give the visual impression of the room looking bigger than it was. The elevators stood out against the concrete walls, making them look like silver capsules, waiting for their passengers.

“This place is a work of art”, she thought, as the executive greeted a man warmly.

— Toto, Elisabeth, this is Pádraic, one of the museum guides. He knows everything about everything in here, right?

— I like to think so, Ola — the man replied, his accent indicating he wasn't German — It's nice to meet you.

— The pleasure is ours, isn't it, Liesl?

Elisabeth limited herself to a nod as she shook the man's hand.

— Which route would you like to take?

— We'll have to skip the traditional tour today, Pádraic. Toto and Elisabeth have a flight scheduled for later and they don't have time to see everything. However, they’d like to see the racing car collection — Ola replied, making the guide smile.

— Very well, would you follow me? — he said, gesturing with one hand. Along the way, Pádraic gave a quick explanation of the museum's internal structure, which had been planned to resemble a double helix, like DNA, with the outer section devoted to thematic collections, and the inner section to the history of the brand.

After taking an elevator to the second floor, they headed to a section of the museum that resembled a banked curve. It was built as an homage to ancient European chariot racing tracks, he said, and the steepness of the curve made it more challenging. The banked track in the museum was made to display an array of silver cars, with one or another colored model, corresponding to the most modern cars.

— These are our racing cars. Since 1894 we have records of Mercedes taking part in motor racing for the purpose of proving the reliability of the brand's engines. It was the main form of advertising for cars that existed for motor vehicles. It was how the company built its brand until the birth of the Silver Arrows.

Glancing at Toto out of the corner of her eye, Elisabeth noticed that he looked delighted, like a child let loose in a toy store. There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye and goofy smile on his face. She nodded as the guide talked, listening intently.

— Here we have the four-cylinder, 120-horsepower Benz Grand Prix, which was the first car developed exclusively for racing. There, we have the 1914 version, also with four cylinders but with a 274 cubic inch engine and, in front of it, the W25, which was the car that gave us the nickname “The Silver Arrows”. The mechanics had to strip all of the paint from the body to make it lighter, leaving only exposed aluminum — Pádraic explained, pointing to each of the cars and giving them a brief explanation.

As they walked along the curve, Elisabeth couldn't help but notice something odd about the exhibit. Just ahead, there was a space between two cars that was clearly bigger than the others. It was as if something was missing there, one of the pieces of the museum.

— That one has a funny story. With the dominance of German cars in racing, the Italian motorsport federation decided to restrict racing to only cars with 1.5 liter engines, which were not made by any German manufacturer. So, Mercedes decided to develop a car with these specifications in just eight months. In the end, the W165 was born, which won the Tripoli Grand Prix, in 1939.

— I think you have a little more time than that to develop the car in Formula 1, right Toto? — the brand executive asked, smiling.

— It revolves around this time, Ola. Of course, everything has become easier than before, with technology and all. It doesn't detract from their achievement of making a car in such a short amount of time.

A few steps later, Elisabeth's curiosity won out.

— Why is there such a big space there? — she asked.

— Ah, yes, that is where the 300SL usually is. It was our first car to compete after the Second World War, and it won the Carrera Panamericana in Mexico. But it was pulled from the exhibition at Ola's request for a bit of a… revision.

— Revision? — she asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah, it's going to Italy to participate in the Mille Miglia, in honor of the 65th anniversary of its victory in Mexico — Ola said, smiling — It will be the car that Aldo and Toto will use for the race.

She blinked. Elisabeth had no idea what the Mille Miglia was, or why Toto would be involved in it. However, swallowing the lump in her throat, she just forced a curious smile.

— Use? You mean, race?

— Exactly. We received an invitation from the race organizers, talking to Toto at the beginning of the year, he offered to drive it, along with Aldo.

— I'm really glad you got the car cleared for us — Toto said, looking genuinely pleased about that — It's going to be fantastic driving it around Italy.

— And when will that be? — Elisabeth asked, doing her best to hide her displeasure at only just now finding out that Toto would be driving in a race.

— In May, Liesl — Toto replied immediately, smiling — And I can't wait.

— I can imagine — Elisabeth said, letting go of his hand and putting it in the pocket of the tailored pants she was wearing, something churning in her stomach.

After saying goodbye to Pádraic and Ola, the two went to the car they had rented on arrival in the city and made their way back to the airport, where one of Laudamotion's private jets would take them back to England. During the entire drive to the airport, Elisabeth remained silent, completely immersed in her own thoughts. She only gave Toto monosyllabic responses.

She was trying to remember if he’d told her or not. She thought she would have remembered if Toto had told her that he was going to drive a car that was almost as old as her father, but absolutely couldn’t recall, which could only mean one thing.

Toto had hidden it from her.

After returning the car to the rental lot at the airport, the two of them walked to the private flight boarding terminal in virtual silence. Toto had tried to strike up a conversation with her, but Elisabeth was still so deep in her own thoughts that she practically ignored him.

“Why, Toto?”, she asked herself, as she climbed the stairs up to the jet.

Elisabeth settled into one of the armchairs on the plane and took off her shoes. Toto sat in the seat across from her. She took a few seconds to watch him settle into place, strapping himself in. She arranged the briefcase she’d brought on the seat next to her.

“Why did you hide this from me?”, she wondered.

Even when they reached cruising altitude, Elisabeth didn’t get up or move. She was too distracted by the unanswered questions inside her mind.

— Liesl?

Toto's voice snapped her back to the present. She felt something tightening in her chest.

— Yes?

— Are you okay?

— Yeah — she replied quietly. He looked at her with a skeptical expression on his face.

— It doesn’t look like it.

She blinked.

— What do you mean?

— You've been quiet since the museum visit. Quieter than usual.

— Any problem with my silence? — Elisabeth asked, in a slightly harsher tone than she ‘d intended. And she saw in his expression that she was too harsh.

— No, none… It's just… You're only quiet like that when you're upset.

She pressed her lips together, one hand moving up her arm to the crook of her elbow, pinching the skin there. It was an almost natural reaction of hers to situations that made her anxious or stressed, especially conflict. She could feel that conflict was coming.

— Well, since you asked, I am pretty upset, Toto — Elisabeth replied dryly.

— Upset about what?

— What do you think?

— I don't know, there's so much...

— If you need a tip, think about what you're going to do in Italy in May.

Toto blinked, finally connecting the dots.

— Are you upset about the Mille Miglia?

— No, Toto. I'm… Fuck…

— You are what?

— Sad. Disappointed. Deceived. Betrayed.

The last word made him straighten up suddenly.

— You know I would never betray you...

— Then why did you? — she cut him off.

— Elisabeth…

— Toto, you know my fears about racing, my misgivings. You know that as much as I like racing, competing, winning, above all that, I love you. And you know my biggest fear is losing you.

He continued to stare at her in silence.

— I was honest with you, I told you all about my fears surrounding motorsport and racing. We talked about the Nordschleife, about my fears and about your accident and my father's accident. And I remember exactly what you said to me that night, every word. You promised me that I wouldn't lose you to your stupid ideas.

— I know, Elisabeth...

— Then why did you decide to take part in this race? We agreed that we would talk about anything like this that came up. You promised me this, Toto!

He was silent for a few seconds.

— I forgot.

Elisabeth couldn't resist a sardonic laugh.

— You forgot?

— Yes, Liesl, I forgot and I apologize for…

— Toto, do you really think I'm going to believe that excuse? Do you really think I'm going to believe that you just forgot to tell me you were taking part in a fucking race?

— But that's what happened, I received Ola's invitation just now in...

—  He said you offered yourself at his last visit — she interrupted him — Ola was last at the factory in January, Toto. You've known this since January. You knew and you hid it from me till now. It’s April!

— I didn't hide it, Elisabeth!

— And I even know why — she continued — You did it because you thought I was going to say no, so you thought it was better to hide it from me.

— Fuck, give me a minute to explain — he exclaimed, slapping his legs with his hands. Elisabeth was not at all interested in granting that request.

— And what would be your excuse for spending a week away from home? What would you say to me so I wouldn’t discover your real intentions? — she snarled.

— I was going to tell you, but I...

— “Hey, Liesl, listen, I'm going to Italy to fuck some whore, I'll be back next week” — Elisabeth spoke in a deeper voice, in a crude attempt to imitate him.

That was the last straw for him.

— God damn it, Elisabeth! — Toto yelled, getting up from his seat — Shut the fuck up!

Elisabeth tried to answer, but his expression made her stop. He wasn't just upset with her. There was something else in his eyes than what was on his face.

It was pain. Heartache.

— You can say whatever you want about me, Elisabeth — Toto snarled, one finger raised — You can call me an idiot, an ass, a selfish person, an asshole, anything that crosses your fucking mind. But never, never call me dishonest!

She felt a lump tighten in her throat.

— I was wrong. I was wrong not to tell you about the race. Truthfully, I was a bit afraid that you wouldn't agree to it, but I didn’t hide it from you. I was going to tell you. I brought you here to tell you about the race, the car, everything. I was going to invite you to come with me but… Fuck!

— Toto...

— No. Listen to me, Elisabeth! — he spat — Did I fuck up? Yeah, I did. I've fucked up a lot in my life. Not just with you, but with Stephanie, with the kids, with my mom, with my sister, with a lot of people. But I’ve never been dishonest in anything I do, Elisabeth. Not once in my life. 

— I did not say…

— That I was dishonest? And saying that I'm going to Italy to fuck whores, to cheat on you? Cheating is dishonesty, isn’t it?

She didn't know how to respond.

— I never cheated on you. You're the only woman for me. Even when I was with someone else, all I could think about was you. Even when I was fucking someone else, all I could imagine was being with you. I would never cheat on you, Elisabeth, because that would be dishonest of me.

— Isn't lying a kind of dishonesty too, Toto? You lied to me.

— You've lied to me too, Elisabeth. You lied about your feelings for me on that phone call on Christmas Eve. And I kept believing in you, even though you broke my heart into thousands of pieces. I kept loving you even if you didn't love me back.

— That doesn't count…

— Doesn't it? You’ve hidden plenty of things from me. The fights with Mathias, the things my mother told you? Weren’t those lies by omission?

— Me hiding things so I don't upset you is different from you hiding things because they're stupid! — she argued.

— This race isn't stupid, Elisabeth.

— Is it not? Isn't being away from home for almost a week, stuffed in a tin can with four wheels stupid?

— It might be stupid, but I want to do it! I've always wanted to be in that race, drive that car, and stupid or not, I'm going to go. I'm not going to give up doing this just to satisfy your spoiled little girl ego and, honestly, I don't even know why I'm justifying myself. I don't owe you any satisfaction.

Something inside Elisabeth's chest ached.

— You know what? Go ahead. Go drive that fucking car in Italy. When you get in another accident and end up in the hospital again, you’ll call me. And if you think I'm going to drop everything to run to your side, you're sorely mistaken — she spat.

Toto’s nostrils flared, lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching. After a few seconds, he settled back into his seat, his eyes fixed on the window beside him. 

It was then that Elisabeth realized that maybe she had gone too far.

The rest of the flight after the fight had been silent. After landing in Oxford, the two drove home in silence. After parking the black Mercedes C-Class in the garage, Elisabeth got out of the car and went to the trunk to get the luggage she had taken for the two weeks she had been away. The suitcase was heavy, but the last thing she wanted was to ask for Toto’s help with it.

She wasn't a spoiled little girl.

— Need help? — Toto murmured beside her.

— No — she said dryly, setting her suitcase on the ground and into the house. Pulling the handle, she dragged the luggage up to the second floor, pausing a few times along the way to catch her breath. She was dropping her suitcase in the closet when Toto arrived in their bedroom with a small bottle of water in his hand. As she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, she felt something tighten in her chest.

— Are you going to shower now?

— You can go if you want — she murmured, as she went to one of the shelves to get something to wear — I'm going to shower in the other bathroom.

— Why?

— As far as I remember, Torger — Elisabeth turned her face to him, staring at him for a few seconds — We don't owe each other satisfaction.

She grabbed her panties and, in complete silence, left the room, heading for the bathroom in the upstairs hallway. After showering and changing into a pair of shorts and an old University of Vienna T-shirt that she liked to use as pajamas, Elisabeth went to the guest bedroom, a room they always left ready to receive a family member or their friends when visiting them in England.

Sitting up in bed, she allowed herself to take everything in. The decor of the room was cold and impersonal. The walls were light, everything was very neutral-looking, and said that it was not a space to be occupied permanently, only for short visits. Not even Benedict and Rosi slept there, but they had their own rooms in the house, arranged and decorated according to their tastes.

Elisabeth shouldn't be there. But at the same time, she needed to be. She couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as Toto that night, smelling his cologne and feeling the warmth of his skin. Settling down on the mattress, she sighed, trying to shake the tightness she felt in her throat away. But with each breath, she felt the agony rise in her chest and tears fill her eyes.

Finally, she broke down into sobs.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: October LOCATION: The public library PARTIES: Anita and Regan SUMMARY: The library shouldn't have advertised their screaming closet if they didn't want to draw in the banshees (and... snakes?)

“Hello. I am here to scream."

With a few medical texts under her arm, Regan marched into the library with self-important purpose. The ads around town (including some rather distastefully plastered over the goo in Worm Row) said “10 minutes in the screaming closet! Donate books today!” She wasn’t sure what that meant, but any good banshee would have investigated such a claim. Regan had too many books to get rid of, anyway. She wasn’t sure when Siobhan would eventually collect her, but it would be soon, and better someone else put these old, reliable tomes to use. “The Big Book of Causes of Death” was a classic. 

Already, she could hear a shrill, watered down attempt-at-a-scream coming from a closet toward the back of the library. A short line had formed just outside, people bouncing on their feet in anticipation. Regan was bracing herself for an insult. She located the nearest librarian – a 50-something year old woman who she could only describe as “dusty” – and placed her books on the counter with a thunk that managed to be more impressive than that “scream” had been. She noticed a couple of other textbooks next to her own pile, detailed photographs of beetles gracing the covers. 

“Hello. I am here to scream.”

The librarian nodded toward the line, looking almost bored. “You can queue up.”

Regan shuffled miserably into the line, crossing her arms as a mother and her three young children were ushered into the closet. Pathetic whimpering sounded from the other side of the door. Regan turned to the woman ahead of her in line and couldn't keep a look of derision from crossing her face. “You will be my opening act. Do not disappoint me.” Actually… she was off to a good start. Regan eyed the sharp angles of her face and met her intelligent eyes. There was something familiar about her, though she was certain they hadn’t met before. Not in person, at least. “The beetle books… were those yours? Bit large for casual read throughs, for most, unless they were highly engaged with the subject matter.”

---------

Anita didn’t usually pay attention to the random ads she saw plastered about town but as she walked across campus that afternoon, Anita had seen an ad the public library must have put up about some sort of scream closet. Immediately she thought of Regan, the confusing and curious medical examiner. She was just messaging her about meeting in some scream closet … that couldn’t be a coincidence. After all, 10 minutes in the screaming closet did kind of sound like the adult version of seven minutes in heaven. Taking it as a sign, she read the rest of the ad and then turned to go back into the building and grab a small stack of unused books from her office. 

After collecting three books on various types of beetles, Anita headed down to the library. She felt that it was a longshot that they might end up there at the same time, but she had time to kill anyway. Even if the medical examiner didn’t show up she was now fairly interested in finding out what the hell this screaming closet was about. 

“These aren’t exactly…current,” the librarian said after Anita placed her book offerings down on the desk and flipped through the first few pages. 

“Do you want the books or not?” She shot back, which received nothing but a huff in response as the librarian waved Anita off towards some line. Presumably, the line for the screaming closet. Glancing around at the people lined up and those browsing around the library Anita didn’t see anyone that sort of looked like Regan. Though she didn’t really have the best idea of what she looked like. 

Only a few minutes had passed when the person in line behind her started saying something about an opening act. She was nobody’s opening act. She was the headliner. As she turned to the other woman to tell her just that Anita stopped herself when she saw the pale blonde woman before her and there was a flash of recognition. Could it be? “They most certainly were mine,” she responded with a grin. “Perhaps they are… but I’m not most. They might not get a ton of use, but I’m sure anyone who comes in looking for highly specialized beetle books will be thrilled to find them on the shelves. What is it that you brought in?” 

---------

Regan had never heard screaming in a library before, and beyond the screams themselves being piddly, insulting little things, it was strange to get used to. Another one sounded from behind the closet’s door, and she itched with anticipation. Or maybe she was itching with something else. She had deduced that her company was the entomologist, Anita. The one who seemed to enjoy sending flirtatious messages at a rate that rivaled Jade’s, and the one who seemed curious enough to check out what was going on here. Surprisingly, she had been true to her word and actually showed up. Regan kind of thought Anita had to be some kind of an internet robot who was trying to flirt her way to a social security number or bone collection. Even now, it was hard to believe she was real – she had a commanding presence and Regan was pretty sure that even in death, her face would retain all of its etched beauty, as if it defied gravity and slack muscles. It was her mind, though, that Regan locked on to.

“You’re Anita, Dr. Nieves,” Regan said with confidence but needed to check anyway. And help Anita out, if she didn’t put two and two together. They were bumped closer to the closet as a mother and kids stumbled out and a man in a business suit marched stoically inside, taking their place. Regan’s knees bounced with readiness. “Especially generous of you to part with those books, in that case. Someone else may benefit from them. Flesh flies are so often overlooked, but not by you, I bet.” Maybe after the two of them could go track down a nice maggot mass. “I’m here to investigate this screaming closet. I expected better performance from others, but that was my mistake, I think. Poor form.” And ill-suited physiology. “Personally, I plan to provide an exemplar scream so that others may have something to strive for. People grow lazy and uninspired when surrounded by mediocrity, don’t you think?” 

---------

It was impossible for Anita not to smirk at the fact that Regan had recognized her. Any doubt or hesitation she had as to who was standing in front of her had evaporated and was replaced with certainty. She was used to people not being receptive to her advances online but those were usually clear shutdowns. Her conversations with Regan always danced around the flirtation, as if making future plans to investigate maggots together didn’t constitute foreplay. “Astute observation, Dr. Kavanagh.” 

There was a pause of silence, a reprieve from the screaming, as the occupants rotated out. The business man hadn’t seemed all that eager to enter the screaming closet yet a few moments later the muffled echoes of a deep guttural scream could be heard coming from within. “I am quite generous, that is true. And I never overlook matters of the flesh… or the flies who like to feast on it. I love to share my knowledge and love of insects. They make up almost 90% of all animals, after all, everyone could benefit from learning more about them.” Anita was delighted by the fact that Regan came across exactly as she did online - brilliant, a bit formal, and so perfectly strange. 

The way she spoke about screaming was so fascinating. What an odd thing to say, that people had poor screaming form. Odd and compelling. “You seem to be quite versed in the art of screaming. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. You strike me as someone who doesn’t accept anything less than perfection.” The businessman exited the closet, the same stoic expression plastered on his face, and Anita took a few steps forward as the line moved up again. “It is exceptionally frustrating to be surrounded by mediocrity. Care to give me any screaming tips? Something to inspire me, perhaps?” 

---------

Recognition twinkled in Anita’s eyes, and Regan knew beyond a doubt that they were on the same page now. With identifying each other. No other page. No. Somehow, it was Jade’s fault that her thoughts tumbling in that direction. She was here on business. The screaming closet was important. And engaging in any sort of bonding with Anita was not. “I am nothing if not astute. But even if I were not, it is impossible not to notice your –” No. Back up. This was not business. “– Um, dedication.” And really, was there any finer compliment than that? 

“I find you notable.” The words were easy and true, but she realized after they left her mouth that they were, perhaps, a little “friendlier” than she’d intended. This was also Jade’s fault. Regan decided focusing on those tips was best. And she clung to them like a cadaveric spasm around a blade. “Tips from an expert. I’ll agree to that. My expertise isn’t recognized often enough.” Regan didn’t even need to think. She had heard permutations of this so many times from her grandmother. “You need to make yourself empty. How can you expect to let the scream fill you if you’re already full with needless things like hope, and emotion, and desires?” She gave Anita a cool look. “Of course, I can’t expect you to discard all of that so quickly. But try your best to not let your mind wander from what must be done.” She paused, considering. “And keep your back straight.”

Saved by the line tapering to an end. Finally, the only screamer standing between them and the closet finished up (with an unceremonious clearing of the throat that Cliodhna would have said was a sign of neglect for throat lubrication). She waddled out the door and looked furtively around the library, as if embarrassed. Good. She ought to be. That was a terrible example of a scream. It was time to correct the library’s standards. Regan turned to Anita with a raised brow that somehow managed to communicate more unamusement than amusement. “Are you ready? I expect better from you than we’ve heard from these neamh-roghnaithe. You won’t be able to match me, of course, but you are an individual of higher caliber, a cyst among calluses.” 

“You first.” Regan shot Anita a challenging look as they passed the threshold into the dimly-lit closet. Which looked rather ordinary. There were just some shelves and books and boxes. “I will allow you the honor of being my opening act. That’s something no one else can claim. Worthy of your CV, I think.” 

---------

There was a stiffness in the way Regan spoke that matched the way she came across online. Anita quite appreciated the consistency, she appreciated the fact that the other woman did not seem to try to be more or less than exactly who she was. It was impossible not to wonder if there were ever moments when she loosened up, when the formalities faded and some new exciting layer was revealed. Maybe she’d get to find out someday. “Noteable, huh? I like that. I’m glad you’ve taken note of me.”

The line moved forward slowly, and Anita paid attention to the advice that was being bestowed upon her. It was so interesting and technical while simultaneously being rather poetic. “Are those really needless things? I think one could argue that hope, emotion, desire…” she let the last word linger for just a moment as she looked over at Regan, “Don’t they all stir in a person and create the need for a deep and profound scream?” 

It didn’t take long for Anita to be standing in front of the door to the screaming closet, grinning widely as Regan called her a cyst among calluses. Not her area of scientific expertise, but she took it to be quite a compliment coming from the medical examiner. There was something incredibly alluring about how confident Regan was about her upcoming scream, it made her wonder just how much experience she had and the context for the same. “Quite the honor, indeed.” 

There was an obvious challenge in the offer, as if she was sizing up the competition before putting on her own show. And Anita loved a good show. She reached out and put her hand on the doorknob before turning back with a smile, “Hopefully I don’t disappoint.” As she crossed over the threshold into the closet, shutting the door behind her, there was a cool shiver that rushed across her body. There was a somewhat sinister feeling she was getting from the place but she was not going to let that distract her as she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to prepare to release a scream.

---------

Nothing about Anita had been disappointing. But, Regan suspected, the scream that was going to come from her mouth would probably be little more than a whimper. Humans all thought they were so loud. It was no surprise. They had an inflated sense of self-importance in many other ways, too (fae? Never). The only one she gave a pass to was Jade, because everyone – incorrectly – always told her she was so loud. Sometimes, when enough people told you something, you started to believe it.

Anita’s attempt spared Regan from thinking too far in that direction. She stood tall, observing, and raised an entirely unimpressed brow. Actually, the effort was far more impressive than the scream, if it could be called that. It was too dark in the closet to fully appreciate Anita’s posture, but from what Regan could see, she did seem to be following Regan’s advice, spine nice and straight, and gave it a good try. It was the kind of thing her grandmother would never reward or even acknowledge, but it counted to Regan, didn’t it?

She did not even pretend to be pleased. “No. Not like that.” There was no point in offering specific criticism right now, when the best way to do so would be to demonstrate how it ought to be done. “I will show you. I will give everyone here the best scream they’ve ever had in their parochial lives. Consider it fabhar maith, good favor, to hear from me in this context.” No one was dying right now. A special treat for the humans. They really did not appreciate banshee vocal cords enough, usually not until they were done being able to appreciate anything ever again. “I’m extremely practiced, you see. Born for this. Screaming is more than my hobby, it is my calling. I will give them all something to strive for. Pay close attention.” Yes, that struck the balance between humble and helpful. 

Regan cleared her throat and opened her mouth, her lungs ready to sound off like bombs. Usually, when the screams came willingly, she and her lungs filled with the same eager energy, the thought of a release. And it had been a while, hadn’t it? She hadn’t been dedicating enough time to what she should be, instead spending it with – not right now. Anita’s eyes were studious over her, watching closely, and Regan was ready to blow her feet off, to become a fond, loud memory, to– except, obviously, Anita was not a banshee. The realization that wasn’t a realization smacked her frontal bone like a hammer. Okay, so maybe fae could get a little carried away in demonstrating their greatness (distinct from inflated self-importance). Anita. Was not. A banshee. Ergo, this really could blow her feet off. It could destroy the building. But her lungs had revved up and Regan had to slam her hands in front of her mouth as she tried to choke down what so itched to rise up. It was like stuffing toothpaste back into the tube. She hacked inside her mouth and stumbled a little, her back hitting one of the tight walls of the closet. 

Just when she thought she’d had it, she choked a little more and coughed up something pathetically close in decibel to what Anita had done. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, processing her shame. What was that mewling? She grimaced, glad for the darkness so Anita could not see how pale she had been stricken. “I could have done better,” Regan said quickly, defensively, her throat a little sore now (and her lungs very angry at being stifled), “I just, um, I needed to spare your feelings.” As if she ever thought about sparing anyone’s feelings. “You tried your best.” Ughk. “It was not perfect, but it would be rude of me to, uh, show you… up. Like screaming on someone else’s Lá Cinniúint– uh, birthday.” After all of her bragging, she wasn’t sure Anita would let this one go so easily. “Besides, there are better places to scream. Not in some dusty box. It would be offensive to my lungs if they were wasted in such a place, don’t you think? Yes. This is ridiculous. I am better than this.” She tipped her nose up and crossed her arms, looking sideways at Anita. “Come on, let’s leave this miserable place of whispering. There are not even any bugs here for you. A terrible library.”

---------

As Anita got into the room, prepared herself for the scream, she wondered if her attempt would be deemed worthy by Regan. In their interactions thus far it was apparent that where others may have found Anita to be rather impressive Regan never felt that way. The lack of admiration only made her want it more, made her want to push herself to earn that response. As she pushed the air and frustration out of her body with a forceful scream, part of her wondered if this was the moment she might earn that respect. It felt like a worthy scream to her, and it certainly rivaled the attempts that had been made by the others that had gone into the closest before her. 

But as Anitia left the closet and excitedly walked over towards Regan, it was clear that she had not done enough to warrant any praise from the other woman. How could she really expect to impress someone who claimed screaming was her calling? So instead she followed directions again, stood aside and watched the self-proclaimed expert go off to do her thing. There was a small part of Anita that wanted to be able to experience whatever was about to happen in her real form, so that she could see the impending scream echoing around her, dancing across all of her more enhanced lamia senses. 

That was too risky to do, unfortunately, so Anita was destined to experience it with dumb human sensations. She seemed primed to go when something strange seemed to happen, like Regan was holding herself back. The room still filled with a sound that she could practically feel despite her dulled human senses. It was louder than what she had mustered, loud enough to cause everyone in the building to look towards the closet where the sound emitted from, but not nearly as world shattering as she had almost expected it to be. Based on her own reaction, it was clearly not as impressive as Regan had hoped it would be either. 

Saving face wasn’t really her default response to most circumstances, but it was apparent that Regan was… disappointed? “That’s very thoughtful,” she responded to the obvious cover of trying to spare Anita’s own feelings. She would have happily let someone else scream louder than her, but decided not to push the situation to figure out why Regan had opted to not to show her up. Had this been someone she had a more secure dynamic with, she may have roasted them for all the shit talking that did not come to pass but ultimately she just wanted Regan to like her. “You still outshined everyone else here, so if that wasn’t even your best… color me impressed.” 

“For all a library is good for, it does seem ill suited to our interests. I bet we could find a place with plenty of space for you to scream, and plenty of bugs.” Anita liked the idea of them maybe having some other adventures together, particularly if it involved screaming and/or bugs. “These library people don’t even deserve to hear an exceptional scream after the pathetic displays they put on. You were right to save your talents. Vamos, there are better places for us to be.” She said as she started making her way towards the exit.  

---------

“Yes, um, thoughtful.” Regan really had a sweat coming on as she realized how many people might have been crushed if she’d given her pipes a good stretch. But she didn’t. She had stopped it, controlled it, even after an initial poor judgement call. A little too much pride really could be poison (a lesson she’d remember for maybe a week). Advertising a place to scream was basically banshee bait, though, wasn’t it? And there might have been something a little more at play if others felt compelled to scream here despite their obvious lack of innate skill. “All of these people believe they can change anything with their miserable little wails, but what? The world does not shake, their lives do not change.” Regan frowned at the people who were waiting outside the door as they walked by. It was hard not to feel a little small, a little stifled, when she could have done so much more and shown them all. But that was not meant for human ears, and she knew better, sense crowding out competitiveness and pride.

The librarian at the front was busy pointing groups over to the ever-expanding screaming closet line. Regan’s face soured. Each and every one of them was destined to be a failure. How cruel that humans never knew when they were slamming up against their own limitations; they kept trying and trying for the impossible. They would never be the best. So what was the point? Regan turned toward Anita as they walked out – another who tried even when she was out of her league. “I don’t think you came here for me,” Regan said, “so perhaps you can explain it.” The bulletin board near the entrance had a piece of paper with a big arrow. Screaming Closet This Way. She raised her hand to claw it off the wall, the hubris that it was, but something stopped her. Let the humans scream, she decided. It was very kind of her.

She looked back to Anita, nodding. “Better places indeed.” And for once, someone seemed to be on the same wavelength as Regan for what those better places were. “Let us go find the most writhing of maggot masses.”

[deadhands69]

Fluff with Ibara Shiozaki X Photography Quirk! Male reader

I was on the fence since I don't know this character super well but I like the idea and had to write something Thanks for the request!

“Hmmm how about this one?” Ibara Shiozaki asks while holding a prickly plant in your direction. Her big dark eyes staring up at you makes you melt a little.

*click*

A few days ago, you’d been invited to her agency to take some candid photos for their advertising. This was pretty common work for you, and easy given your photography quirk. Most of the agencies love having you around at least once a month to humanize their heroes (plus, your fun personality brought out the better sides of people which also helped.) This was your first time meeting the vine hero though.

Initially, you misread her quiet personality as disinterest. A lot of the heroes you work with can be a bit aloof so it’s easy to make assumptions. But after a few minutes in her presence, you realized that’s not the case with her. She’s sweet, but straight forward. After she quickly dispelled a disagreement between two of the staff on-site (“it was the right thing to do” she stated simply) and stuck up for herself when asked to wear a new variant of her hero costume she wasn’t comfortable with, you were intrigued. On top of all of that, she’s gorgeous. There’s no way you could meet anyone like her without at least trying to get to know her better.

On the other hand, you were both there working and you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way. You’d have to be careful with how you asked her out. 

What is simple, sweet, and original enough that you won’t seem like every other guy hitting on her on a daily basis? What does she like?

You thought about it all day and the clock was ticking fast.

Later that day, the answer came to you.

Following her on her daily tasks, you discovered her office is filled with plants. And not just vines like her hair, all sorts of shapes colors and sizes growing in the brightly lit space. 

“I heard there’s a new plant shop down the street,” you said as you tried to keep the shake out of your voice, “want to check it out sometime?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” 

“Uhm, wow! Perfect!” you responded, overjoyed she agreed, “pick you up from here on Saturday morning?”

“Yes, Saturday,” she smiled sweetly.

In the days following, you had to have looked over the photos of her at least forty times. It’s as if a glow surrounded her everywhere she went. 

Euphorbia reads the tag on the pot she is holding towards you. 

“This one looks great!” you take the plant from her hands and begin walking towards the checkstand. After a few steps, you notice she hadn’t followed you.

“But you haven’t picked one yet,”

“Maybe you can help me choose,” you reply, curious to see what she will find for you.

“Hmmm,” her eyes trace over the shelves before coming to a stop, “this one. This is the one.” 

It’s a slightly viny plant, not quite like her hair but it still reminds you of her. The leaves are small and cute. Upon closer look they’re shaped like -

“Hearts,” you mumble, “this is perfect.”

She smiles up at you again and your quirk goes into overdrive. 

Walking out the door, you’d love to spend more time with her and at this point, you’re sure she’s interested too. 

Before you can ask, she turns to you. “Want to look at old cameras at the place up the street?”

“Sounds fun!” 

She’s practically glowing as she pulls you by the hand down the sidewalk, hair trailing gracefully.

*click*

[wromwood]

Complain-y ramblings about commercials for AI services below the "read more."

You know, I think it's telling that the most popular genre of AI commercials (that is, commercials advertising the use of AI services, not commercials made by AI) that I've been seeing on TV lately have been the Apple Intelligence ones where the protagonists use AI as shortcuts in ways that make me not want to be like them.

Like, there are at least two commercials for Apple Intelligence starring Bella Ramsey where Ramsey uses the AI features to A) learn the name of someone that she's totally forgotten and B) summarize a pitch she didn't read so that she can pretend she prepared for her work meeting. On paper, these sound like useful fixes for people stuck in awkward situations, but seeing them play out in the commercials doesn't endear me to Ramsey (her fictional self for the commercial) or make me want to utilize Apple Intelligence in these ways.

I think it's because both of these scenarios play out like the first half of a sitcom episode, where the protagonist is clearly and blatantly trying to shortcut their way to success. When I saw that summarizing-the-pitch commercial, I was waiting for a negative consequence to befall Ramsey. Like, the summary can't cover EVERYTHING. She's gonna learn she missed something crucial in taking the shortcut and regret going with her half-informed summary, right? The second half of the sitcom episode will happen and show that you can't half-ass important stuff, right?

In the forgetting-the-name commercial, the guy even says something like, "Wow, you remember me?" and she answers something like, "Of COURSE, how could I FORGET [name]?" And like... I have a pet peeve about lying, so that got under my skin on a personal level. Pretending you didn't remind yourself of someone's name in the last five minutes is actually relatable to me, but doubling down in that way with that kind of dialogue exchange just makes me anticipate some kinda karma will leap out and get Ramsey. This commercial actually motivates me to be more open about admitting to people that I'm bad with names and to remind me what people's names are.

My dad shares my frustrations about these commercials because he doesn't like the one where a mother uses her iPhone to quickly make a slideshow of photographs for her husband's birthday. The commercial is absolutely framed like A) she either forgot the birthday or fully believed the "We said no gifts!" claim, B) she's annoyed at her daughters' legitimately good gifts to their father, and C) she's proud of "getting away" with making a slideshow present in under a minute.

Like, I'm not gonna get into any discussions on how devoted people should be in their gifts to their spouses; that's not what is bothering us about the commercial. What's bothering us is how this commercial is absolutely framed to show that the last-minute slideshow gift was made to directly compete with gifts that had more love and effort put into them, and that we were either meant to A) sympathize with the mother or B) respect/admire her hustle on navigating this situation. But we can't do either! If we were in that situation (the mother's position), we'd own up to not having a gift prepared and offer a solution in the moment. If we were experiencing the slide show gift ourselves, we'd likely appreciate it, but then feel a WHOLE lot worse if we learned that the gifter had handed the situation like the mother did in this commercial. Like, the gift of a photo slideshow would feel meaningful if we thought that the gifter had chosen and compiled the photographs themself. Just learning that it was an AI under-a-minute gesture would be iffy enough, but if we knew that the gifter was annoyed at our mutual loved ones for making more of an effort? Oof, our opinion of the gifter is gonna lower pretty quickly.

Finally, I saw the commercial that inspired this post. It's of an office worker who is clearly not the most efficient guy in the room; we get a short compilation of him doing things that are just sorta lame and not focusing on his job. He writes an email in his casual way of speaking, then presses a button to make the email sound professional. His boss is surprised to see this worker's name at the end of the fixed-up email, so he apparently knows about this worker's reputation of being a lame worker. But there's no real "ending" to this commercial after that, so we just leave on this guy's boss not being able to comfortably believe that this crappy worker wrote a competent email.

This was the last straw for me. This commercial proved that we're supposed to see the protagonists of all these Apple Intelligence commercials as uncaring and lazy in some way. How does that benefit the advertisement? I don't want to act like the people in these situations. In fact, they're just supporting my previously held belief that it's better to work and learn skills through time and effort rather than try the apparent "easy way out." These commercials feel like they're advertising reading CliffsNotes instead of completing assigned readings.

I'm not gonna lie and say that I hate any and all shortcuts. I love things that save me from doing unneeded work. I love being able to take more time for myself. I don't think we need to remove or avoid things that make life easier. But I really don't like this idea that the selling point of AI is to be a replacement for practicing legitimate skills. Sometimes, it's absolutely worth it to do the work, especially to avoid those sitcom karma moments that will undoubtedly come when your lack of effort is revealed.

[hrefna-the-raven]

First date - tell me more, tell me more

Words: 869

Summary: Kelvin meets this wonderful woman, which is you, my dear reader, and asks her out on a date

Warnings: Grease references because hell yeah xD

Kelvin had never been so nervous in his life, in fact the nervousness cursing through his entire body almost made him feel sick. It was roughly a week before he had this big mission to retrieve another Mr Rich Guy who got lost on his own island and he had this weird feeling in his guts that, just like every other mission, this wouldn't be as easy and quick as advertised. So he had to take his chance, he had to risk this and hope it would play out in his favour.

He met the most beautiful and charming woman at the least expected place, the car parts shop downtown while looking for new parts to finally finish restoring his '57 T-Bird. He felt a delicate small hand tap his shoulder while inspecting a pair of different coloured tail fins.

"Tell me more, tell me more but you don't gotta brag", your giggles at that moment went straight through his heart, like bullets full of nervous butterflies, aimed, fired and a lethal direct hit, "say, did the jacket come with the car? Oh and please don't tell me your name's Danny too."

The memory of your first words still rang in his ears, like the cheesy sweet yet catchy tune of one of those old love songs, the ones he never listened to voluntarily but as soon as they popped up on the radio, they would be etched in his mind for the rest of the day. He instantly knew that he had to get to know you better, all attempts to resist the urge of talking to you would be futile, so he asked you out which let to him sitting at the local bar on a Saturday night of the same week. He awaited your arrival anxiously at the bar, watching the clock mercilessly ticking away as his hands fidgeted on the glass in front of him. He planned on having just a few drinks in advance, some half desperate attempt to calm his nerves, but he miscalculated and ended up with a few too many and could already feel the cattish sweet numbness of intoxication cloud his mind. As he waited, despite knowing better, Kelvin took another sip from his drink, trying to gulp down the last part of his anxiety along with the bitter liquid. He couldn't help but sweat profusely, his palms clammy as he was waiting for a scolding of his officer rather than his date for the evening. His heart was racing, and he felt like he was about to pass out at any moment, unsure if the alcohol or his jitters were to blame.

And then, you finally walked in, as confident as the day in the shop but far more stunning than he could handle in that tight black dress, caressing your curves perfectly. Your beauty downright knocked the breath out of his chest, and he couldn't help but gawk at you as you slowly strode towards him, a big smile painted on your lips. You were simply dressed to perfection this evening, and your every move possessed a dangerous gracefulness, like a feline circling around its prey, trying to decide if said prey should be devoured or gently played with. Kelvin summoned all his courage and got up from his bar stool to greet you. However, the treacherous alcohol didn't agree with his plan and tinkered with his fragile sense of balance so he instead tripped and almost fell flat on his face, barely escaping further embarrassment by a pair of hands catching him mid-fall. You had jumped towards him, steadying his muscular frame and hurriedly helped him up, asking him if he was alright. Kelvin was mortified, his body refusing to even move one more muscle; he could feel his face turning glowing red as he struggled to regain his cool. But something about your kind-heartedness and the way your eyes darted between his and his half-open mouth made him feel those lethal butterfly bullets all over again. His poor mind couldn't fully grasp what was happening to him, but he felt happy and lightheaded all at once. As the date went on and turned out to proceed into a less embarrassing event, Kelvin found himself falling more and more in love with you. Despite his drunk clumsiness, which only masked the usual bearishness, you seemed to enjoy his company, and he reciprocated those feelings in full. When the date ended, you got up from the stool and left Kelvin with a peck on the cheek, whispering something in his ear. He couldn't quite catch what you had said, but he knew it must have been something sweet. As he stumbled home, Kelvin couldn't shake off the feeling that he had just experienced something amazing and wondered what you still held in store for him. As he finally closed the door of his apartment behind him, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and took it out to curiously look at the message he received.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk at your message and he let out a relieved content chuckle, his fingers fervently tapped on his screen before hitting the send button.

I don't know why but I want Kelvin to be a vintage car type of guy^^ it would just suit him so well to work on cars on his spare time, being all greasy and sexy under the car <3

Part 2: Black velvet dress (18+)

Part 3: Cloudy mornings and sweet bareness

Part 4: Kiss me, you fool

Part 5: Waiting in the wings

Part 6: You're only falling now? (18+)

SotF masterlist

[adoracora-elizabeth]

But Papa! Why? Chapter 12

Robert finally makes a move..........

Robert got out of the car, he reached in to pick up the container. He had gone home directly after he had seen that the advert was perfect. His chicken broth needed at least 3 hours on the stove. It was now just after 19.00 o’clock. He hoped Cora had not eaten yet, other wise she could eat it tomorrow.

Before he walked up to the building he paused. Was he going to do this? What if Cora rejected him right on the spot? He was not even sure why he was here and what he hoped for. He would love to know Cora better. He had seen that she was a very smart woman and a hard worker. Something he appreciated in women. She also knew how to show respect and how to behave in public. How she managed to get that deal with Sky Garden was still a wonder to him. And besides all that, she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Her chestnut brown curls and blue eyes made him go weak when he looked at her.

He walked towards the elevator, but was stopped by the concierge. “Where are you going sir?”

Robert turned around, he had not even seen that man. He remembered him being there when Cora took Rosamund and him to her apartment. “I am here for Miss Levinson.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Robert Crawley.” He answered.

“Is Miss Levinson expecting you?”

Now Robert was getting annoyed, why was this man stopping him? “No, she doe not know I am coming. But we work together. Miss Levinson works in my office.”

The concierge raised his eyebrows.

“She works for ‘Crawley Advertisements’.” Robert paused and took out his phone. “If it makes you happy, I will call her right now to announce that I am coming up.”

“I guess it is alright. You can go up.”

When Robert finally stood in front of Cora’s apartment door his heart started racing. What if Cora would be mad he was there? Well whatever her reaction would be, he was here now and would take the change of being rejected.

It took a while before the door was opened. He looked into two watery eyes. Cora was wrapped up in a big fluffy bathrobe that she closed high up her chest with her hand, and in the other hand, she clutched a handkerchief. Her cheeks and nose were even redder than when he saw her this morning. The skin between her mouth and nose was shaded red, probably from blowing her nose.

“Robert?” Cora rasped.

“I…. I…..” Robert stuttered, he held up the container in his hands. “I made you some chicken broth.”

Cora only looked at him.

“I figured, that you would be alone, without anybody to cook a meal for you. When you are sick it is important to get healthy food inside your body. And well, as I now also can see, you are in no state to cook a meal yourself.”

Without saying anything Cora stepped back and gestured to Robert that he should come inside.

“Do you want me to heat some of it now for you?”

“Thank you. Is it alright when I sit back down again?” Cora’s sad weakly.

Robert walked to the kitchen and searched for a pan he could use. What a turn of events, he thought. How did they go from hating each other to him standing in her kitchen making her dinner? He was not complaining, he loved this development.

He found Cora curled up on the sofa, with a blanket covering her. She looked up when he stopped before her with a cup filled with soup. “I hope you like it.”

“Did you make it yourself?” Cora asked with a nasal voice due to her blocked nose.

“I did.” Robert saw the surprised look on her face. “I know, not something you would expect from me, but I love to cook.”

Cora brought the spoon to her mouth. “My taste is weird at the moment, but I can tell this is very good. Thank you.”

“I am pleased you like it. There is enough for the coming days, I put it in your fridge.” He sat down on the other side of the sofa.

“That is kind of you. You did not have to do this.”

“It is nothing. Oh before I forget. I have to compliment you. The advert you made is outstanding. Even Mama complimented your work.” Robert coloured when he realised he had said Mama, instead of Violet.

“That is a first, I think, that she said something nice about me.” Cora started to laugh.

Robert gave her a worried look when her laugh turned into coughing. When he noticed she could not catch her breath, he moved closer to pat her back. “You should be in bed.” He said once Cora stopped coughing.

“I have to finish your soup.” She reached for the cup that Robert took from her.

Now Robert laughed. “You still have an appetite, that is a good sign.”

They were silent while Cora finished her soup.

“Is there anything you need?” Robert asked.

“I need this cold to go away.” She sniffed.

“Anything else ma’am?” Robert joked. “Is there enough food in your fridge?”

“I was planning on going grocery shopping tomorrow, but I will order online.”

“Do not be daft, make a list and I will get it for you.”

“Do you have time for that?” Cora asked surprised.

“I will make time. That is why you have friends.” Robert felt his cheeks burn when he saw the look on Cora’s face.

“Are we friends?” She asked.

“Cora.” Robert took her hand in his. He noticed how warm her skin was. “I have to apologise for the way I welcomed you into the company and how I treated you. I do not have a good explanation for my behaviour.”

Cora’s blue eyes stared into his. “It was not very welcoming, no.”

Robert lowered his eyes. “I behaved incredibly badly and I cannot apologise enough for that. You have shown me today, that you are more than just a pretty face.”

“Miss Pretty, is it not?”

Robert pulled his hand back and wanted to sink into the ground. He felt ashamed.

Cora leaned against him and took his hand back in hers. “It is alright. I think I can forgive you.” She padded his hand. “If you do not mind, I am sending you home. I am tired and need to go to bed.”

“I will clean up in the kitchen for you and will let myself out afterwards.” He watched how Cora walked towards her bedroom and disappeared behind the door.

Robert put the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned the countertop. He then made some tea with a good scoop of honey. Walking towards Cora’s bedroom, he heard her sneezing. She was still awake. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14282663/12/9He found her already in bed.

“I made you some tea. Get some rest, I will come back tomorrow morning for your shopping list.”

Cora’s eyes closed, and she nodded. “Thank you”

Robert let himself out, he had a weird feeling. Had they just started something? A friendship maybe?

[antigonewinchester]

ooh share something about hesitation or triptych? <3

I will self-indulgently to do both <3

Hesitation but IC is inspired by a Destiel fic called, surprise surprise, Hesitation, written by apokteino, who I think was a fairly prominent fic writer back in the day? She had a series of dark Destiel fics, including Hesitation, the Bone series, the When series, and most infamously With Understanding. I find her work interesting intellectually, in her focus on exploring questions around sexual violence, relationships formed under duress, and the complexities of perpetrators & victims & their dynamics, but it feels like she maps her ideas onto SPN rather than centering canon characterizations or dynamics (at least in my read of the show/characters).

So, I decided to try my hand at a fic with the same premise but more in line with canon, particularly taking into account Cas's control/power over Dean in S4 (and which I don't feel is negated just because of Cas's sexual inexperience, altho it does add some complexity) and Dean's full experience in Hell. Part 1 is from Dean’s POV and Part 2, which I’m currently working on, is from Cas’s:

“You told me Dean wanted to have sex with me. He did, and then he didn’t.” Zachariah and he are sitting at a bar in New York, the city. It’s night, but he can’t see any stars, only the glowing of offices and apartments and advertisements against the sky. One large, flashing sign reads: Open Happiness. The moon is a cut of pure white. The humans around them talk and whisper, blissfully ignorant of the angels and the war they’re fighting to protect them. Their breath forms clouds that rise to disappear into the dark. All are dressed in what he believes are fancy clothes, long flowing red fabrics and unwrinkled suits of black, but he’s no longer sure how much he knows about humanity. Zachariah shrugs. “Humans say they want one thing, then do another, and Dean Winchester is no exception. This is why they need Heaven’s hand, Castiel.” The woman sitting to his left laughs. The man she’s talking with has taken her palm and put it up against his. Her fingernails had been carefully painted in stripes of white and black.

Triptych is sort of the opposite end of the spectrum, in that it’s my attempt at a Dean/Jack fic after looking on AO3 and finding... 2 decent fics of the whole bunch.

I started out as just wanting to do Dean/Jack during S14, but its slowly turned into Dean/Jack in the aftermath of Dean/John, probably in part 'cause I started writing it in the midst of Utena rewatch, which all about memories & cycles & incest & eternity (and then when I got to the part of S14 where Dean suggested locking himself in a coffin for eternity to save the world...) I was also struck by a post of someone discussing a common Utena interpretation that one character didn't actually want to sleep with her brother, but the poster asked if she did, would that desire negate any harm? Does wanting something "bad" mean you can't be hurt by it? If a relationship was both meaningful & hurts you, how do those elements go together?

Got a bit stalled out on this one because Holy Shit the emotional complexities here, and I want to handle it respectfully? Not be gauche? My plan is to have it all lead up to 14x20 and Thee Dean Jack Moment, re-contextualizing it within the scope of my fic, but I'm still figuring out what it all... adds up to, I suppose. (Also that I'm bad at writing character being mean, and Dean has to be mean in this fic, at least for parts of it!)

Heaven turned out to be the world’s best movie night: his favorite memories playing over and over and over again. The road trip where Sam introduced him to Harry Potter and Dean taught him how to read a paper map. He could rewind and play through his favorite five minutes as many times as he wanted. He could make everything faster or slower, which was funny for a little while, but he stopped after it got weird, like when he repeated a word too much and suddenly something would change and it wouldn’t be a real word anymore, just meaningless sounds. He could change from memory to memory in an instant, if he really wanted, but mostly he liked to let them play out before he moved onto another. And once he got to end, it was back to the beginning: a conversation trailed off or a lesson finished and then he was back at the start, to Cas’s reassuring smile, telling him about mistakes and guilt and forgiveness, or Sam’s bright concern, telling him how to take a punch, or Dean’s warm hand on his back, telling him where north was. The one thing he couldn’t do was imagine anything new. He tried, at first, in the memory of that day with Dean, how their conversation at the river could have gone—Dean’s voice low as he’d whispered, “Come here,” and then—and then—but it never worked. Guiltily he’d moved onto other memories, and at least they were too the same: if he'd ordered a hot dog, all he could eat is a hot dog; if Sam and Dean had driven past the apple orchard on a hunt, there was no turning down the short dirt road to pick fruit instead.