#once upon a time i had a proper blog where this could have gone

[julezzzz111]

Do You Have A Wish?🚬

Summary: You didn’t make it through Eggman’s evil scheme. Shadow is left to wonder what you would have wanted.

Angst🚬

Warnings: Blood and Death Mention

A/N: This is my first fic posted on my blog! I hope you guys enjoy:) For those who are triggered by the mentions in the warning, don’t read! Please stay safe❤️

P.S… the dividers used in this fic are made by very talented people! At the end, you’ll see their users. All are on tumblr.

An all too familiar feeling came upon Shadow. A feeling of mixed emotions swirling around in his head. A curse he begged other-worldly being to be released from, and never answered, forever in the grasp of loss and suffering. He came towards you lying body, pooling with blood beneath him. Your eyes once filled with the loving spirit that healed him from past wounds and experiences, now empty. He observed your position on the floor, taking in what had just happened.

He wasn’t in denial. He knew what you once were was no longer: filled with life. He’d have to repeat the cycle all over again. It was like a cruel fate was punishing him, forcing him to experience the consequences of his artificial birth. His mission to be a weapon because that’s what he was meant to be.

The Ultimate Lifeform.

A resting place in such a filthy environment was not suitable for a soul like yours. At least, that’s what he thought. He picked up your defeated body, carrying you through the rubble of an attack by a familiar foe. His eyes shifted from your body, now searching for a proper place so you could rest. Just for now. His eyes landed on a nearby hill. The grass still green and filled with color despite the incident that had just occurred. He began walking with you in his arms.

Memories flashed with you in his head as carried you through the dystopian landscape. He remembered spending time beside you. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. In all honesty, he trusted you enough to follow your direction. Throughout your entire relationship, it was he who followed you. Learning how to love. And now you’re gone. No longer having the feeling of direction.

Now he was back to where he was before. His promise was to save and protect the planet. He fulfilled his promise to Maria, doing what she asked in her final moments alive. It’s what she wanted. But what would you have wanted? If you were still here, would you have told him to do something? To grant you your last wish and finally give in to your last breath?

Yet a part of him told him you wouldn’t. To tell him he could do whatever he pleased. Have the freedom he deserved because you knew he deserved more. You always said that. And that would be your final wish.

And so he will.

He gently places you against the soft grass of the hill. Your resting place. You were truly an experience and even more. You were extraordinary. To love someone despite their deep unresolved complexes. To try and help him as much as you could.

He closed your eyes with his fingertips. Now you’d finally be resting.

Now it was his turn to make the decisions.

Dividers Used

@/carciinogen

@/eundior

@/horangipilled

Be sure to check out the people who made these awesome dividers!

[king-crane]

INCURABLE / TERMINAL.

In light of more talk about Batman Beyond in the rpc (good, it's fucking peak), and talking with @2ndbat (FANTASTIC BLOG GO FOLLOW), I have revamped my Incurable/Terminal verses to go from just Old Man Crane to straight up Batman Beyond.

That said, I will be outlining the general setting and the differences in both verses here! Enjoy!

NAME: Professor Jonathan Ichabod Crane SPECIES: Metahuman AGE: 68 HEIGHT: 7’10” WEIGHT: 280 lbs. OCCUPATION: Professor of Psychology at Gotham University, Professional Therapist and Psychiatrist, Career Criminal (formerly), Supervillain (formerly) AFFILIATIONS: Gotham University (formerly and currently), Di Vaio Crime Family (formerly), Quorum (formerly), Secret Society (formerly), The Injustice League (formerly) PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: A veritable colossus of muscle, Jonathan Crane’s rehabilitation worked out far better for him than any could have ever hoped. After finally receiving proper treatment and diagnoses, Crane’s medications and fear suppressants allowed him to finally regain some sense of routine beyond getting up in the mornings and putting his body through Hell. Eating, sleeping, and exercising regularly has enhanced Crane’s physique, to the point where even at 68, the giant still seems to be in his physical prime… “seems” to be, that is. Though his hair has begun to gray and his face is showing signs of his age in the form of wrinkles and laugh lines, Crane is no less gorgeous than he was two decades prior. Crane has gone completely blind in his right eye, and still uses a prosthetic left arm and right leg thanks to injuries suffered when he was 30. MEDICAL INFORMATION: McCune-Albright Syndrome, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Fibromyalgia, severe burn injuries, blind in right eye, missing an arm and leg, severe brain damage and nerve damage MENTAL DISORDERS: DID, Bipolar Disorder, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

BIOGRAPHY: After a lifetime of pain and insanity, Crane's reprieve, ironically enough, only came about when the foundations of Arkham itself were shook to their very core, and he was finally assigned a new doctor. Instead of approaching Crane as though he were completely sane, the new doctor, Mannfred O'Malley (who had experience with Crane) immediately diagnosed him with DID, Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Autism, and a slew of other diagnoses. CAT scans supported this, and Crane was immediately put on anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers, and anxiety relief medication. Crane had never been better in years, and at the age of 36, he was finally recovering. He began to sleep and eat much more regularly, and corrective surgery helped many of his physical maladies. Eventually, upon his release from Arkham, Crane stopped returning as frequently, and stopped completely once his prescriptions were moved to a regular psychiatrist in the city.

After 2 years living on his farm in good health, Crane gained an astonishing 100 pounds of muscle, no longer malnourished from his unhealthy lifestyle, and even had a growth spurt of 2 inches. Emboldened by his change, he applied once more to Gotham University, where he had taught so long ago, at the age of 40. It had been 15 years since his abrupt departure, but they still welcomed him back with open arms. At the age of 60, Jonathan Crane was now a tenured professor of psychology, winning multiple awards for his theories and experiments in regard to fear and the human mind.

And then, it all came crashing down.

On the eve of his 62nd birthday, Crane suffered from a horrible mental break - his hallucinations began to return, this time with a vengeance, and recognizing the pattern, Crane took an emergency leave of absence.

The news he received after returning to Arkham was horrid. After being physically examined, it became clear that Crane's spinal and cerebral implant, his constant companion for 55 years and a mark of Qorum's involvement in his life, had been spreading itself through his body, upgrading itself with cybernetic modifications. In addition, the fear toxin in his veins had irreparably damaged his mind, and he would suffer a complete and total cessation of brain activity soon. They could not give him an estimate of how much time he had left. Left only with the choice of how he would receive this news, Crane's path diverges.

INCURABLE.

SEEKING to prevent himself from repeating the mistakes of the past, Professor Jonathan Crane seeks treatment to prolong his life as much as possible, and experiments with the dosage on his medications, even against professional advice. Taking a sabbatical from Gotham University, Crane travels the world, looking for a cure for his condition. In distant lands, and lands not far from home, he dons the guise of a helpless old man, when in truth, he is far from it. After seeing the pain in the world, the same pain he once spent so much time contributing to, he dons the visage of "The Ward", a traveling alchemist seeking to protect the weak and the innocent, and to save problems. He frequently returns to Gotham whenever he can, even occasionally checking himself back into Arkham during particularly brutal episodes, but thanks to living frugally over many, many years, he has a good chunk of money saved up for his travels. Ironically enough, Crane is currently the closest he has ever been to activating his metagene, a feat which would completely halt his neural degradation and remove the implant, as well as halt his aging - if only he was even aware he was a metahuman.

ABILITIES: Vast intellect, resilient body, martial arts training, decades of experience, heightened awareness

WEAKNESSES: Frequent hallucinations, neural degradation, moves slow due to injuries and age

TERMINAL.

SOMETIMES it can be impossible to truly recover what one has already lost. Already cracked and fractured by his ongoing condition, Crane left his appointment with Doctor O'Malley a despondent and heartbroken man. Was this his reward, for trying to be better? He twitches, as though he can feel his body building itself up and breaking down at the same time. It isn't until his return to the city proper that he finds himself on the other end of a would-be-mugger, and he realizes nothing has changed. The Waynes, the di Vaios - even Zsasz's life had changed at the end of a blade. There was nothing to change for Crane, though. His hand shoots out before he can stop it. He breaks the criminal's hand - and then his neck. And he looks upon Gotham with a profound sadness. His past would only continue to haunt him, for as long as he let it. His mind fractures, and finally his metagene is activated... slightly. With enhanced strength, speed, and senses, but at the cost of his physical health and sanity, Crane dons the mask of Epimetheus, an amalgamation of all that he once was - Crane, Crow, Bones, Beast, and even Jonathan. He will slaughter his past, no matter how long it takes.

ABILITIES: Shapeshifting, heightened reflexes, enhanced speed, enhanced strength, semi-intangibility

WEAKNESSES: Complete loss of sanity, animalistic intellect, lack of higher thought (maybe)

[sburbian-sage]

You know you get all these people talking about crazy events and how their life is going but honestly how are you doing out there

I assume it cant be easy floating out in the rings

Do you actually have a goal on where you're going? Or are you just hoping for the best?

I wish i could help

-gm

Ring Journeys, as a rule, suck hard. It's not because it's especially difficult (though I've had a few weird incidents and close calls, like faulty filters or a course-correct), but mainly because 1) Boring 2) Entropy. It's boring because you are in fact just sitting in a box for weeks and months on end, waiting for something to happen while nothing does. And it's entropic because once the journey begins, your prepwork is done. I'm drinking my own recycled bathwater (it's a tech high-tech fluid reclamation system, I am not drinking my own piss thank you very much), and have been eating mostly whatever I can farm and re-plant. Anytime I need to Alchemize something, that's a permanent expenditure of Grist because there's no Underlings or Quests out here. These things never end with a bang, they either succeed or whimper out.

I am managing it fine though. I was never really a people person, so the fact that this is a one-bitch journey doesn't stress me out too much. Not to mention the interactions I get from this blog is pretty stimulating, socially and intellectually. In between running maintenance, I also have a lot of free time, so I've been doing lots of things I wanted to do but never had the time for. I decided to make a replica of my Sage of Mind hoodie, and instead of trying to alchemize one (expensive! and would require a long alchemy chain, also expensive!) I just got to work with some fabric and needle and have some pretty cool kinda-pajamas now (not as comfy or magical as the real deal though). And I wanna stress this again, with emulator software and an online archive of most of what humanity has created (which will never get struck down, because any corporation that could do so is gone with the rest of humanity) can give you months or maybe years of entertainment.

As for my desired end point, "waiting and hoping for the best" is the goal. The Furthest Ring is a constant in every Session, so with some luck, I should land in a proper Session which isn't doomed to failure. Which will allow me to lend my incredible game expertise to whomever I stumble upon, opening an actual door to freedom. I'll still be replaying the game, but now I can actually be in the game, as opposed to this sci-fantasy mausoleum of a battleship. It will do a lot for me in terms of Not Dying, as well as Not Going Insane And Killing Myself (synonymous with Not Dying but in a different way). I'll also be able to start doing some more hands-on work, which might be good for this blog. The only thing I have to do is wait, not Succumb, and also not collide with a Ringbeast, which throws everything I said about "these end with whimpers not bangs" and throws it out the fucking window, along with the green-and-red smear formerly known as my corpse.

[not-saying-revolution-but]

on the artistry of Loïc Nottet's "Mr/Mme"

We open to a cobbled, deserted Brussels intersection. The title appears in old-timey yellow against the grayscale. A white-clad Loïc Nottet enters as a piano teases the opening, and it starts.

I have a lot of emotions about "Mr/Mme," the last track on Nottet's second studio album (Sillygomania) and, to my knowledge, his first song fully en français. "Mr/Mme" dropped in April of 2020, which was still near the start of the pandemic in Europe and North America. I, for one, did not anticipate what the next year would hold. And yet when this song appeared in Spotify’s suggestions (as the algorithm knows my weakness for Nottet's vocal range and off-pop sound), it touched a nerve that has pulsed for the last 12 months.

To be clear, I'm not going to present any new revelations about this song. Nottet is indisputably a phenomenal artist, "Mr/Mme" is a perfect example of his skill, and that's that on that. I'm more interested in the raw emotions that this song explores and how the piece indicates a radical departure from Nottet's previous body of work. Or does it?

Born in 1996, Loïc Nottet is a Belgian singer/songwriter/dancer who made a name for himself on The Voice Belgique and ESC 2015. You can look up his Wikipedia page if you like. His first album, "Selfocracy," is entirely in English and handles themes of bullying, selfishness, the corruptibility of society, and related. I don't know what the Belgian and French reviewers said, but the album was fairly well received in the English-speaking places I inhabit. The songs are punchy and get stuck in your head. The lyrics feel clever but maybe a little strained. A Youtube star dropping his first studio album.

And then "Mr/Mme" came out. Nottet greets his audience with a "bonsoir Monsieur, Madame / aujourd'hui, j'te dis tout" (good evening sir, madame / today, I'll tell you everything). He proceeds to do just that. Nottet describes a living hell, a world that "m'étrangle, m'écrase et me brûle" (strangles me, crushes me, and burns me). The ensuing musical monologue swivels from individual anguish to a broader critique of humanity, described as nothing but a bully without love. Those who cannot afford morphine are refused the moon. Children turn into monsters and the rest of us pay rent.

About halfway through the song (which lacks a chorus), Nottet tells the listener how alone he feels while walking the glorious road to fame. He copes by drinking, poking fun at his youth, and grappling in the darkness for any sense of meaning (he's in his 20s after all). Despite living out his childhood dreams, Nottet admits to his own unhappiness.

While Nottet sings all of this, alternating between confessional and belting tones, the camera tracks his wanderings through the streets of Brussels. It looks utterly empty until we see another figure walking past. They look over their shoulder as they pass this strange young man who sings, skips, and spreads his arms in the way of music videos. With a bitter twinge of irony, his oversized white dress shirt has "enjoy yourself" written on the breast pocket.

Nottet takes us down the narrow, shuttered, and graffitied alleyways that spread out from La Grand-Place. He carefully avoids the Baroque square, though, taking rapid turns just when you think you're nearing it. The camera follows in its shaky way. The crowds increase as the song swells, now showing other young people in their sparkling little groups. Nottet breaks through, and everything stops as he sings "je n'sais plus qui je suis, j'suis perdu" (I no longer know who I am, I am lost).

And finally, finally. We reach La Grand-Place, and the lyrics shift. Nottet tells us how he feels when he’s on stage, which is far from the horrific picture he just described:

Car j'écris quand j'me plante

Et je ris quand je danse

Et je vis quand je chante

Et pour tout ça, j'te dis :

Merci

(Because I write when I mess up, and I laugh when I dance, and I live when I sing. And for all of that, I say to you: Thank you.)

Nottet’s figure paints a bright absence on the darkened Grand-Place. The song is officially over but Nottet launches into a series of ethereal "oohs" that transcend this mortal realm. He now shows off his dancing and spreads himself open as the "oohs" reach their highest pitch. Nottet looks like a broken bird, splayed open in La Grand-Place and suspended by his rib cage. The video ends with a few more leg kicks and spins before Nottet wanders out of frame. Everything was done in one take.

So what makes this song and music video so special? Is it not another artsy, indie production about a young singer struggling with fame?

I say to that nay. In "Mr/Mme," Nottet uses his extraordinary voice to access an emotion that is often trivialized. “A young man makes it big and then feels lonely, so what,” we could say. “Life is hard.” This is both true and not. Nottet's struggles are different from most of ours, but he speaks in terms that feel familiar. How many of us realize too late that success isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? "Mr/Mme" holds extremes that more often coexist than contradict in real life, including "humanity is fucked and we should burn everything to the ground" and "there are moments when life is worth living." I know of few other songs that capture both emotions in such a poignant way.

Moreover, the video is carefully done. Directed by Hugo Jouxtel, it seems almost self-conscious about its artsy look. The passersby may be hired extras, I don't know, but they react organically. It's almost embarrassing to see them hastily cross the street and give the singer funny looks. There’s a bit of self-recognition through the other, if you will, particularly if you’ve ever had a breakdown in public (hands, anyone? just me?). It is one thing to sing about feeling alone and quite another to be alone amid the crowds of La Grand-Place. La Grand-Place, a tourist attraction with very few things to do. A place that is good for milling about, snapping a picture, and then hurrying on with your life, oblivious.

Besides the video being aesthetically pleasing, it feels real. Nottet cannot step beyond the gated storefronts as he laments. Sometimes the camera captures an unflattering angle as he tilts up his chin in anguish. It's pretty but gritty. Like the song. Like fame. Like life.

The view from my chair is this: "Mr/Mme" signals a new moment of maturity for an artist who (I am convinced) will one day be known worldwide. It acknowledges the darker threads present in "Selfocracy" (the darkness inside us, the ever-watching “million eyes”) but strips it all down to the bare essentials. The song is honest. And for a popular artist like Nottet, who has already proven himself many times over, honesty might be the rarest thing.

*All translations are from yours truly. Any errors are, of course, my own.

[husbandohunter]

A Furry Predicament, but reversed (Reader turns into a cat)? Pretty please with a sweet lil cherry on top? (I recently stumbled across your blog and may I just say that I absolutely adore your works??) Thank youu and take care~~

A Furrier Predicatment [Genshin x Cat!Reader]

♤♡◇♧☆

Synopsis: It's your turn to be a cat after this incident.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Childe, Venti

(A/n): Ah you did OwO that's very sweet of you. It's alot of fun to write, especially when your imagination is stunted and you just gotta spit out something silly.

=======================

[Diluc]

Any beloved pet owned by Master Diluc would be under the most high quality and meticulous treatement. Mostly for cats since they tend to be calm while elegant...to some extent. If they were dogs then he'll ensure that they also serve as a partner for sniffing out trouble such as a certain bard who'd might've sneaked into the wine cellars. But you weren't either, so to say, you were both a beloved AND a cat.

As he picks you up gently into his arms, Diluc would be a little baffled on what to do next. He has no idea how to care for delicate creatures as he never had one (other than a pet tortoise but that's different) in which he needed to look for help. But who? The staff? Certainly not, no one can find out that his partner turned into a pet (imagine all the scandals he'll be in). Jean? Anything but the knights of Favonius. And most certainly not his brother.

So Diluc ends up figuring everything out by himself (old habits die hard). All the sweets and regular meals you craved were no long in your menu, you were forced to have a proper cat diet because he believed it was healthier. Half of the time he has no idea what he's doing, since you were a cat and all you could do was "meow" (which Diluc forgets. He tries to have a mundane conversation until you stare at him with feline eyes. That was when he remembered).

"What would you like for tonight's dinner, my love?"

"Meow." He has alot to learn.

Though Master Diluc often gets very tired and he attempts to take a quick nap before killing himself over the next set of duties. That is, until you could help it. Being a cat has it's furry and comfy advantages. So you leapt up to the bed as quietly as possible and onto the side of your lover, circling a few times to see if he was really asleep. When he was you snuggled close to keep him warm, hoping it would lull him into a rest even deeper. He slept like a baby.

~xx~

[Kaeya]

If the Cavalry Capatain were to own a pet, they would either be charmed by him or snaring their teeth because of his unreadable and suspicious aura. Animal instincts are quite powerful. But your case wasn't the latter, thankfully and he could feel himself growing fond of this new found relationship. Almost. What should he do with you now that you're a cat, Kaeya wonders.

Belly rubs and a lot of them. He absolutely adores the way your cute little nose scrunches up while he runs his fingers on the center of your tummy (though he knows when to stop, Kaeya is rather gentle with you nowadays). You found that he absolutely adores the shape of your nose, would pick you up and boop yours with his own somehow knows how to be his flirty self despite your unusual form.

There was this one incident where you saw something shiny flashing over the wall. Slowly you followed it as the bright dot moved futher and further away, evetually gaining speed. Little did you know it was Kaeya who was watching you swipe your little paws up and down against the wall while he was just cleaning his sword. How could he help it? You were often so headstrong and independent, now you were just an adorable little kitten that loves to play with yarn and shiny things. It backfired him though, now there were a bunch of scratchmarks marring the surfaces (which he had to pay for repairs).

Takes you out to Windrise so that you could get some fresh air (also for you to find somewhere else to shed your fur other than his humble abode). Kaeya sits back under a tree while you either chase a butterfly or start slapping against the dandelions (only sneeze when they fly into your face). He wasn't sure if you were aware of what you were doing right now, if you were then he'll have lots of things to talk about once you turn back into human. If not, then at least he had the opportunity to witness such a soft side coming from you.

~xx~

[Xiao]

If any animal were to go close towards the adeptus, they would run away. Xiao isn't very good at interacting with others, pets included, usually they would run into the alleyway or hide around the legs of their owners while he glaringly, blankly stares at them (Even though he wouldn't admit it, Xiao thinks to himself, how soft is cat fur?) Now he gets to touch your cat form and turns out that fur is very ticklish yet pleasant against his skin.

Would be the most awkward conversationalist, the poor yaksha was already terrible with his words (often coming out harsh so he prefers to either keep away or say nothing at all) and even with you sometimes, now it was almost impossible to communicate. Xiao is not very good at reading a cat's body language. When you want him to hold you again, you'd walk in circles. He assumes you were hungry and leaps out the window to go fetch some fish...for the nth time there was a pile of raw salmon stacking upon the floor. Xiao thinks that maybe salmon species weren't to your liking, hence he does out to find another one.

As he plays his flute, you'd magically doze off on his lap. (There was one thing that you both can communicate with at last). Slowly but surely, he comes to learn the different gestures you make for certain situations. You often rub yourself upon his leg which he had heard to be a cat's way of claiming their territory. That was when Xiao picks you up, FINALLY. Though the real reason why it took him this long was because he was hesitant to hold you. He never really held a pet so naturally he has no idea how to hold a cat. Ends up cradling you in his arms because it seemed to be a safer option <3

"I never thought I'd be able to hold you like this," Xiao softly says to your lazy form, observing the way your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, "But I...forget it. We can stay like this for the time being, if you'd like. If not, that's fine too."

You stay.

~xx~

[Albedo]

The only pets Albedo had were for his alchemic experiments (plus they were put in cages too). Fact be told, he would make a terrible pet owner with the lifestyle he has now. The alchemist would be so absorbent into his work that he'll most likely forget that he has someone to feed and by the time he realized it, they would have already starved to death. After hearing glass bottles crashing to the floor, Albedo bursts into the rooms as the smoke fills it completely, finding a cat lost between it. The cat was you. He knows because he made the potions.

Sometimes he'd a little too scientific for his own good. Albedo assumed that when you turned into a cat, you've gone into cat mode and ends up treating you as such. "No, don't go near any bodies of water. You wouldn't like it." He almost forgets that you were once human which is very much like him if you had to be honest. Though when he does find out that you still carried human traits, Albedo must find ways to adapt things to your liking.

He makes your food himself. He's not a cook but he sure is good at everything he does, even if it's something he never did before. This goes for other areas too such as the size of your bed, if you need a little couch to stay on or maybe some tools to play around. (The only time when he is a good pet owner). In his sketchbook he'd have a bunch of blueprints and contraptions of what to make next. There's something enjoyable when spoiling you, those little reactions when you're pleased, like the twitch of your whiskers or the lift of your tail. Albedo finds is very cute.

On top of all that, he could also make you a potion to turn you back into normal. It seemed that it was the last thing he thought of on the list. Albedo was too occupied with treating you like a cat that it all flew over his head until now. Time flies when you're having fun.

~xx~

[Zhongli]

Unlike Albedo, anyone who has Zhongli as a pet owner would be considered to be a very lucky animal. He radiates a calm and serene aura that gives the perfect environment to have infinite nap times. People look at this man and wonder why his pet never gives him any trouble, especially when cats were considered to be both fiesty and needy. But they just didn't know that the cat was you (not like it would make a difference, any animal would know that Zhongli was no ordinary man).

How on earth does he know what you're saying? Maybe it's because he was once an archon. You could meow and he knows exactly what you would like to snack on. You could tilt your head, he takes it that you were curious on what he was currently doing (which was exactly what you were wondering), you can say nothing at all yet as if he could read your mind, Zhongli comes over to pet you with his gloved hands.

"How can I tell? Indeed it is because you're my lover, of course. Throughout this time we spent together, I've come to learn the way you speak through your eyes. They seem to hold true no matter what form you take. It's rather comforting."

Though there were many moments where you sneak up behind Zhongli. His hair, his ponytail- so long. Must play with. As you jump up and down with his thin strand swings side to side, it'll take a few seconds for him to decipher what your were doing. The minute he turns around he catches you with his hands midair and laughs heartfully. Cats were very endearing creatures.

~xx~

[Childe]

Back home in Snezhnaya, Childe would probably have owned a dog or two. They were mostly meant for hunting purposes, big and large furry creatures with thick skin suitable to endure the harsh cold. He has dogs because cats hate him for some strange reason. They either hiss or snootly turn their backs on him, one time he picked one up as a kid but his face bleeding after the cat scratched him with their paws. But of course you wouldn't do that to him. You would never~ he was your cutie pie anyways.

He was an obnoxious hugger, not gentle at all. Childe forgets his strength as a human man and when he squeezes you tightly against his chest, you'd spike out on all ends because by the archons, you're suffocating. But it was your fault for feeling so comfy and warm! Similar to Kaeya, they're both obnoxious but Childe deemed himself to be even worse. He'd rub his face against yours, commenting on how sensitive it sways. Tonia once told him that she wanted a pet cat instead, maybe he should also bring you back to his homeland now.

Yes he would love to play with you. Bring in the cat toys...or not. This was the eleventh Fatui Harbinger, what were you thinking? Normal cat activities? Not here. He's gonna teach you how to hunt like how he taught his dogs to hunt in Snezhnaya. You gave him the most deadpanned and dissapointed look with your large feline glare. Not only was he disliked by cats but he certainly was not good with them.

Though he can take it down a notch sometimes and just indulge in relaxing activities. When there was nothing else for him to do or when he was just tired after a productive day, he'd sit by the kitchen and you on top of the table. While you yawned and leaned down for a nap, Childe plays with the small of your paws to the soft edge of your nails. If he taps your nose, your whiskers twitch. Your ears are nice, maybe he should get you a headband version once you turned back to human.

You immediately wake up when he touches your tail.

~xx~

[Venti]

Achoo!

You sometimes wonder how is it that the anemo archon was able to live through 2000 years without getting beaten up by a cat. If andrius was a large cougar than a wolf, maybe he wouldn't be an archon now. Which is why you are to stay miles far far away from him unless you want the whole of Mondstadt to be blown away by the wind.

Wears a mask (as if this were the covid19 pandemic), although it doesn't take away all his problems, at least it'll minimize it. Venti always has a box of tissues ready but you can tell by the puffiness of his eyes that he's been sneezing alot. He really tries his hardest to pitch in every once in a while when Albedo was working on a cure for you to go back to normal. Though acts as if he was quarantined by staying all the way at the other side of the room.

"Ahahaha don't mind me. It's your local bard of Mondstadt dropping by to see how things are going. I wanna make sure how long it will take for you to make the potion? Just curious!"

No hugs, cuddles or anything involving close proximity. This makes Venti very pouty and impatient. Albedo finds it very hard to concentrate with all the sniffling and sneezing that he had no choice but to kick him out. It didn't help that the location was Dragonspine, now he was sneezing even more.

[lovelybucky1]

where do i start? i’m artemis, or lovelybucky as most people know me. i started this blog a little over a month ago in the hopes of getting out of my writing slump and to allow myself more freedom with the content i create, and look where i am now! i never expected to get this far, and i’m beyond grateful for all of you. whether you follow for my marvel content or my criminal minds (or something else), thank you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me.

in honor of this milestone, i will be hosting a writing challenge that lasts the entire month of august. under the cut is 31 songs to choose from, as well as a line or two from them. i will be writing one each day, but you could write as little or as many as you’d like!

rules

you must be 18+ to participate. whether your fic has smut or not, my blog does not allow minors

your fic can be any rating, any length and contain any tropes you want! smut and dark fics are permitted, i just request that you give proper warnings at the beginning of the fic

your fic does not need to contain the lyric given below, or any other lyric, but it does need to be inspired by the song in some way

after the challenge is complete, i will be putting all of the fics onto a masterlist. use #lovelybucky1’s 500 and tag me so i can find your fic and add it

there is no limit on how many people can do each prompt. you can do all of them if you choose, or only one, it will still be featured on the masterlist

please view the pinned post on my blog for more through guidelines on why type on content (specifically smut) is permitted. if your fic contains any of the things on the list, it will not be included on the masterlist.

characters

you can write about any character from marvel or criminal minds, as well as ships between characters. the characters below are non-marvel or criminal minds that are accepted.

jefferson (once upon a time)

ransom drysdale (knives out)

lance tucker (the bronze)

andy barber (defending jacob)

ari levinson (red sea diving resort)

tj hammond (political animals)

chip taylor (68 kill)

charles blackwood (we have always lived in the castle)

laszlo kreizler (the alienist)

if you have another character that you’d like to write about, send me an ask or a dm!

lastly, if you are going to participate in this challenge, i’d appreciate if you reblogged this post to spread the word and get others involved!

prompts under the cut

Youth- Troye Sivan “My youth is yours, Runaway now and forevermore”

Mad Hatter- Melanie Martinez “You think I'm crazy, you think I'm gone, So what if I'm crazy? All the best people are”

Woman- Harry Styles “I'm selfish, I know, But I don't ever want to see you with him”

Cherry- Harry Styles “Don't you call him what you used to call me”

Black Sheep- Metric “Our common goal was waiting for the world to end”

Dirty Little Secret- All American Rejects “I'll keep you my dirty little secret, Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret”

Take Me to Church- Hozier “I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”

Cold Hard Bitch- Jet “Cold hard bitch, Just a kiss on the lips, And I was on my knees, I'm waiting, give me”

Self Esteem- the offspring “Now I know I should say no, But it's kind of hard when she's ready to go”

Motion Sickness- Phoebe Bridgers “I hate you for what you did, And I miss you like a little kid”

Somebody Told Me- The Killers “Well somebody told me you had a boyfriend, Who looked like a girlfriend, That I had in February of last year”

Carolina- Harry Styles “She's a good girl, She feels so good”

New Perspective- Panic! at the Disco “You come along because I love your face, And I'll admire your expensive taste”

Dress- Taylor Swift “Carve your name into my bedpost, 'Cause I don't want you like a best friend”

Bad Idea- Girl in Red “It was a bad idea, To think I could stop, Was such a bad idea, I can't get enough”

Kiwi- Harry Styles “And now she's all over me, it's like I paid for it, It's like I paid for it, I'm gonna pay for this”

This Love- Taylor Swift “This love is good, This love is bad, This love is alive back from the dead”

Teardrops On My Guitar- Taylor Swift “I'll bet she's beautiful, that girl he talks about/And she's got everything that I have to live without”

Red- Taylor Swift “Touching him was like/Realizing all you ever wanted was right there in front of you”

Illicit Affairs- Taylor Swift “Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me/You showed me colors you know/I can't see with anyone else”

Wonderland- Taylor Swift “And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad”

Wet- Dazey and the Scouts “It's so depressing how the tear ducts in my eyes/Are so much wetter than the space between my thighs”

Nicotine- Panic! at the Disco “I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you/So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do”

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things- Taylor Swift “It was so nice being friends again/There I was giving you a second chance/But you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand”

False God- Taylor Swift “The altar is my hips/Even if it's a false god”

Scotty Doesn’t Know- Lustra “Fiona's got him on the phone/And she's trying not to moan/It's a three-way call and he knows nothing”

I Hate Everything About You- Three Days Grace “I hate everything about you/Why do I love you?”

Rebel Girl- Bikini Kill “Rebel girl, rebel girl/I think I wanna take you home/I wanna try on your clothes”

I Love You Like an Alcoholic- The Taxpayers “One last kiss, I need you like I need a broken leg.”

Hey Stephen- Taylor Swift “Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling/So I've got some things to say to you”

Two Ghosts- Harry Styles “Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat”

[happi-tree]

Sixteen

Hello, lovebirds! Here’s a bit of fic that I wrote inspired by @shima-draws‘ BNHA Distortion Link AU from Nexus’ POV! Check out her blog for more info about it. I’ll put the fic under a read more, so continue on if you’re interested! TW for blood and vague, semi-graphic descriptions of corpses.

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when his world is ripped out from underneath his feet. 

He awakens to silence - not the peaceful quiet of early mornings that he has become long accustomed to, but to a sheer and utter absence of sound. Not a whisper of birdsong, not a single utterance of cacophony caused by the morning commute traffic in Musutafu. The quiet is eerie, anticipatory, waiting to be shattered, and Izuku gets the distinct feeling that he’s the final character in some horror flick. 

His alarm clock blares “The morning is here!” again in a robotic facsimile of All Might’s voice. Izuku startles, badly, slamming his hand down on the alarm to silence it. A breeze outside grows in intensity, slamming into the walls. The ticking of clocks, the groaning of a house in its death throes, and the rushing of blood in Izuku’s ears are the only sounds now. 

Something is very wrong.

Izuku picks his way across the room to his window, lifting the blinds, and nearly retches at what he sees.

The streets aren’t clogged with cars or buses; the sidewalks are vacant of pedestrians. Instead, the concrete is dyed red with blood, puddles of it seeping into potholes, into gutters. Bodies, for as long as the eye can see, line the walkways and the asphalt at irregular intervals, their eyes unseeing, their mouths open in shock, their forms contorted and still in pools of burgundy-ebony. Newly deceased, the analytic, detached part of Izuku’s brain observes, noting the absence of stench and lack of buzzing flies. 

As much as Izuku desperately wants this to be some horrible nightmare, he knows deep in his bones that this is all too terribly real.

And then he looks up.

Up to the sky, where his fated enemy is silhouetted against the soot-stained crimson of dawn, wreathed in clouds of smoke like the angel of death incarnate. But Izuku knows that this man is far from angelic - there is no mercy in these deaths, no just judgement present in any fiber in his body as he hovers, gloatingly, backlit by the red-orange sun. 

All for One, in all his age, has never been a creature of compassion.

With the taste of bile and ash in his mouth, Izuku frantically grabs his hoodie from where it lays across the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. Throwing open his closet door, he pulls on the boots of his Hero costume, barely managing to fumble their laces into a proper knot and swiping his gloves from where they sit draped over his tool belt. 

One for All rockets to the surface of his skin within milliseconds, his racing heartbeat and heightened anxiety calling the Quirk to activation in record time, and Izuku breaks down the front door of his house, sprinting into the streets of the world on its final day with eight souls singing across the lightning in his veins.

It is not enough.

-

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when he opens his eyes to the Beyond for the first time. 

The confusion only lasts for a few moments before memories - billions of them, thoughts that are not his, were never meant to be his - shove themselves into his still-growing mind, flooding his neurons until they threaten to combust. All at once, Izuku knows where he is. Izuku knows what happened to his world; rather, the world that was once his.

Now, Izuku knows everything, and it is with absolute, mind-numbing certainty that he knows that his universe is gone.

He is the sole survivor, the lone occupant of this plane of in-betweens, where both nothing and everything is real. He feels at once impossibly heavy and weightless, power sitting leaden in his bloodstream, pulsating in time with his paradoxically-beating heart, countless lives weighted and compressed upon his mind, their taste like copper on his tongue. 

Tears flow freely from his eyes, saline globules suspended in the not-air of the Beyond as he weeps and as he feels. Seven billion lifetimes of emotions flash through his mind’s eye like an old film reel, impossibly fast, impossibly hard to differentiate. Love and heartbreak and joy and sorrow and anger and contentment and longing and desperation and too many other feelings to name overcome him, and Izuku cries out, his strangled voice the only sound amidst the deep shifting colors of the void, utterly human and utterly alone. 

Even heroes need to cry, sometimes, Todoroki’s voice seems to whisper to him, and Izuku’s body wrenches with the force of his sobbing, clinging to himself and wishing beyond anything for the phantom comfort of a friendly hand upon his shoulders. 

How can I ever call myself a Hero when I failed my entire universe?

After a time - perhaps seconds, perhaps centuries - Izuku’s cries pitter out, and he straightens enough that his feet find contact with something solid. Opening his eyes once more, he finds that his tears, spheres of liquified crystal, lay suspended across the not-space, twinkling like so many stars. For all the pain that they had caused him, Izuku finds beauty in their sorrow, trying not to tear up again as he thinks of the shifting constellations of his homeland, their lights forever extinguished. 

The memories threaten to overturn his mind again, but Izuku holds firm, pushes past the grief and the sorrow. He is the sole occupant of the Beyond, the Nexus, a realm that oversees every universe, every timeline. The weight of countless worlds rests on his shoulders now, and Izuku cannot allow himself to crumble beneath it any longer. Infinite power - so much that the feeble, human part of his mind can scarcely begin to comprehend its beginning or its end - resides in his soul, stitched into the fabric of his being. 

<If I could not be the Hero my own world needed,> Izuku speaks into the void, curling his hands into fists, <maybe I can be the Hero that the rest of them deserve.>

So many lives are in need of protection, in need of saving. And now, here I am, with the power to look after every single one of them. What kind of Hero would I be if I didn’t use this power to help them? For the first time in a long time, Izuku laughs - a hollow, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

<Plus ultra.> Izuku says to the unspeaking, unblinking void. He cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and then gets to work overseeing the multiverse. 

-

Midoriya Izuku is still 16 years old when he feels the first disturbance in the Beyond. 

The new presence feels scarcely like a blip on his radar, as quick and meaningless as the blink of an eye. But after centuries and centuries of absolutely nothing, a spark of excitement - an emotion almost foreign to him, now - makes itself known in the cavity of his chest, bright and white-hot. Alongside it, an equally strange feeling: hope. 

The fabric of the Beyond bends itself around him, malleable and fluid as it bows to his whims and carries him to the source of the disturbance.

Izuku watches as a corner of his world blurs green. A figure, human, falling endlessly, glitching in and out between this plane and the one to which they belong. Reaching out with his mind, Izuku nearly reels back in shock with what he discovers.

Because the figure trapped between realms is him.

Well, one of him, Izuku should say. Across the multiverse are countless Midoriya Izukus. For whatever reason, this one seems to have gotten himself into a bit of trouble.

A constant for all Izukus, getting into trouble, he muses as his other semi-conscious self falls infinitely. 

Probing further, it looks like this particular Izuku is from a world quite similar to his own. Time slows, solid in his grasp, to allow him to decipher the teal of his Hero outfit, bits of blood scattered across his freckles from a previous fight. Clearly, this Izuku had no intention of coming here, and is likely feeling very out of sorts. How he got here in the first place is a wonder, but not for long.

Memories of his double flash through his mind. The patrol assignment. Uraraka, Todoroki, Ojirou, Shigaraki, Kurogiri’s faces come to mind in consecutive flashes, and his knees nearly buckle at the sight of their familiarity. One for All activating in tandem with Kurogiri’s portal, disturbingly reminiscent of the moment that ripped the fabric of his homeland apart.

Ah, there it is.

Izuku’s power comes to grasp the connection tethering his doppelgänger to the Beyond, and he hears a gasp. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. Not that Izuku has ever seen this happen before, but he has the sinking feeling that shoving his other self back into his own universe will not erase the connection entirely. There’s something wild about it, unstable. Dangerous.

Izuku walks closer to his double’s side, time grinding to a halt.

<I’m sorry for this, but you’ll likely see more of me,> he says to himself, taking in the other Izuku’s gaping expression and wide eyes, imprinting the familiar lines of his Hero suit into his vision alongside the spattering of freckles and the smears of dirt. 

<For now, though, I’ll try to get you home. You’re doing so well, you know. I’ve been watching.>

Gently, Izuku presses a fingertip to his doppelgänger’s forehead and watches as he reappears through the tear into his own timeline.

A universe away, provisional Hero Deku returns to his friends with shaking hands, a phantom warmth between his brows, and an odd feeling of recognition in his chest.

-

Nexus is 16 years old when he sees the sky again for the first time in millennia. 

[tobiosmilktea]

where orchids grow — kageyama tobio

2.1k words | genre/s: hanahaki!au, angst, hurt/comfort | warning/s: mentions of death, mentions of depression | pairing/s: kageyama x reader, platonic!tsukishima x reader

↪︎ in which an innocent little crush led to your downfall

a/n: i wrote this almost a year ago when i first started this blog. i thought the writing was really mediocre so it has been sitting in my drafts ever since,, BUT it’s finally getting to see the light of day cause i’m cleaning out my drafts :)✨ pls be easy on this one ewbd

it haunted you in your dreams, squeezing and grasping and clutching at your lungs until your final breath gave way–until they shriveled up into nothing as flower-torn chest had killed you. well... not yet at least.

no matter the amount of effort you had put into suppressing your feelings for the setter until it was nothing but a withered memoir, you couldn’t help but lay upon your bed, restless, as you recalled the flashing images of bloodied flowers that had been freshly thrown up from your lungs earlier this evening. you liked to think you’ve learned to control your emotions and feelings around kageyama well enough that the aching feeling of growing flora in your chest wouldn’t effect you that much, but of course the feeling was still evident. however, it was earlier this evening when the setter split half of his meat bun for you after a practice game and the sheer look of care and admiration in his eyes forced a rose to travel up your esophagus.

it was so horrifyingly beautiful, a disease growing flowers within its host, wrapping until it plants itself to the point of rupturing the owner’s heart and lungs due to unrequited love. you hated it—despised for that matter as the memories of your past self screeching in pain and heaving to breathe. your face turned alabaster.

your heart thudded against your rib cage as the feeling of suffocation of chrysanthemums, daises, roses, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dandelions echoed within you. your hand rested upon your chest. the feeling of such ghosted atop your rib cage where you could faintly feel the growing stems of flowers and weeds.

there was an evident aching within your heart that wasn’t from hanahaki, rather from the thought of how brutal it was caused an immense pain to compete with the actual disease. the first incident of you throwing up bloodied flowers was the moment you got home one day. you were walking home with kageyama after hinata went ahead as he had his bike with him, leaving you two to your own demise (he had a little hunch about your feelings for the raven-haired boy, but he never bothered to confirm it). it was then you two reached the entrance to your house in which you two bid a farewell. you were so enthralled with how beautiful he looked with his dark blue eyes that shined thousands of stars.

it was game over for you.

you stumbled through your front door to which your mother worriedly asked if you were okay. you could barely mutter out a response as the roses and daises and chrysanthemums fought their way out of your system, throwing up your one-sided feelings in hues of thick crimson and hollow chests. 

from then on, you had routine check ups at the hospital. in fact, you had an entire team of doctors taking care of you due to how rare the condition is. you see, hanahaki disease only occurs to those so massively in love with another, whose feelings can compete against the strongest love of all, that a simple little crush wouldn’t cause all this commotion. unfortunately, friendly love wasn’t enough to ease her homemade raptures.

they also said it was long term illness, well... long term taking into account how well you can endure the pain. occasionally there are those who can endure the pain their entire lives, yet there are the majority who simply die from the excruciating pain within a few months. the only true way to cure yourself from hanahaki was to either get kageyama to match your feelings or to get surgery to remove the constantly growing flora.

the thing is with surgery is that the moment you get it, your feelings for that person completely disintegrate. you can you no longer feel the same love as it is permanently gone. you can never regain those feelings ever again.

that was the fact that scared you the most.

despite knowing you can no longer take the pain and that you needed this surgery, there was a twinge of hope within your aching psyche that perhaps there was a chance. a chance that kageyama tobio would look at you for once that wasn’t just a friendly gaze. a look in which he would come to realize that he was in love with you. and because of this, you endured the pain a little longer.

the only downside was that no one else besides your family knew about your condition. not even your friends. and yet, with most secrets that are difficult to keep, eventually it will get out. tsukishima found out sooner than you’d had hoped.

you and tsukishima shared the same class and one day kageyama had visited your classroom during lunch, giving you his favorite milk from the vending machine as payback for helping out the volleyball club and with tutoring. it then when you felt your cheeks burning cherry red and the infamously familiar sting within your lungs. he then gave tsukishima a melon bun that he owed and the moment kageyama walked away, the blonde middle blocker immediately noticed the pain written across your face.

you pushed the carton of milk in his hands when you dashed down the hallways towards the restroom. fortunately, you were able to make it in time, locking yourself down in one of the stalls and profusely throwing up sticky and bloody flowers with hot streaming tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. you immediately wiped them up. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this.

you flushed the toilet and watched the water turn red to clear when it went down the drain. you sighed, leaving the stall and looking upon yourself at the mirror. you looked absolutely terrible. from the dark circles under your eyes from nights filled with insomnia due to the aching pain, to your eyes still red from sobbing in the stall, and now to your hollow cheeks.

and because of the constant radiating pain, it became increasingly difficult for you to eat proper meals, leading for you to loose an unhealthy amount of weight. yachi was the first one to notice the sudden weight loss and the constant state of indifference. she knew there was something wrong, but she was too afraid to ask you. eventually, she asked if you were depressed one day and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

afte leaving the restrooms, you were surprised to see taukishima waiting outside the doors and you were immediately trapped. the harsh glare staring down at you and his more than worried voice eventually led you to finally confessing what was wrong with you. and for the first time in your life, you’ve never seen the middle blocker so worried and caring. that his usually harsh demeanor and signature teasing remarks were softened because the thought of losing you scared him deeply. besides yamaguchi and yachi, you were the closest friend he had and he would hate to lose one his friends.

he would often ask you, “are you considering the surgery?” to which you wouldn’t know the answer to and that you were still waiting for the rare chance kageyama could’ve like you back.

it surprised you the sudden look of disappointment that etched across his bespectacled face.

during practice or during games where you suddenly get coughing attacks whenever you were around kageyama and talking to him, it was tsukishima who would immediately pull you away from the others and take care of you. he was the one to help you clean you after yourself and wipe your tears. eventually, the rest of the school believed you two were a couple.

however, there was the day were the pain was too insufferable. you had hanahaki for six months at this point where the disease would get into the most dangerous stages that one day you called tsukishima up one and finally made the decision.

“i’m tired of waiting, kei.” you muttered harshly as your voice was getting more and more hoarse each day. it was getting worse. you two sat nonchalantly on some random playground swings. the sun was setting and the blond was carefully gazing at your eyes that was soaked in honey. “i’m getting the surgery this weekend and I want you to come and take care of me.”

“of course.” 

it felt like everything was going to be okay when he said that.

you woke up to hush chattering, as if a a big group was in the room trying to speak softly, yet failing to do so.

“guys she’s awake!” a voice exclaimed. It sounded like hinata.

suddenly a whole herd of volleyball players came surrounding your bed, their expressions had looks of smiley relief melted upon their faces as they didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. the poor nurses could barely get past the towering high school kids as the thought of you being okay was more than enough to fuel their adrenaline.

“i’m glad you’re okay now, (y/n).” sugawara beamed at you.

“yeah!” cut in tanaka loudly, “i can’t bare to lose my favorite first year all because of a stupid crush!”

your eyes suddenly widen. the rush of fear and worry filled you as you looked at tsukoshima who was standing at the end of your hospital bed.

“i had to tell them, they were threatening me.” he scoffs lightly.

“we don’t know who your crush was though, so you’re okay!” added nishinoya who patted your shoulder gently.

daichi then cleared his throat, capturing the team’s attention. “we should probably go and let to the nurses take care of her. we have practice too.”

the room was suddenly filled with loud ‘yes, captains!’ as they all piled out of the room, leaving only kageyama to stray behind slightly. tsukishima looked at the you two briefly before closing the door. this was something that you and tobio had to discuss.

there was a feeling of soreness atop your chest, possibly from the stitch that ran down your center of your torso that was in the process of healing. tbe tall setter approached your bedside, scratching the back of his neck. usually whenever you looked at kageyama an itchy feeling would arise in your throat and your chest would feel tight, and yet the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt nothing.

“tsukishima told me what happened,” he starts. the initial fear of confrontation diminished into nothing but acceptance. you couldn’t hide your previous feeling forever. “you should’ve told me.”

you sighed, “i was going to... but then i started getting the symptoms and i knew that there was no point in telling you when you didn’t feel the same way.”

“but if you told me, maybe there was a chance i would’ve helped you get better.” the setter tried to state, only making you want to roll your eyes and scoff.

shaking your head, you pulled your hand out of his. “that’s not how it works, kageyama. your fake feelings would only make it worse and i don’t want to be with someone who’s dating me out of pity.”

“but i don’t pity you, i—”

“it doesn’t matter, now.” you shook your head and cut him off, “you don’t have to worry because the surgery removed my feelings for you permanently. you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore.”

kageyama gulps, nodding as straighten his posture. “but i almost killed you.”

“i’m here now, aren’t i? i’m okay.”

the setter still couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten and his gut wrench. “are we still friends despite all this?”

you nod. “of course, that’s not even a question.”

before their conversation could continue, one of the nurses knocked upon the door and opened it slightly. “sorry to interrupt, but all visitors must leave now. the visiting time is up.”

“oh, alright.” the volleyball player swiftly bows and waves goodbye to you before leaving the hospital room.

he cleared his throat the moment he stepped into the hallway, all uncomfortable and itchy. quickly catching up with the rest of his teammates that waited for him at the entrance, he quickly grabbed a water cup from the waiting room and gulped down its contents immediately—yet the feeling didn’t stop.

“kageyama, hurry we need to get to practice.” hinata calls out to him.

drinking one last cup of water in the desperation to heal his scratchy throat, he threw the disposable cup aside.

“i’m coming!” yet his voice was far too hoarse to be heard.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea

[bjy-on-ao3]

Fic Friday: Respite

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Been playing a lot of FFXIV lately, so of course all the handsome men from it are taking up space in my head. I’ve written for a couple before in short form for Kinktober, but this is my first official one-shot for anything FFXIV. Took a good deal of cutscene study to pick up proper word usage/speech patterns, but I also got to listen to Aymeric, so that’s a plus.

Summary The Warrior of Light looks forward to some relaxation of sorts with their favorite denizen of Ishgard upon returning from an adventure.

Tags/Warnings Consensual Sex, Creampie, Established Relationship, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Sex

Respite (F! WoL Reader/Aymeric de Borel)

Upon returning from yet another duty - the list of tasks both mundane and daunting assigned to you seemed insurmountable sometimes  - you were looking forward to the hospitality oft afforded you in Ishgard. Hospitality likely borne from all the aid you had lent them and your standings with many prominent figures of Ishgardian society, but hospitality nonetheless. Of course, there was a particular hospitality you were most greatly anticipating, and it was that which you would tend to first.

You began by asking some of the stationed soldiers if the Lord Aymeric was in. Several of them had no clue, leaving you increasingly frustrated. Eventually though, you came across a man who could confirm that, yes, the Lord Commander had recently returned from some business and instructed you where you might find him.

So off you set, with a renewed spring in your step and a trembling anticipation that was a struggle to contain. It was obvious even to simple passersby how much more your mood had changed compared to when you had initially returned to the city, particularly brighter than after questioning the previous soldiers. Excitement overflowing or not, you tried to contain yourself, managing to not break out into a sprint through the stone cobbled streets and alarm the city folk.

At last, you pushed open the last doors you expected to separate you and your reunion with the Lord Commander. The sight of the man in all his armored elegance greeted you immediately, and you tried to the stifle a grin. For a split second, Aymeric de Borel remained unaware of your presence, engaged in conversation with an Ishgardian official you didn't recognize off the top of your head.

The sound of the doors and your boots on the ground though drew the attention of both elezen swiftly, however, and they glanced towards the interruption. You noticed a nearly imperceptible flicker in Aymeric's stunningly blue eyes as he saw who had arrived. But he was practiced in self-restraint, too, and the shift in his eyes had been all that spoke of his truest emotions. The smile that curled his lips, while pleasant, held the warmth acceptable of the standard pleasantries expected of him.

"Have I come at a bad time? I can return later, if must needs be," you said tentatively.

You knew Aymeric would be loath to turn you away - he hadn't seen you in several weeks thanks to various business that preoccupied either of you. Though you knew he took his responsibilities seriously, and you also didn't want to interrupt anything important.

Aymeric shook his head gently. "We were nearly done. You needn't go," Aymeric informed you, turning back to the other man. "Pray, keep me informed. I look forward to word of progress in the near future," he said with a respectful bow of his head.

With an agreeing nod and a few more words you didn’t bother to try to catch, the other man turned to take his leave. You moved aside courteously so as not to bar his way, and the pair of you exchanged cursory passing pleasantries. Then he was gone, leaving only you and Aymeric in the chamber.

Once Aymeric was certain you were alone, the initial spark of excitement you had spied in his eyes grew many fold, the blue tumultuous as stormy seas in his mirth. You hadn't doubted for a single ilm Aymeric would be happy to see you, but seeing the warmth and sparkle in his eyes was always reassuring. "I've news for you of my latest task," you started, tone level and business-like. A flash of disappointment darted across Aymeric's face at the prospect you had dropped by merely for the sake of business alone, as often the case unfortunately was.

"Though I find myself rather...tired from the trip. Would my Lord allow me a brief respite before my report?" you inquired, tone growing more coy. It was a bald-faced lie that you were tired, laced with an underlying subtle hint. A hint you doubted would go over Aymeric's head.

"Ah, of course. Come, come, allow me to escort you somewhere you might lie down for a time," he responded with a gentle sweep of one hand, moving closer to you. He lay a hand over your shoulder, as if to guide you in the right direction.

In the public eye, Aymeric might not even have laid that same light hand on you, appearances mattering as they did. You had shared many a more-than-pleasant private moment, yet still it seemed imperative that what you shared remained hidden from the rest of the world. And as much as a part of you would have loved to declare your affections for Aymeric to the very streets of Ishgard and all who might listen, you didn't mind keeping things quiet.

You fell in step with Aymeric, or as much as you could with his long strides, the featherlight touch on your shoulder settling just a bit heavier, slender fingers splaying more relaxed over you. As you went, you made a quip here or there, telling snippets of a story from one of your more fun adventures, knowing how well Aymeric enjoyed them. True be told, you did actually have business that required reporting at some point, but it wasn't urgent, so it could wait.

Several minutes whiled away as you spoke, taking in the subtle smile on Aymeric's lips that made your own grow with each moment and getting lost in the man before you, as you were wont to do in his presence. You came to another set of solid wooden doors and paused. Aymeric, gentleman as he was, quickly pushed them open before you, with a slight 'after you' motion. You took the invitation, walking into the room, certain to put a sway in your step, knowing he would watch all the way.

Following, Aymeric sealed the doors behind you, turning locks into place and double-checking they were secure. Too many close calls and interruptions had made the both of you wary of ensuring doors were actually locked. If an emergency occurred, they could very well tell either of you through the door - without catching you in a compromising position.

Satisfied the locks were secured tight, he turned to you, and the sparkling cheer in his vivid blue eyes darkened, pleasant still, but intense and a more raw. You made no move towards Aymeric, acting as if the act of fussing with various straps and buckles of your gear was far more interesting. Or mostly, at least. Aymeric seemed entertained enough watching you make slow progress, though wasn’t content only to watch for long.

"Might I lend a hand?" he asked, making his way toward you again. You huffed exaggeratedly and feigned ignoring the Lord Commander further. "Though perhaps you would rather struggle and do away with what little time we possess," he ribbed in a playful voice.

Arriving by your side, he didn't wait for your permission before he set to work assisting you, holding bits of leather or cloth or metal in place to make removing them easier or making quick work of various buckles and ties. With Aymeric's help it wasn't long before you were standing in the room - which you observed was a warmly decorated room appearing to be one of the more affluent guest rooms - hidden scarcely by your small clothes.

Aymeric didn't follow suit at first, instead reaching out toward you, while you, too, pressed yourself in closer, now free of your restrictive adventuring gear. Large hands spread across your back and over your rear, pulling you flush. The touch of his ornate armor plates here and there was cold, as if they had trapped the frigid air from outside, and you couldn't help but shudder. You quickly brushed off the sensation, in favor of leaning into Aymeric's embrace until your face hovered next to his.

There was a moment that internally went on forever until your lips met, in a way far more eager and passionate than before. It had been some time since you met the Lord Commander for a private moment, and all the pent-up desire came pouring out as soon as his fingers brushed over your skin and small clothes. Aymeric, too, seemed eager, but showed more restraint all the same. Sometimes his restraint was admirable, and you were jealous, though other times you wished, nay, longed for him to throw his restraint to the winds.

As you kissed, beginning mostly closed but fervent and a bit messy, Aymeric's hands stroked in light lines and circles over the skin and cloth they rested on, making you squirm impatiently. You grabbed handfuls of the cloth of his armor and tugged lightly, as if to convey your frustration at how he was still dressed head-to-toe.

A smile twisted your kiss, and he took the lead to deepen it, distracting your grasping hands. He relished your impatience and enthusiasm, even if he more oft than not didn't give into it immediately, even when your time together was fleeting. But it was always worth it in the end.

In an ardent rush of motion, you were suddenly beside the bed, with Aymeric urging you down to the sheets. He followed you down, though didn't immediately join you on the bed. You whined plaintively when he separated from the kiss and took a step back from the bedside, taking his warm touch with him. Your noise of complaint was silenced effectively though as he worked through discarding his own armor.

After a process that took far too long in your eyes and asked too much of your patience - or lack thereof - Aymeric had stripped away the pauldrons and plates and cloth, carefully setting it all aside. Left only in his own small clothes, through which you could easily see his arousal strain, he at last joined you on the sheets. You moved up and back until you lay more securely on the sheets. Meeting you at the head of the bed, Aymeric pressed himself over top of you, his lips crashing back to yours.

In that moment Aymeric's admirable restraint frayed somewhat, as if he had shucked it off along with his armor. His lips pushed against yours more fervidly, his tongue trailing your lips and slipping between them when given the chance. You groaned, more than pleased to meet him in a twisting, passionate dance. Strong hands clasped you by the wrists when you moved to wrap your arms around him and you whined again.

When Aymeric broke the kiss again, it was to tip his head up and laugh gently, a warm, soft sound that made you shiver and rub your thighs together. "My, what troubles you, my love?" he asked, pretending an innocence that was ruined by the low, sultry timbre of his voice.

Half-lidded eyes stared down at you with a burning, affectionate intensity you had seen before. Even before you had come together, you had caught glimpses of it in Aymeric's eyes, mistaking it at first for only the admiration between friends and warriors-at-arms. But you could see it now for what it truly was. Between it and the desire making Aymeric's eyes dark and stormy, your breath nearly caught in your throat. But you shook off the awed stupor, focus returning to Aymeric's question.

Your lips curled into a pout before you spoke. "However can I touch you like this?" you complained, pushing against his unyielding grasp as if to emphasize your words.

Another amused, rich laugh met your question. "Ah, but you well know how your touch affects me," Aymeric rumbled. He dipped down until his lips ghosted the shell of your ear. "Pray, grant me some dignity, won't you, my dearest?"

You shivered again, snaring your lower lip between your teeth and biting down as if it might quiet the heat and pulse growing in your underwear. You freed it quickly when the hot touch of his tongue curled over your ear, followed by a coy nip on the lobe that made you gasp.

"Aa-alright, fine," you groaned out, bowing up unbidden into his body still pressed snugly to yours.

Your fingers flexed greedily, itching to break free and and draw your nails along his shoulders and back, or tug his lips back to yours to entangle you both in another mind-numbing kiss. But you yielded, making no attempt to escape his hold, and his grip shifted. Gathering both of your wrists in one large hand, the other was left to trail down your skin. A light touch dancing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, before pausing at the top of your small clothes.

Pulling the fabric down to free your chest, he set to massaging each breast in slow, almost lazy motions, lingering to brush a teasing thumb over steadily standing nipples. You groaned his name softly, closing your eyes and basking in the sensation, letting your head fall back against the pillows and arching up into him once more. You whimpered when he pushed back, letting you feel each hot, hard inch of his body, the most intimidate parts of you hid away by scant scraps of thin fabric.

Your eyes had fluttered shut without meaning to, so keen you were on relishing the feeling. When they fluttered back open and you met his gaze, another roiling wave of desire hit you square in the gut. There was something more intent, sharp, primal, smoldering in the desire-deepened irises and wide blown pupils as he watched you lose yourself in the pleasure he provided. You swallowed hard, stifling another pleasured coo, and a mischief of sorts flashed through the swirl of emotions in Aymeric's expression.

His hand on your chest slowed until it was toying with each nipple frustratingly lightly, alternating between the two. You squirmed and whined, craving the more thorough touch from before. Aymeric's new touch was pleasant, but the bare brushes and strokes made you feel  strangely over sensitive. You struggled reflexively against his grip again, not really trying to break free, whining his name in that same plaintive tone from before.

"Aymeric, was it not you who stated how short our time together is?" you tried to reason, knowing it was a wasted effort.

"Mm, it was, and I am enjoying such precious time to the utmost," he assured you. "Do you not share that sentiment, my dearest?" Aymeric added, as if daring you to speak otherwise.

Your face, already hot, flushed furiously further, equal parts flustered and frustrated from the game Aymeric was playing. He didn't enjoy teasing you quite so much, no, not so much as he enjoyed hearing how much you needed him in plain words. So he persuaded you to beg or demand of him what you wanted.

"Aymeric..." your tone was mock warning, serious but breathy, trying to deflect him half-heartedly, and hoping he would give you what he knew you wanted, but he wouldn't be so easily dissuaded.

He bent forward, continuing to teasingly massage your breasts, mouthing at the soft flesh of your throat and shoulders. "Tell me then what more you would ask of me?" he urged you. His teeth scraped against the column of your throat, and you groaned again.

By then, you were a ruin, skin abuzz with heat and desire and his fleeting touch. Your underwear felt damp and sticky, your arousal soaking it through, leaving an obvious wet spot on the cloth. Each little push sent you tumbling further and further, grinding down your resolve until you gave in at last.

"Pray, cease toying with me," you began to beg. "Fill me; I need to feel you inside of me, now. Nothing else will do," you finished, almost surprised at how thick the desire had made your voice. You tried to turn your head to reach Aymeric, to convince him more with what few kisses you could leave across his cheek and jaw despite being held down otherwise.You wriggled and ground your core against his needily, as if to prove your point. "Please, please."

"Who am to I deny you when you ask in a voice so divine?" Aymeric answered in a husky hush.

He released your wrists, though shot you a pinning stare that made you think twice about moving from your prostrate position. You settled for watching him sit up and move down your body, hooking his fingers beneath your underwear and dragging them down. You assisted as much as you could, and he discarded them to the side of the bed. Before removing his own underwear, he paused, dark eyes focusing on your newly revealed cunt, dripping and slick and inviting.

He drew one long finger up and down your slit until the digit was coated in your fluids. He withdrew it, raising it to his lips and somehow making a show of licking it clean seem refined. A deep, pleased hum rolled through him, and Aymeric turned to rid himself of the last article of clothing keeping him from you.

Just as your sopping cunt had drawn Aymeric's gaze, the sight of his erection, thick and hot and hard, crowned by a fat pearl of pre-cum. drew your attention. You licked your lips in anticipation, resisting with all you had to remain still and not sit up and reach for his cock. You wore that eagerness on your face readily, though, and another pleased laugh slipped from Aymeric's lips.

He shifted forward, covering your body with his again, though this time when his hips ground against yours, his erection slipped lewdly through your lips and you moaned; Half in the pleasure of feeling him so very close to the hottest part of you, half in anticipation, nearly shaking with it. But even though Aymeric had agreed to grant to your desires, his pace was leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, rather than hardly a bell to spare. One hand reached up again to bind your wrists, despite how obedient you had thus far been.

Aymeric's other hand strayed to your face, cupping your jaw between his fingers. He tilted your head until it lay at the perfect angle for him to seal your lips together again and drink deep of the passion between you. Your eyes fluttered closed again as his tongue swept coyly across your lips, persuading you to let him in.You were all too glad to let him though, and as he slid his tongue into your mouth to explore and dance once more, he eased his hips forward, too, until his cock breached your folds and pressed into your awaiting entrance.

You would have moaned his name in gratitude for at last fulfilling your desires, in appreciation for the delicious way his cock sank deeper inside, but with your mouth preoccupied, you settled for a wordless groan smothered by his lips and tongue. Though the sensation of him stretching your walls was what you had craved, a sweetly maddening fullness that you would think about again when your duties took you far from Ishgard, it stung as well. Aymeric was no small man, and his thick cock filling you ached in a way that somehow melded exquisitely with the pleasure.

His tongue swept up yours, beginning to writhe and twist as he rocked his hips steadily against you, eliciting yet more muffled moans. You bucked up into his thrusts, longing for him to fill you up all over again each time his cock retreated, leaving so much of you feeling empty. The heat in your body had reached a fever pitch, breaking out on your skin in a slick sheen of sweat, and Aymeric, despite all his slow, precise actions, fared little better. His skin pressing into yours was just as slippery and hot, adding to the obscene sound of your bodies meeting.

The steady rhythm of Aymeric's thrusts, though increasing in force as time wore on and whatever willpower he had left dissolved, unwound you slowly, but surely. Your fingers and toes curled and flexed, and your chest rose and fell more quickly, breaths shallow. Around his cock your walls squeezed just as eagerly and as desperately. A familiar coil of pressure and heat in your belly was hard to ignore, blocking out all coherent thought, leaving you to worry only about chasing the high that was so close within your reach.

Throughput your coupling, Aymeric had spent much time matching the thrust and twirl of his tongue to his rocking hips, as if in imitation. The kiss had grown sloppy, wet, and hot, and when he tore his lips from yours eventually, his breath came in hot pants along with yours. He placed several more needy, desperate kisses on your jaw and your neck, the ragged sound of his breath informing you he was nearly as close to losing himself as you. Though he seemed determined not to do so before dragging you there first.

"Come now, my dearest, I want to feel you come to completion," he breathed huskily into your ear, finally releasing your jaw as one long arm trailed down between your bodies.

You whimpered and moaned aloud, barely having the sense to bite down on your lip and stifle the bawdy noise, lest someone in the corridors outside hear. "Oh, Aymeric, I-I..." you trailed off, mouth hanging open and forming a wordless 'oh' as all the pressure and heat came to a head when his fingers stroked through your folds and massaged your clit.

All you could do then was repeat his name, over and over, a ragged, breathy pray under your breath, as if you might completely drift away from the mounting bliss if you didn’t speak it. The build up reached its limit, and the coil snapped, and Aymeric's lips descended on yours again to quiet you as you cried out in earnest, unable to stop yourself. The rush that flowed through your body was liquid heat, searing and tingling. Your digits curled so tightly they ached, and your cunt fluttered frantically around Aymeric's cock. The pull of your body and the instinctive roll of your hips against him were Aymeric's siren song, luring him to the point of no return.

His moans, low and feral, rolled through him and died on your tongue in a reflection of your own. He drove himself harder forward, as if he might sink even deeper, fingers still dancing over your clit and dragging out your orgasm. After several desperate thrusts that filled the room with the obscene smack of sweat-slicked flesh colliding, Aymeric met his peak and tumbled over, each new pump into your heat filling you with ropes of cum. He pumped himself into your core through your orgasm and his, his grasp on your wrists tightening enough to make you gasp and wince through your pleasure.

His pace died away smoothly, each thrust weakening after he spent himself within you, until he lay still atop you, a heaving, sweaty mess. He lay his head in the crook of your throat, damp strands of ebony hair clinging to his forehead and tickling your skin. The startlingly cool touch of the earring he wore brushed your overheated skin, and you weren't sure if the sensation was pleasant or not. Even spent, his cock took a time to soften, occasionally twitching inside of you and making you start each time.

He withdrew gingerly, and a stray trickle of cum seeped down your thigh. Rolling over off you and onto his back, Aymeric pulled you along with him, urging you to settle yourself against him. Drained and sated, you rest your head in the same hollow of his throat as he had done to you moments before, placing tired, half-hearted kisses there. Splaying your arms across his chest, you were tempted to close your eyes and slip into a peaceful sleep. Someday there would be time to relax and laze for bells on ends, but wasn't one of those times and your fun had nearly reached its end.

Beside you, Aymeric seemed to be fighting off the same need, though was coming to the same conclusions as you, too. There was much to be done, and it didn’t matter how badly he wanted to remain in bed beside you. But he would ignore those duties for just a little longer. He sighed softly, curling an arm around you and pulling you a little tighter to him.

[rosies-batim-blog]

So. It’s been a While.

Hey all, it’s been a while since I’ve actually posted anything to this blog, but Bendy has been on the brain for the past 24 hours and I’ve had a minor realization.

I never said what my intended ending for my Vampire Henry AU was. I’ve had a loose...  Outline?  Idea?  Of what I wanted for the ending for this story, but I just never got around to writing it out.  I figured that, since I’ve let this AU hang for so long, I may as well tell yall what would have been in store for everyone.

So Here’s How the Vampire Henry AU was gonna Go/End

Basically, Henry would gather all the remaining employees and the toons and try to figure out how to get everyone out.

Except, everyone is very insistent that they can’t leave.  That Joey did something to them/to the machine that keeps them from being able to escape.  But they’ve all come to the united decision that they need to at least get Henry out.  That he can still leave, and he should leave.  Before Joey gets the chance to trap him too.

Henry decides the only only way to get out, the only way to end all of this, is to finally confront Joey himself.  (Much to everyone else’s worry/horror.)  They try to talk him out of it, but he doesn’t listen/let them.

They don’t deserve what Joey’s done to them.  They shouldn’t have to suffer for whatever it is that Joey wanted to cause all this.

So he descends into the deepest parts of the studio  (since that’s where he’s been told Joey is)  with everyone he’s gathered following worriedly behind him.

(He’s also probably mentioned that he hasn’t eaten/fed since he came to Studio, and is honestly feeling pretty sick by now from how hungry he is.)

At first, Henry tries talking to Joey when he finds him.  (Hoping that his old friend might still be there, somewhere.)  Joey goes into a long, dramatic speech trying to get Henry to join/help him, even admitting to making a deal with a demon to do everything he’s done with the studio. As he goes, the vampire realizes something.

Henry comes to a simple (and very sad) realization while talking to the person who’s been at the root of all of this.

That’s not Joey.

It’s his face, it’s his voice, but the person in front of him isn’t Joey.  And it probably hasn’t been Joey for a very long time, and he says as much to the man.

He also says that he wants no part in this.  In any of this.

He’s not joining Joey’s mad scheme, not siding with any demons, not being part of this.  All he wants is for this to end.  To go home and live his life.

Joey isn’t happy to hear that.

A fight breaks out, (one befitting the whole “deal with a demon” thing), and that’s the first Joey learns that Henry is a vampire.

This is actually a really big problem for him.

Joey’s deal was basically him trading the souls of the people in the studio for his and Henry’s creations to come to life.

Originally, when Joey was still himself, Joey was completely willing to trade his own soul to bring the toons to life.  But the demon he summoned said they couldn’t take/use his soul for that. Saying he valued everyone else over himself, making his soul less valuable for the Deal.

The demon said he would still make the Deal, but it would come with some conditions.

Joey would need to the souls of all the founding/important humans of the studio to bring the toons to life (and glory to the studio as well.)

Unfortunately, the one “founder” he was missing was Henry.  So he called Henry there to try and finally finish the Deal to “fix” everything.  Which was best accomplished by killing Henry and taking his soul.  (Which is why everything is so twisted/dangerous/deadly when Henry gets there.)

Except, if Henry was a vampire, that couldn’t happen.

(Not sure if it means Henry doesn’t have a soul, if he still has a soul but it’s just not human anymore, or if just part of his soul is gone and that’s the problem.)

Upon realizing that, everything starts falling apart because now Joey can’t complete his Deal.  He can’t provide the final Human Soul needed to maintain/complete the Deal.

[I’m not actually sure what happens to Joey at this point.  Part of me wants to say that the demon takes his soul as a kind of punishment for not finishing the Deal,  him being tied to Henry in some way to make up for the harm he did  (no idea how,  but I can’t help feeling like this one could be pretty cruel depending on HOW is was done.  Like if he was made into a Thrall),  or something else.]

After the fight, everything starts to undo itself the staff turning back, the building changing back to how it was before the machine/demon twisted it. (Toons stay though!  Not sure how to justify it right now, but they are going to stay.)

And Henry collapses to the ground.  Because, without the adrenaline to distract him, his body has basically remembered that he’s starving to death at the moment.

He’s too starved and weak to even go feral by this point, and can’t do anything save himself.

Everyone is terrified, panicked, and doesn’t know what to do to help Henry.  But one of the employees comes up with the idea of letting Henry bite them, hoping that they’re changing back fast enough for their blood to be drinkable for him.

(I wanna say Norman, Allison, or Tom have the idea.  Because the 3 of them seem to be the most...  Solid?  I guess?  They seem to be the least unstable/inky compared to everyone else.  Especially Norman.)

Thankfully, their idea works and Henry is able to eat enough to not die, but he does still pass out afterward.

When Henry comes too, they’re all hurrying to the upper floors out of fear that the building (or rather, the lower floors) only existed because of the Demon.  And without it, they were collapsing/falling apart.

Henry (despite still being hungry and a bit weak) starts yelling directions from his memory of the upper levels, and working to get everyone out safely again.  They get back to the safer floors in time, and watch the passageway they were sprinting through dissolve into ink behind them.  Henry starts guiding them the rest of the way, and they all finally making it to the final door of the studio.

The hole in the floor that Henry fell through is still there,  but it’s navigated fairly easily by them hunting down some wooden planks and laying them over it to make a bridge for them to cross.

And once they get out, he leads them to the house/apartment he owns in town  (it’s night, so they can all travel safely)  and everyone just collapses where they are.

Henry only joins after slipping out and finally  (finally!)  getting a proper meal in him.

Things happen, mostly about everyone feeling like a fish out of water from how much everything has changed since Joey trapped them.  (Many of them coming to terms with everything they lost).

Eventually, everyone  (on their own or in a group)  asks to stay with Henry to make new lives for themselves.  Many even asking to be turned so they can just...  Stay.  With him.  Where it’s familiar and safe.

(Not too sure who, tbh.   Sammy for sure, possibly Norman and Wally too.  Hell, maybe it’s everyone in the end.  Unfortunately, they may have made the choice because they have no where else to go.  But at least Henry does his best to help/care for them.)

And Henry ends with a new colony formed from his old coworkers from JDS, the toons real and in his life, and him finally establishing a territory from the town he’d had so many major points in his life in.

[collectionofcherries]

👀couldnt help but notice you talking about hannibal in your billy loomis imagine 👀 also couldnt help but to notice thats in your fandom list 👀 maybe you should shoot your shot with an imagine with hanni 👀

So over on my Naruto blog I did a little fluff piece called Morning Coffee that everyone seemed to enjoy so I thought I'd bring it here. It’s a simple concept, it follows your morning to the start of your cup to the end of it. Hope you enjoy! --- ☕ Morning Coffee ☕

---

written in the mind-frame of a Female!Reader but there are no pronouns mentioned nor gender specific anatomical body parts.  Warnings: None, flirting with the idea of smut but no actual smut. Sexual longing maybe? Word Count: 1,155

--- Hannibal Lecter

   Having coffee with a friend shouldn't have been this stressful, being this stressed in the morning couldn't be good for you but it wasn't like you could help it. How are you supposed to dress for morning coffee with a man who practically lives in three piece suits? Formal? Business casual? Casual casual? Your clothing covered floor seemed to bare no answers as you stared at what you swore was everything you owned...had everything always been this ugly? God! Why did you even propose a breakfast together? Hannibal does dinner but no you had to pitch breakfast to be different and try to impress him, yeah you're sure he'd be impressed by the amount of clothing on the floor. If you'd been like everyone else and just gone for dinner you'd have more time to try on clothes but a look at the clock told you that you had to leave now or you'd be late and that'd be terrible, that'd be rude and Hannibal can't stand people who're rude. However messy your floor was it was worth it for the compliment you got when Hannibal opened his door to greet you. “I don't see you in colour often, red looks lovely on you.”     Well, guess you're wearing red for the rest of your life.     "Oh thank you.” Finds it's way out of your throat as your face is painted the colour that apparently looks lovely on you.     “Please, come in.” He welcomes stepping to the side to allow room.    You never gave much thought to what a foyer could be, yours is technically where you just kick off your shoes and put your keys but this, this was proper foyer. Just the entrance to his house was nice. God it was big too, he could probably rent it out to a poor college kid for like 500 bucks if he wanted not that he looked like he needed the extra money. Did you even know how to say Foyer properly? You bet Hannibal did, without a doubt he knew all those fancy French words--was that word even French? Oh no, what if you were stupid and it wasn't French? What if this wasn't even a foyer? How dumb were you? H-- hands came up to your shoulders jolting you out of your spiral. Hannibal gently pulls the edges of your jacket and you immediately understand. “Thank you.” You repeat once again.    He smiles with a nod as he slides your jacket off of you with your help and hangs it up on a beautiful wood stand you're sure costs more than half your rent. Thinking about how much money was within these walls could make your head spin but that spinning is halted by the soothing tones of his voice. “Lost in thought?” He inquired.    “Uh, just early morning brain fog you know?” You try to bluff.    It's not convincing but he nods anyway. “Perhaps some coffee would help.”     “Sounds good.” You agree.    Following him through his house only furthers your awe, you could spent a lifetime in here just looking at stuff. “I thought it'd be pleasant to make breakfast together instead of having it ready, eating together is one experience but preparing a meal is another entirely.” He explained    The idea of sharing an experience with Hannibal was one that filled you with butterflies, the more you thought about it you didn't think you'd heard of Hannibal cooking with anyone else, maybe the stress of this morning would pay off after all. “I'm not a chef but I'll do my best, what're we making?”     “Uova al purgatorio.” Which leads to a bit of a blank stare on your end, as pretty as it sounds you've got no idea what that means. “It's an Italian dish, eggs in Purgatory.” He explained.    “Sounds interesting.” You quip.    “It is, the name comes from the eggs sitting in a tomato base, the white of the eggs floating within the red sauce giving the illusion of souls trapped within the unknown of Purgatory.” He explains as he prepares the boiling water for your coffee. “Even at breakfast it seems we wonder where our souls go to lay.”     “Well makes sense for Italy home of the Pope, I'm sure there's religious overtones at most meals.”    He smiles a little and nods. “During my time in Italy it truly does surround you, it's an interesting feeling, almost euphoric to be encapsulated by it at every

turn.” He remarked.    “Wow, you spent time in Italy? It looks beautiful there.” You say, trying to stray a little further from the religious aspect, you don't exactly know where Hannibal falls on that spectrum and the last thing you want to do is come across rude or disrespectful to him. “Coffee smells great.” You add as he pours the boiling water into his very fancy looking French Press.    Your attempt to change subjects doesn't go unnoticed at all but he once again nods as he looks at you. “Yes, I traveled quite a bit in my youth, I called Italy my home for some time.” He explains.     “Do you ever miss it?” You ask    “I take with me what I relish in the places I've been, while I may no longer be surrounded by the Primavera or the walls of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini they are ever present in my mind, reproduced with the utmost detail.” You could listen to Hannibal talk all day, it wouldn't matter what he said you just like the way he said things, the timbre of his voice. “Have you ever given thought to travelling?” He prodded.    “Course, who doesn't think about travelling? See far off places, experience new people, new things, different cultures.” You reminisce.    “What stops you?”     You shrug a little. “Funds mainly but I'd want to take the time to learn the language of where I'm going, understand the culture so I don't offend anyone. I don't want to be one of those tourists that makes an ass out of themselves.” You said cringing at the end.    “It's considerate to take the time to understand a culture you will not live in, many go on whims like they're visiting amusement parks.” He agreed. “Would Italy be a place you'd like to visit or would you find their taste for religion leaving a sour taste in your mouth?” He asked.    Did you really think you'd get out of a question Hannibal wanted answered? You shrugged a little once again trying to make sure you phrase things that wouldn't step on toes that were in shoes that likely cost more than your rent. “I'm unsure...I don't know if my broader and more open views would be welcome in the narrower scope of such a religious place and I wouldn't want to impose myself or my views upon anyone.” You slowly clamber out as he pours two cups of what smells like incredibly coffee. “Thank you.” You quickly add as you take it from his hands.    “While I do know you enough to welcome you into my home, I'm not sure if I know you well enough to know of the open views you believe would be scrutinized under the gaze of the Church. Do you speak a broader view of all religions? Racial rights? Sexual appetite?”     You stomach almost leaps into your throat at the last question, talking sexual appetites with someone who could feed that said appetite for the rest of your life? How were you supposed to talk about that? You didn't want to impose but you certainly didn't want to miss any chance of feeding that appetite. “All of the above, you know?” You pitch at first. “I'm a big believer in religious freedoms for everyone, from anywhere--just freedom for everyone in general.” You tackle first, that's the more important one and the one that won't get you into any trouble. “And um--yeah I suppose my sexual appetite wouldn't please the Church.” You say with a small laugh breaking your gaze from Hannibal and down at your coffee cup. “Not exactly a born again virgin.” Smooth. Great job. Wow. Fuck. Maybe you could drown yourself in this coffee? You take a sip and to spite being too shy to ask for sugar or milk this coffee is great, actually smooth. Unlike you. “This is great, what is this?” You try.    Why do you try? He always notices, you're luckier than you know that it endlessly amuses him rather than annoys him. “It's Peaberry Coffee from Tanzania, it's a rounder sweeter bean, almost tea like.” He explains, allowing for a moment for you to believe you've somehow fooled him into letting his prior question go thoroughly unanswered. “It can take a more refined palette to taste all the notes.” He remarks.    “I don't know how refined mine is, I just know it's nice.”

You admit with a small laugh.    “Usually our tongues know more than we think, close your eyes and allow the flavours to dance over your tongue.” He instructed.    Hannibal could tell you to jump off a cliff and if he said it nice enough you probably would. You take a small breath and take another sip and try your damnest to impress Hannibal if only even a little but as you swallow you know your guesses are little more than shots in the dark. “It's sweet...kind of like a berry...?” You weakly pitch.    You're not wrong but Hannibal can tell your guess isn't confident. “Do you know you have a habit of coming in on yourself when you're unsure of what you're saying?” He asks letting you know he's been on to you for much longer than you would have hoped. He comes around from his large kitchen island to stand in front of you and you fight the urge to step back and away which only adds to how hard your heart beats in your chest. “Coming in on ones self allows negative neurons to fire, by simply lifting your head you'll allude more confidence and though red looks lovely on you so does that.” That compliment alone made your head spin so his next action of bringing his warm hand up to gently lift your head? Your entire body felt weak. It was laughable that the simple touch of his thumb resting on your chin and his forefinger below it could have such an effect on you, looking up at him him with unsure eyes as to where this went next was laughable to him. You were putty in his hands, vulnerable in every meaning of the word. "Try again, close your eyes and when you take a sip allow it to work around your mouth, to explore every inch of your tongue.”    Was this porn? This could be porn, this might as well be porn as far as your body was concerned apparently. It took you a moment to actually get your limbs to move and grab your coffee again and it felt good to close your eyes, you liked Hannibal but being so close and having him stare back at you was overwhelming. And he knew it, there was something very satisfying about your kind of vulnerability, it was raw and open for him to touch and mold with his hands. You brought the cup to your lips and took another sip and once again tried to find a defined note in this coffee and maybe it was having your head tilted up, maybe it was having him so close but an answer did come from your mouth. “Cedar?”    Opening your eyes you knew you'd gotten it right by the contented look you were rewarded with. "I had a hunch your tongue knew more than you were letting on.” He teased.    He let his thumb trail back and forth on your chin before moving it away and your head felt like it was floating. “What does your tongue taste? I'm sure it's much more experienced than mine.”     You're sure if you didn't feel so floaty such a blatantly flirty question wouldn't have come out of you but it seemed to fly just fine as a small amused breath made it's way out of him. “Your assumption would be correct.” He let you know. “The notes in this coffee I've become very acquainted with over the years so it wouldn't be much of an exercise in taste for me to tell you them all. Perhaps another breakfast we could expand upon both our tongues.” Your entire body clenched and you had to practically drown out your whine of want by taking a sip of your coffee. “For now we'll be expanding on yours, come, wash up I'll show you how to make uova al purgatorio, a taste from my past.” He said walking back around the kitchen island.    You follow him around the island and with one last sip put your empty coffee cup into the sink. --- ~Admin Coral 🍒 Buy Me A Coffee?

[kaetastic]

LINGERING EYES

pairing: Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

summary: The Peaky Blinders spend their night at a ball, however, Isaiah notices the wandering eyes of other men on the second youngest Shelby.

word count: 3.5k 

warning: slightly nsfw ?? jealousy, mention of blood, mention of violence, language

note: I loved writing this one! The flow was so smooth and I couldn’t stop writing, so here it is! I was hit with inspiration after checkin’ out some prompts (i saw them on pinterest so i don’t know who’s the original blog, if it’s you please dm me 🥺)

“Take my coat.” 

White— pearly beads of opal tears were poked through with a piercing needle. The bawling drops of clams drooped from the yellow ceiling, hanging low as gravity clung onto the strands. While shuffling of polished shoes screeched into the air, ear-drumming squeals from yanked corks paced to overlap obnoxious laughs. The laughs worthed grands; the laugh of slithering serpents.

Despite the approaching night, there was no heaviness resting upon the awaken eyes, which only led to the fact that they have tolerated and befriended the aspect of long nights. Long nights of claimed hard work. Long nights of staying at work late to complete the pending task, allegedly. Bitterly, the woman who strayed near the marble bar assumed, even though she knew she was right.

The lavish dress she wore that she plucked out of the most expensive rack in the store were no different than those women who were present. The women who had been dragged out from the comfort of their home to flutter a smile while they drowned in their husband’s gold, not knowing their mistress circled nearby. However, her privilege of wearing the fabric that was enough to feed a whole village was not the same as them. While it might not be her money, she knew that Thomas’s money was now as legitimate as the rest, despite the fluttering rumours weaving from mouth to ears.

Y/N grew up on streets that reeked of feculent piss and mud as face-paint. They, on the other hand, were nurtured by a maid, money already swimming in their bloodstreams while their parents spent days on end overseas.

‘You’re not a Peaky, Y/N.’ As the tornado in her champagne flute swirled, she glared at the red wine with irritated eyes. Despite her hating the proper way of holding the glass which was as posh as it could be, she reminded herself to where she was and who breathed in the same room as her. Recalling the talk she sat with her older sister who believed that the woman shouldn’t even bother to relieve her presence to the party, Y/N beamed her eyes at the smearing grey against the whites of the marble counter. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the destiny the Shelby’s will be cursed by, but heartfelt conversations were rare. The woman needed to get it out of her chest. She needed to tell her older sister the lingering eyes when she would walk down the streets. The elderly knew of the tainted reputation of the Shelby’s name, the main theme of the conversations whispered behind their backs. ‘No, but I’m a Shelby.’

That’s what she’ll always be. Just a Shelby. Not the woman who struggled through the obstacles of maintaining a deaf ear to her colleagues who would whisper under their breaths about her and her background. No matter what curtain draped over her, she’ll be seen as the younger sister of a gangster. Gypsy Shelby. Carnival wanderers. Y/N, the woman who sipped on wine in the dress of the same colour, will forever be known as Birmingham’s Infamous Gangster’s Little Sister.

Y/N was no longer the giggling child who swam through mud; she was no longer the girl with dangling tooths who hid her older brothers’ socks under her bed. Even Arthur, the eldest, has admitted how times have changed. Sitting on the stool was a woman, not a girl. A woman with cold, crystal eyes of a smeared cerulean blue that can only be glistened at a certain angle of light, a woman who had been prize hung upon the fair’s walls for men who were up to the challenge- that was until they heard of her last name. Unless they were cowards, they tiptoed away with the utmost silent steps. It was barely a handful of men who found the challenge of swooning the woman to be entertaining.

However, to be in radar with the Peaky Blinders themselves; to be in their loyal, trusted ranks, Isaiah Jesus just couldn’t find a fuck to give. There had been countless times he had seen eyes grazing over her figure, ogling her as if a taunting piece of meat. Would he be different to their scandalous actions? No, because he would do the same. The man just had a more discreet manner of observation. People with a name and money to flaunt might’ve shoved him to the edge since deep down, he knew that he’ll never be like them. But, at the end of the day, who was deep in her while she breathlessly screamed out?

“What?” Once her eyes peeled away from the intense rolling of liquid in her champagne flute, she shot a perplexed glance at the iconic oversized coat he would constantly wear. It seemed the memo to wear different had not reached the man. Her orbs glimpsed back to his face as if he had gone mental. The room had a barely noticeable breeze of wind that only kissed those who strayed next to the golden, colossal windows. 

“I said take my coat.” Isaiah repeated, arm extending, urging the woman to take it. 

There was no jest in his eyes. Isaiah wasn’t playing around, “It’s fucking hot in here.” There weren’t any trails of sweat visible on the woman, but there were beads of them crawling down her back. It seeped down through the minuscule crack of space between the velvet dress and her glossy back. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the same case for those who did not handle well with heat as some elderly men incessantly wiped their foreheads with their lavish cloth.

“Just fucking take it.” Isaiah didn’t mean to take another glance, but he did. Accidentally. The group of vigilant observing eyes did not quiver from the pair, well, it was mostly attached to the woman who was sipping on the red wine. However, the closeness of Isaiah and the Shelby had brought alarming thoughts in their heads. There wasn’t a plan so it wjasn’t part of it, it was more of an impulsive act of decision when one of them shot up from the seat.

In the corner of Isaiah’s eyes was a blur of an approaching figure, increasing in size. The pace was casual, gait relaxed with his hands tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat. A haze of shimmering gold sparkled, the intensity of the blaring reflection multiplied by a tenfold.

“I’m gonna suffocate, I can’t breathe already.” Y/N scoffed, mouth finding solace in the half-drunk wine.

With every step, Isaiah’s eyes wavered back onto the woman. A fire burnt in his chest, no, it roared behind his eyes as fury dumped a barrel of petrol into the growing rage. Doubts settled in. Was it truly rage? Or was he scooting around the idea of jealousy? Before his head caught a glimpse of his peripheral, his hands were already chained around Y/N’s wrist. A satisfied smirk crept up on his lips when the figure halted in his steps. Watching the woman he was about to approach thrash in the man’s grip, he gawked.

“Isaiah!” Although eyes were darted towards the catastrophic scene, Isaiah didn’t bat an eye, head too blurry with satisfaction. Y/N with ajar opened mouth was yanked away from her barely finished wine. It tasted rich. A privilege she had been surrounded with only recently. “What the fuck was that?”

Once he managed to drag her into a hallway of stacked barrels, he finally noticed the dripping beads of tears from the leaking metal pipe. As teardrops descended from the sobbing pipe, it puddled on the miniature lake. The hallway felt exposed to the frosty night of London. A breeze of the chilly air overflowed through the cracked open hopper windows.

Not too long ago Y/N was clamouring with the pungent odour, now, she was sure the secretion had become icicles, frozen. Isaiah wasn’t so different, his shoulders remained in the stance of shock. After yanking her hand out of his grasp, the dishevelled woman beamed at the man. His flared nose was tinted red. While he pressed his lips shut, the echoing noise of the bawling pipe trickled in to fill in the pregnant silence.

An exasperated sigh fell off his lips, “They were fucking you with their eyes.” Blinking in disbelief, she let out a scoff. The reason he had dragged her was because people were looking at her? Well, fucking her with their eyes?

“So what? And who the fuck are you to bother?” Isaiah’s jaw ticked. How was he to answer? The man himself didn’t know how to reply. Thoughts resounded off his head, springing from one side to the other as he tried his best to think of an answer. There was fire roaring in his chest. A flicker of blue plastered across the dancing red canvas. It burned hotter than a summer’s day, flaring scorches of heat than heatwaves when one would stray around the furnace who had been chugged by boulders of dusty coal. But actions speak louder than words. As his eyes flickered to meet hers, the flame on the candle died with a blow of air.

Isaiah was fired up, chest taut, fingers clenched, ready to hurl it in their faces’. It all vanished. The anger, the fire, the stirred up hurricane, it all wiped off from existence. Her hair that was once a coiled perfection which was a result of an hour of refining each and every lock, had become a wild, untamed bunch. It was no different to that of her hairstyle she would wear in the creaking morning after an exhausting night of moans and groans. The pearl necklace that draped down her neck sat on her shoulder, clumping up a rubble even though it hung above her cleavage a few minutes ago.

Frigid bites of the brick wall pierced into her skin. The bleeding words that rested on her tongue were exhaled into a familiar warm mouth. Long forgotten, the coat he could’ve used for defence to crawl out of the fancy ball to protect him from the chilly night, puddled into the ground. A groan grumbled out of his lips to puff into her moaning ones; although, Isaiah wasn’t sure if it was because his coat would be the absorbing cloth, soon to be drenched by the unknown liquid from the pipe, or it was because her wide open legs had curled around his hip. 

There were no words exchanged, only wanton moans and guttural groans. The world around them faded into black and white before it all was swirled in a hazy blur. The tiles of the mosaic painting were soon plucked out. The world didn’t exist, just each other. There weren’t any irregular singing notes of the pipe, no blowing of wind into the cracked orifices and no boisterous thrumming of heart in their ears. It was just each other's breathing and their fingers rustling faint noises of caress. 

An exhalation rolled out of her chest to gush out into the tensed air. Air that was once struck with chords of anger and jealousy, but now, it was trickling with need and lust. Knocking the back of her head into the wall, the gaps between her fingers were spurting of his curly locks. The piercing cones smeared over the brick walls embedded into her skin. If his mouth wasn’t planting bruises on her skin, it would’ve hurt a lot more. 

“Saiah... fuck, no hickeys...” Stuttering between heavy breathing which was from the nipping of his teeth on her skin below her ears, Y/N finally managed to breathe out the words. Although it had been an unspoken rule which was brought up only once (the first time they fucked), Isaiah couldn’t give a fuck. To have the Shelby’s as a boss, Isaiah had somewhat familiarized himself with the gears spinning in their heads while he watched them work on the field. Not Thomas Shelby, never Thomas Shelby. The man was impossible to see through, just like the murky canals of Birmingham. If his siblings had not succeeded in reading his mind, what miracle did he possess if he could do so? 

So it was no wonder the pair had not taken the risk of overlooked details such as markings on their necks to be seen. There was one thing Y/N could do when having scandalous ties with her brother’s employee, and that was to be one step ahead of any of them. Preferably Thomas Shelby. It was the least she could do. Nights when Isaiah would climb through her windows, she would complain about the aching in her stomach beforehand. Although, that plan nearly blew up on her face as Polly had incessantly banged on her door to check up on her paining niece. Oh, how they all would’ve lost their shit if they knew Isaiah was deep in her, thrusting his hips with lust before her aunt lingered outside her door. 

Y/N always pondered to how everyone would react to their relationship. Relationship? There never was an appropriate time where the two sat down to discuss the fire sparking between them. Even though she had tried to bring it up at points, it always led her to a moaning mess. The pair had scooted around the topic, ignoring its existence. But for how long? The stunt Isaiah had pulled back not too long ago was of pure jealousy, the feeling of someone else eyeing something of his. It was not something he had felt before, ever.  

Pulling his lips away, his eyes grazed over the masterpiece he had painted. Streaks of red trailed across the side of her neck in peculiar directions. While Isaiah admired his prominent markings, Y/N noted the curled up corners of his lips and his gazing eyes on the scene. Oh, she was too late. Worried if her brothers were to see Isaiah’s branding, formulas were scribbled in her head. All she had to do was avoid everyone, Finn and Arthur especially if she didn’t want a wildfire to burn. Finn who was still a babe had curious eyes and quick fluttering lips, Arthur on the other hand just had an agile tongue and a rock as a fist. If one of them was to even peek a glance at the hickey, the news would’ve crossed the other side of England. Ada was easy to avoid as the woman was not present at the party; however, Y/N could not imagine her never-ending rambling. Knowing her older sister, she was sure it would lead to pregnancy and stubborn questions about the mysterious guys.

The trio of Thomas, John and Polly was one to keep in mind. Y/N herself wasn’t sure why she had grouped the three together, but she knew they had one thing in common. Merciless. She wasn’t sure how it would proceed if one of them was to gaze upon the marking; she never wanted to see it happen. While the woman who had a painted canvas on her neck was concerned with future issues to which she hoped she would never have to stumble upon, Isaiah was a smirking mess. The thought of them seeing the art he had created flicked a lighter to his gun powder. Once his eyes grazed over her shut ones and her lips pecking of silent mumbling, he let out a sigh. The woman was overthinking again. The noise of her saliva smacking on her swollen lips only made sense to her head as she went over the whole plan. Avoid, avoid and avoid. Isaiah’s eyes brushed upon her smeared lipstick, he wouldn’t be surprised if some made way on his lips. 

Her train of words halted once a warm thumb grazed over her bottom lip. Although scribblings of words jotted in her head, nothing made sense as Isaiah’s lips were on hers once again. The layers of planning and never-ending what-ifs vanished, wiped from her head to be buried deep underneath the bedding of soil. Back splayed against the wall and legs around his hip, Isaiah’s fingers trailed down to clutch on her thighs, nudging the stubborn hem of her dress up, coiling it in a bunch. Tongues caressing one another while strings of wanton moaning brushed down the bristles of their throats, everything was long forgotten. There was no Thomas Shelby. There was no Peaky Blinders. Just the two of them.

“What the actual fuck.” With the familiar straining voice echoing through the narrow hallway, the feeling of need vaporized. Heat that was once beaming through their chest seeped into the air, dancing in the wind. The glass bottle in his hands shattered. Piercing shards of glass embedded into his skin, slashing through his blood vessels, but he could see nothing but red. Snapping the neck of the bottle into millions of fragments, Arthur no longer cared the good chug of whiskey he wanted to have away from all the lying cunts. Tonight was full of people who had dollar signs in their eyes while they grasped onto leashes around those who needed to pay back stacks of cash. More than fucking enough. If Arthur heard any of their voice, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So, when Arthur decided to pull away from the crowd to enjoy even the crappiest stench of whatever the fuck liquified the soil that smeared along the bricks, he did not expect to see a Peaky boy’s tongue down his little’s sister throat. Even though the eldest Shelby wasn’t in many conversations (there was no need to ponder that all they wanted was Thomas’s cock), he barely noticed the disappearance of the second youngest Shelby, most likely because he was too focused on maintaining the position of his curled fists which were stuffed deep in his coat’s pocket. Despite him yanking out his red, thrumming hand multiple of times, a glare from Thomas was enough to remind him of the lingering eyes.

Feet descending down the wall, Y/N’s eyes didn’t blink once as she stared at the abrupt appearance of her eldest brother. Well, fuck. Fuck the plan. Fuck avoiding. Because the future she didn’t want ever was now, “Arthur.”

Without a word uttered between the two, a distance increased with every shove down their throats. Arthur Shelby was here. Arthur Shelby saw the son of the man he trusted pinned his little sister to the wall. Eyes were lassoed, ropes were thrown around, yanking stammering thoughts. Arthur’s eyes that were popped out of his eye socket did not quiver from Isaiah’s figure. The smear of red against the boy’s lips and his dishevelled waistcoat was enough for Arthur to go mental. Isaiah wasn’t sure how he felt. There was a jolt of inhumane voltage zapping through his heart before a snip of a scissor prevented it to ever be alive again. 

The man whose face oozed of litres of blood was a victim of whatever lurked under Arthur Shelby’s skin. If Isaiah wasn’t there to notice his motionless body, he couldn’t give a fuck, but he was. He saw men struggle to hold Arthur’s thrashing body back. The devil they called it. The plunging noise descending his throat and into the green lake in his gut trickled through Isaiah’s ears. He was dead meat, “Arthur, it’s not what it looks like- I can explain.” 

“Fucking not what it looks like?” Although the eldest Shelby stood at the other end of the hallway, his booming voice was as if he was right in front of them. Wavering the cracked neck of the whiskey glass, furious spit gushed out of his lips. Hair curtained to flare up, the man was beaming with steam. “Fucking explain why you looked like you were about to fuck Isaiah!” 

Speckled soil shivered from its land to rest upon the ground. The ground the building sat upon shook, shaking the glass panes to send raining shards of glass across the marble floor. Thomas stepped down the stairs. Seconds ago, the man was under the ceiling of solid gold, now, he was under dripping tainted water that pecked his shoulders. His face was unreadable although a twitch of his jaw gave away the underlying anger, “One fucking day, Arthur, you couldn’t give me one fucking day of silence?” 

Trailing behind him was John and Finn who were laughing at an obnoxious joke uttered by the youngest himself, something about his boxers ending up on the street. It fell into silence. Despite the warning Thomas had incessantly, stubbornly pressed on his accompanies of the night, a part of him had already predicted this was to happen. There was hope. There was hope that the night might’ve flown pass smoothly without a bump over the road. And then there was reality. Awry reality never resembled the plans in Thomas’s head. However, there was a second he had missed in his life. A second was forgotten, jumped over to the next beat of his heart. He didn’t need many words from the blood gushing out of Arthur’s curled fist and the mussed hair of the pair.

Well, there goes the plan. Out the fucking window it was. With a cigarette sighing on his lips, he gestured, “Go ahead. Talk.”

Maybe Y/N should’ve listened to Ada.

[ithinkthereforiamfandom]

MarvelLock

(As a welcome to my newest Patreon Kate (sorry this took so long dear one), and I confess a touch of self indulgence. Loki was Actually first in Mitguard many years before Thor, and he met an interesting human, who was high as kite!) Established Johnlock, Established LokiSigyn,

In this AU Loki does not die on that ship and indeed finds the sunshine again!

Loki landed in Midgard, he had heard tales of this land where his people had once been Gods and had also heard endless lectures that this could be no more, as they had to leave Earth and it’s peoples to their fate. The whole was pointless, but he had decided to look the City of London in the eye because it sounded like a challenge. To look a city in the eye must be an interesting feat and it was said that the London Eye was quite impressive.

“Could you direct me to the eye of London?” Loki asked a neatly dressed policeman. “The What!?” “The city's eye, the London Eye. I wish to meet it’s gaze” The man had given him a quizzical look, maybe one could only met the eye by invitation, as a Prince could he not appeal to their Queen. “Down by the river" had been his only direction but his guide gave a further “follow the smell" before going on his way. Loki could smell only one source of water so he made his way towards it. The destitute were everywhere but he understood that the city looked after them, maybe it had a kindly eye, he thought grinning to himself until further enquires led him to an enormous wheel strung with carriages.

This was the great City of London's eye!

Loki barked a laugh of disappointment, it was a perfect metaphor for the whole damn planet, all just spinning in place pointlessly! “It won’t blink you know" Loki started and turned to the voice. One of the destitutes had approached him, a striking face but Loki could smell the poison he’d put in his blood. Curiously Loki held his peace hoping that maybe his sudden companion would speak again.

“You asked after the eye like you were about to have a staring contest and were so clearly disappointed to see it… you’re not from around here, no. You smell wrong, like winter but it's the middle of June and you move strangely too, like you ride a lot of horses but you don’t carry the callouses of caring for them, gloves would mask the marks of riding.” Loki watched the interesting mind race behind those odd eyes. “Sherlock Holmes" Who held his hand out for a polite shake in the manner of someone meeting a new animal, cautious of bites.

“Loki Odinson" He responded in kind and the heat of Midguard blood startled him almost as much as the words that followed “Norse mythology, god of mischief, shape shifter and Mother to a few supposed monsters… this isn’t your real skin is it? It feels wrong too” Loki's eyes filled up blood red right through the sclera as he allowed his Joten face to push through his human skin. Sherlock look intrigued and oddly relieved. Like he has been waiting for his mind to leave him all along.

Loki smiled as questing fingers lightly traced the patterns in his Joten skin, he couldn’t break his glamour for long but to enthral one mortal was really no risk. “This is my true skin Sherlock Holmes, Fenris and Sleipnir are no monsters but if you treat something as monstrous for long enough what’s the difference.” He was growing melancholy and that was not the purpose of this journey. He would entertain his new found friend instead, so he grabbed the hand that lingered on his skin, he had some time while the poison was working during which Sherlock Holmes would dismiss it all as fantasy and hallucination.

The revelation of his true nature had sparked an idea in the mad man's head to they found themselves outside of a bland looking building. “So this establishment is where your brother spends his leisure time, but refuses you entry…” Loki read a small brass plate that displayed Diogenes Club and the rather impolite phrase of ABSOLUTE SILENCE that was engraved beneath it. “You say he has cut you off because of the poison, the drugs, and you would like me to play tricks on him for your amusement…” Loki studied the face in front of him it was sickly and underweight but with arresting eyes and a fine frame to the body. He could work with this. “Just don’t let him touch you" Loki warned as he wove the spell, his magic was still young and could be unstable. “Won't be a problem” Sherlock had managed before the rush of the magic stole his breath.

The door swung open and two men strolled in; hair just slightly longer than proper matched well with impeccably tailored suits. Sherlock took a slight lead to the tea room where the so called powerful but most just plain boring sipped and chewed in their desperate collective solitude. No Mycroft, he shook his head at Loki and turned them towards his brother’s office, pausing beside the doorway to the antechamber he tried to figure out his next move. The fussy old secretary would interfere and he was at a loss until Loki moved him to face himself in a brushed steel light fitting… He barely held back a gasp as his illusion self vanished but not just his illusion, he and Loki were simply gone.

Loki grinned as he guided his shocked accomplice towards the entrance, entering was easy enough and he swiftly moved them into the office proper as the brother's assistant had left the door open to drop off some documents. A pallid man sat at a desk frowning at words and scratching his own mark irritability on each page. A tray beside him held a plate of sweet confections and some hot beverage gone cold, cancelling all sound around them Loki turned to Sherlock. “Okay, what next?”

Sherlock's smile split his face and he hoped he would remember this after the high. “The biscuits, Mummy, our mother sends them by the batch. He always eats too many, has since we were kids" He watched incredulously as Loki waved a hand and the biscuit in his brother’s fingers snapped in two. Startled his brother tried to pick up one piece but it broke again and so did the next one. Sherlock could see the sweat form on his brother’s temple and waited for his next move. A crack, deafening in the habitual silence, heralded spilled tea and fallen papers as his brother’s fussy desk split in two under his palms. Mycroft was on his feet now staring at his secretary who had glanced into the room and continued without a word. The phone was next and the plastic shattered into his palm, his trousers were the final casualty. He’d tried to dust the plastic’s shards off his hands and then fled in his ragged clothes to the next room.

Sherlock followed crying magically silenced tears of mirth as his brother pointed and waved soundlessly to his beleaguered secretary, climbing to her feet she glanced into the office again. All was as it should be. “Are you okay sir, you look a bit peaky" She’d queried quietly and Mycroft had nearly fainted dead away as he had turned and seen his office in perfect order.

Sherlock guided Loki back the tea room and took a few breaths to collect himself, he nodded to his companion to drop the camouflage and led them out to the streets in the requisite silence before collapsing on a park bench to chortle out his thanks.

Loki nodded as his almost friend thanked him, he could smell the poison was leaving Sherlock’s blood and knew he would need to depart soon. “It was my pleasure, the pointless rule of silence, it that your brother’s doing" “No it’s a general rule, avoids political discussions which inevitably always get loud, good rule though” Sherlock was sobering fast so Loki lead them to a small well tended park and settled them on a bench. “Enough poison Sherlock, no more drugs" He watched as Sherlock took in his words but cast a sleep charm upon him before there could be an argument.

If Midgard held One such as Sherlock Holmes maybe it wasn’t so pointless and he was smiling as he went home.

… Ragnarok and one mad titan later. ...

Loki lay on a couch and watched the Midgard sun rise over the green land they had called Asgard because where else would they live. Sigyn would be awake soon and Loki would forever be grateful that she was among the survivors who had trickled in after the attack, Heimdal could see them, see what remained of the Asgardians after that harrowing battle and they had gathered everyone to their new home.

Sigyn had been away in Vanahiem with a small group when Hela had attacked and there had been a few groups in other Realms but Thor had insisted everyone be present in their new home as the people of Asgard rebuilt.

Loki's face clouded over as he remembered how he had gained a wife, she had been delivered by an emissary of Jotenheim, and he had watched his brother’s blood boil as Thor had very slowly realised that the emissary was not actually asking for aid for the clearly ill woman in his charge. Thor had stood to say something, no doubt very kingly and self-righteous, so Loki stepped between his brother and the trouble maker to graciously accept the gift of a spouse from the new king of the Joten, he had been the one to destroy half of their city many years ago and had aided greatly in the repair as recompense.

The woman raised wary eyes as Loki guided her to the healers and then promptly guided her to his chambers after they had dismissed her suffering as simple exhaustion. He was quietly furious as she sank into the couch, he was no healer but he knew who might help, many years ago he had been having fun on Midgard, in London, it wasn’t far. He had watched the mortal many times after that first meeting, he had displayed a brilliant mind but far too many scruples, Sherlock! ... his companion had been a healer, between them they would aid his wife.  So he gathered up his precious cargo and stepped though space, South and West over the waters.

John was pecking his way through a blog post as Sherlock prepared dinner. “Sherlock" a voice called from their lounge, holding up a hand for Sherlock to stay where he was John peered into the other room. Loki stood in the lounge holding a limp form to his chest. “John!” John dashed forward as Loki lay the woman carefully on the couch. She wasn’t human, half-mast eyelids showed blood red eyes and the distinctive Joten markings pushed through pale human skin.

Sherlock knew that voice but stayed in the kitchen as John had indicated, Loki had sounded relieved to see the doctor so clearly there was a medical problem, he turned off the gas and collected John’s kit as well as a blanket upstairs. He put the kit at John’s side and stepped around Loki to drape the blanket at the woman’s feet, John would pull it up when he was done so Sherlock clasped a hand to Loki's shoulder in support and quietly headed to the kitchen, two more for dinner then. He let John get on with clearly urgent work.

She had been a cast off like himself, an insult intended to remind Loki of what he was but she was also a true person in Loki's eyes and he had made sure she knew that.

He chuckled to himself because she had learned; she had healed and become his wife but she also grew fiercely independent and though they were wed they saw no need to be in constant company. Loki was pleased with her boldness and proud that she had recovered from her ordeal so excellently.

He could hear her waking, these new chambers were small but suited them with a simplicity that Asgard had never really possessed. It had been a few months since everyone had been called to this new home and the quiet domesticity had been a balm he did not know he’d needed but his heart froze as a loud thump came from the bedchamber.

“Sigyn, my love. Are you well?” He called as he rose then raced through the small house, because he knew the answer. He knew there would no joke to share, of two left feet, or playful mocking of Midgardian shag carpets. His wonderful wife lay pale on the floor as she tried to rouse her body from the collapse.

Loki lifted his wife with quiet words to sooth her distress, there were human healers, a hospital a short way away. He could maintain her illusion for her and hoped they would be able to help as he turned on his heel and stepped through space into a strange room. “My wife, my wife!” He approached a woman standing nearby, her clothes and name tag identified her as a doctor, like Sherlock’s John! “Please aid my wife, she collapsed a few minutes ago, it’s never happened before!”

He lay his very soul on a steel treatment bed and also wept with relief as the room burst into action. They fussed and took readings from all kinds of things that they attached to her arms, fingers, and head. She spoke to them quietly and called to him for answers when she could no longer talk then when once again he was told exhaustion and he nearly screamed, but these were uninformed human doctors. “I’m going to bring her regular doctor, he can consult for you" He gritted out before he threw himself through the doorway of the room, stepping through space once again into 221B Baker street.

“John!” He called this time and Sherlock answered “He’s occupied at the moment Loki, he won’t be long" “Unoccupy him then, my wife has collapsed and these simple Midgard healers know nothing!” Loki was pacing the dingy room when John appeared. “Your wife collapsed, what were her symptoms before it happened” but the end of the sentence was muffled as Loki grabbed John’s shorter frame firmly around the shoulders and stepped through space back to the hospital door he had left from.

“No! Loki, no, I’m not looking at a thing" John adamantly refused as he had been out and out kidnapped from London without even his phone for Sherlock to trace. He could see Sigyn, Loki's wife where she lay resting on a gurney in a pile of blankets. “Just review the tests John and I will return you personally!” “No Loki we discussed this, my phone is at home. Sherlock will be going spare. Trust Loki, there needs to be trust.” Loki almost roared with anger but a quiet coughing sound from the bed drew his gaze, she was laughing weakly at him and shooeing him off with a small gesture.

The regular staff had long since cleared out as the Asgardians had quickly made arrangements with the nearby hospitals, they would be needed until healing rooms could be set up and currency could do anything on Midgard. He returned her small smile and gave John a glare for good measure before he step through space and almost straight into Sherlock, who stood in the lounge in his coat and scarf obviously waiting. Loki had been about to comment on blinding, pig headed loyalty but Sherlock simply flashed a ring shining on his left hand. “I know, he’s lovely isn’t he" Growling at the nonchalant comment Loki quickly confirmed his consent and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist before he thrust them both through space to John’s side.

John was smiling by the time they returned and Sigyn seemed more awake too but there were tears in her eyes and he rushed to her side. “What did you do to her!" “I did nothing, what did you do to her” John responded as he turned to lean against Sherlock and whisper in his ear.

John watched the bed from Sherlock's arms. Sigyn held Loki and copied John’s gesture of quiet words in the only ear she would need. He watched as Loki froze and then shook, John heard sobs which turned to laughter as Loki scooped Sigyn off the bed and stepped magically though the entire wall, like it was the illusion, before heading towards the reception area. He heard more laughter and walked beside Sherlock as they followed it at a human pace.

Loki smiled with tears on his face as he thanked the staff, he rejected the offer of a wheel chair, refusing to put his wife down so that she might simply walk. “Regular exercise is important in early pregnancy Loki" John had called to him but this was irrelevant for the moment. “Maybe a taxi rather" Sherlock had suggested which made sense as stepping through space had taken him practice and took effort so there was no way to know its effect on a baby. “Loki, get them home first Love" His beautiful, glowing, miraculous wife had chided gently as he had turned for the door. “We'll wait" Two smiling men had said in almost perfect unison and they did wait, quite patiently until Loki strode out from a different doorway and embraced them both.

Arms lock around chests and shoulders as the three men embraced tightly over the good news. Loki dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder and said a quiet thanks in John’s ear. When they left the hug they were back in Baker street. “We will visit as much as we are able. John I hope you’ll remain in attendance of Sigyn's condition" Loki turned to John who looked a bit crescent fallen. “I’m not an obstetrician, a birthing doctor.” “But she would prefer you by her side, even if you’re only consulting. I believe you’re familiar with the practice of consultation” He flicked his gaze to Sherlock who was glowing, and Loki knew that look very well. He had worn it just that morning, pride in his partner, and a fathomless depth of love

@fanishjuli @mofftissfan @sarahthecoat @loveismyrevolution  @riorothbates @underestimatemethatwillbefun @anotherwellkeptsecret @benaddictedandsherlocked @johnlockismyreligion @almosttomorocco @superwholocklmt @strangeps3lyricsmuffin @chinike @sillystring111 @ben-locked @jobooksncoffee @notjustamumj @johnlockunicorn @chained-to-the-mirror @thinkanddoodle-batch @melmey-fanfics @the-persian-slipper @melsesowieso @morgendaemmerung89 @shiplocks-of-love @pri1982 @kitten-kin @francj96 @sabrina-phynn @colourfulwatson @thejohnlockoutlet @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @shoshililly @mrb488 @yaycoffee @pippn-frodo @barbsiebabe @skullinitium @boisinberryjamarama @anchored-in-high-tide

[popculturebuffet]

Carl Barks: Back to the Klondike Review: Blinkus of the Thinkus

Welcome one and all! If your a longtime reader of this blog, you know I love a good birthday celebration, having started with my first year reviewing animation last year with Donald’s and deciding to do Mickey and Scrooge’s later that year. But since I misseda  LOT of disney birthdays, and found several Non-disney birthdays and anniversaries I just gotta celebrate, this year i’m making it up and style and have a whole calender set up to tack these big milestones to the wall. So over the year expect tributes to the greats of disney, looney tunes, and mgm both behind and in front of the scenes, as well as to various shows I like. It’s gonna be a good time. 

So to start us off, it’s only fitting my first duck birthday since Scrooge, is for the love of his life and the stealer of his wallet, Glittering Goldie O Gilt! And I felt the best way to celebrate this storied day was to go back to her very FIRST apperance, one of earliest Scrooge headlined comics and a forever fan faviorite, Back to the Klondike!

But before we get into that, a little history on our gal in gold. Goldie was created for this story by comics god, the late great Carl Barks. Barks ended up just using her once, which is a shame but understandable as he probably only thought of her for that one adventure. While some characters like Gyro ended up being used again and again he probably just didn’t have any more stories in mind for her and figured Scrooge would return to her one day or he wouldn’t, but it wasn’t up to him.  Fans however loved the character, her feisty dynamic with scrooge, and the fact she brought out his good side, so naturally other writers would bring her back. In paticular Barks Superfan Don Rosa cemented her as the love of his life and wrote several more stories with her, fleshing out their backstory and saying that at least in his personal canon, Scrooge retired to spend his final years with her. And while his fanboy was clearly showing, and that can end nasitly just ask Dan “Hates Wally West because he’s not barry allen” DiDio, glad he’s gone.. Rosa’s work with goldie is an example of what happens when it’s done right. Less DiDio or Bendis and more Al Ewing. Using the continuity and what’s there to build on a character who deserved better.. to me that’s one of the BEST things you can do in comics and Rosa’s work is proof of that, ironing out the.. questionable elements we’ll get to and leaving the gold in.  So Rosa’s work combined with Ducktales not only adapting this story but bringing Goldie back a few times after that has elevated the character to a storied and permenat part of the duck canon, with her excellent heavily revamped Reboot counterpart currently carrying the torch with the help of the wonderful Allison Janey, perfect casting there. So with a legacy of gold behind her, let’s take a look at where it’s started and see if it still glitters after all these years under the cut. 

We begin our story at the Money Bin. Scrooge has been counting his money.. but has already forgotten, and forgot where he put the slip he wrote the number on and even forgets who Donald is when he shows up until Donald, while having some fun with him as Scrooge is trying to phone him while he’s right there. As for how he got into the most secure place in the bin.. the story actually answers that both worringly and hilariously: Scrooge left the door unlocked.  Naturally he’s not happy about this and Donald states the simple solution: Go see a doctor something’s CLEARLY very wrong, and the fact this could possibly be something like Demntia is VERY bad for someone who runs a zillion dollar company. Scrooge of course scoffs at “wasting his precious money” But Donald not only points out the obvious, that two bucks now saves him from having someone rob EVERYTHING, but Scrooge’s attempt to tie a string around his finger.. instead triggers a trap. And this entire sequence is decent with some good gags.. it’s just hampered a bit by making light of something that’s kinda bad. Not old people forgetting things.. but an old person with a disease as we find out forgetting things. Not helping is I laughed at first at the gags.. till I remembered a kind, old, friend of the family who had it and forgot me entirely by the end. So yeah, not the worst gags and the boxing glove and donald bits aren’t terrible, but it hurts now my brain’s made that connection. 

Our heroes head to the doctor’s office where Scrooge is diagnosed with... 

That.. might be the best name for a fictional illness i’ve ever heard in my life.. just inching out “Brain Cloud” and “Whale Cancer”. Still not the most SENSITIVE gag.. but it was the 50′s and mental issues weren’t given a lot of respect. IT’s why the above sequence and this whole part of the plot dosen’t scuttle things: It’s not the most repsectful.. but it wasn’t a time where these things were givne proper respect, treatment or knowledge, so barks wasn’t being an insentive douche on purpose, he just didn’t know. It dosen’t make it 100% okay btu it dosen’t wreck the story like say his blatant racist caractures in Voodoo Hoodoo. Seriously that’s.. not okay, and given he’s the kind of guy who researched locations he used, unlike with mental illness i expect BETTER of him than most men at the time. Still respect the guy, but it dosen’t mean i’ll overlook the fact he made some pretty bad mistakes. Same way while I love and miss Stan Lee I won’t ignore his blatant sexisim or racisim towards Chinese and Vitamise people. You CAN like a creator even if their work has some questionable and unjustifable elements, times do change and people do mamke mistakes when their young. It just depends on exactly WHAT they did or wrote that makes that distinctoin.  So on that bombshell, Scrooge is given medication after a needle gag. He needs to take his pills every 12 hours. It’s then he starts to remember something, mubling abotu skagway, goldie and dawson and telling Donald to get the boys, their going to Alaska! Once they get on the boat Scrooge explains: he remembered thanks to the medcince he left a stash of gold nuggets there from his prospecting days.. and part of why this story ended up being one of the single most important to Scrooge’s character. While it establishes some character traits, something I dind’t realize till wikipedia pointed it out, it also establishes Scrooge’s days as a prospector. While other things made him what he was and got him to that point as Don Rosa would later flesh out, it was his days in the yukon that, for better or worse defined who he is now and shaped him into the man he is today: Tough, fair, badass as all hell, mean as the devil and richer than god.  This time would be used a lot to set up stories, which made sense as it was the cleast and most agreed upon part of his past by all writers, and him at his abosltuely peak physically and mentally and the gold rush motif of the time perfectly fits someone defined by being rich. It’s also honestly nice that the Yukon is used, as Canada sometimes gets lost in the shuffle wise and hell until reading life and times I gneuinely had no idea what the Yukon was or where Calvin was headed when he and hobbes ran away from home. 

Scrooge also first mentions Goldie and while clearly remembering her fondly.. goes into a rant about her howing him a thousand dollars which has compounded to a billion the second the boys catch on he was sweet on her with Donald assuming he’s just not a good person. But this is really just setting up another vital part of his character and the other thing: his heart. Before he’d been show as a pretty heartless, greedy asshole. While the previous story, Only a Poor Old Man, had softened him up a bit, this is the first to show that beneath the pile of greed and mean lurks a decent human being. Just don’t tell anyone or he’ll throw his money at you.. then tell you to bring it back to him. It’s what makes the character who he is: he’s cruel, onrey and selfish.. but he CAN care when the chips are down and can do the right thing.. as we’ll see later. 

God I love the little poems Bill Watterson would put in the books. I didn’t as much as a kid, but god I do now. Anyways before our heroes can get going Yukon Ho, they stop in Skagway for suplies before heading out, Scrooge softing at taking a plane as “Soft” and him and the nephews hiking a week.. before running into the same flying service again, and finding out Scrooge OWNS it and forgot, because being scrooge he forgot to take his meds. Something I can relate to and i’m not proud of as staying on them is important to my well being. Seriously always take your meds. Unless their not working for you then talk with your doctor to get new ones. 

So we arrive in Dawson, as our heroes will have to walk rest of the day Scrooge takes the boys to the Black Jack Ballroom, which used to be a hot spot and was where he met Goldie for the first time. After another covering for his reminscing with greedy bollocks, he tells the boys the story.. one that was cut from the original printing despite introducing goldie and something the editors dind’t bother to tell carl till they berated him over trying to sneak a blackjack saloon and a kidnapping in there... and to them, or their long dead skeletons probably, I say. 

Yeah not wanting that in a kids story, while bollocks, tha’ts their perogative.. not having him send in replacement pages to keep story flow.. is dickish and underestimates kids intellegence as Don Rosa, while loving the story felt something was off till he saw the missing pages years later thanks to a fellow fan. So yeah kids, and adults, into the work noticed. Nice job. Again I can’t BLAME them for not wanting Scrooge to be a kidnapper as we’ll see and Don Rosa had to massage the hell out of that, but I can blame them for not caring enough to fix the obvious hole int he story. Though it’s now complete and unabriged and has been since the 80′s so there's that. 

So in a nutshell Scrooge came to town for a coffee, and while the bartender ignored him he didn’t once he plunked down his goose egg nugget, what made his fortune and one of Scrooge’s most treasured possessions. It’s here we meet Goldie. 

Yup.. just in case you thought her being a thief and greedy as hell was a new thing, and I kinda forgot how much, she dirves for the nugget, has Coffee with scrooge.. and drugs it, but makes the mistake of NOT clearing town, so Scrooge fights his way through the ballroom to her, gets the nugget back, forces her to sign the money for the iou he spent.. and then uh.. kindaps her to force her to work on his claim for 50 cents to try and teach her how to work honestly. 

Yeahhhh as I said Don Rosa tried his best to fix this , and did so in his final story, which we’ll get to some day, revealing Goldie had a shot gun on her the whole time and was going along entirely to find out where Scrooge’s claim was. That.. actually makes more sense with the character and is far less horrifying and Scrooge finds this out fairly quick, so them forming an attraction out of this becomes 100% more plausable. So yeah good on Don Rosa for fixing the implications here. I may give out on him from time to time.. but he is a genuinely talented writer and did what a good comic book writer in an established continuity should do: update elements so they aren’t so... eugguuhhh after they become horrifingly outdated. And look YES she did do horrible shit to him.. but you still can’t kidnap someone over that. just put her in jail. What was any of that. 

Anyways Scrooge HAS been taking his medicine, and proves it by showing the boys his pills and the next day they head to Scrooge’s old claim.. only someone’s living there and using it, and his old cabin.. and a shot gun. Yeah so they aren’t getting through in the day what about the night.. well they get attacked by Blackjack, who turns out to be owned by the claim jumper.. and is also you know a bear> And Donald left his back in new quackmore so their outmatched. 

So outgunned and outplanned, if not outnumbered or outmanned, our heroes make a camp fire and whiel Donald again suggests the obvious, call the police.. Scrooge can’t. He didn’t pay taxes on the claim so he’s technically jumping his own claim and techincally she has a right to it. So techncially.. Scrooge is the bad guy here as he left the money here, didn’t pay his taxes and didn’t ever come back for it. Still beats trying to terrify your nephews or deny orphans a train because your an asshole buffet. 

So the next morning Scrooge dosen’t want to rush her because “We Daren’t Get Rough with an old woman”. Two things.. 1... think before you put images in my head scrooge.. brrrrrrrrr. I mean Goldie. is not in the best shape in thie story as you’ll see and neither are you. In the reboot sure you two kept up a lot better but here.

And it’s not even an old people thing. Ann Margret was still fine so fine by the time of Grumpy Old Men, not to get creepy jut to prove i’m not being ageist. For a still alive example Keith David is also still a smokeshow at the tender age of 64. So yeah, not an age thing just not these paticular old people. 

But they need a plan so the boy suggest luring the bear into a trap with honey. Donald and Scrooge build the cage while the boys.. find the jar of honey. 

Regardless since the boys won’t do it for what Scrooge pays and neither will donald Scrooge goes to lure the bear with the honey. Once that’s done, and Scrooge is being covered with honey and licked by a bear...

So while he washes that off, the boys come up with another plan: they run around back while Donald makes noise to draw Goldie’s fire, with that being Dewey’s plan to meet her since he’s figured this out already. But Goldie has a backup plan and when she figures out they disabled Blackjack unleashes mosquitos... ugh. Having been stung like hornets about 50 times in animal crossing I feel you boys. So while Scrooge and Donald run off naked... troy if you will. 

Thank you Troy, the boys confront Goldie who reveals her identity... and that she’s broke, her dance hall having failed with the rush and this claim being all she has.. and her suspecting scrooge woudl gladly take it. The boys vow not to tell scrooge.. but he’s on his way so they kinda have to and he primps to go visit and Donald starts to see through his BS about collecting the debt. Sure enough despite being taken aback by her putting on her old dress , he takes her for all she has and is.. genuinely suprised as she thought she’d have more and she’d actually changed since the old days, donating her profits to orphans from mining disasters. Scrooge.. is clearly rattled by this. Whiel it turns out to my shock he was clealry after the money, though givne who we’re dealing with I shoudln’t of been really, he still cares and still realizes he’s being kind of a dick. So he challengers her to a gold digging race, and if she wins the claim is hers and any gold she finds.. and naturally, while he seemingly puts her soemwhere where there isn’t she finds the claim and Scrooge bemoans not taking his pill.. but while the boys boo him for it, Goldie who fondly waves them off and Donald know better: Donald points out he counted the pills this morning.. and recently. SCrooge DID take one today... he’s just has his cane shoved firmly up his ass with pride so he coudln’t ADMIT he was wrong and instead simply staged that whole thing with the full knowledge Goldie would win. It, again, sets up one of his defniing traits; how he keeps people at arms length. How he’s just so proud and full of himself he can’t bear to admit anything resembling weakness.. but WILl find a way to do the right thing without that or forgoe it as a last resort. He may project being a stingy cretionus old man.. because he is.. but he’s got a heart as big as that nugget.. it’s just locked tight in it’s own bin... his body is complicated and weird that way Final Thoughts:

This story is a classic with a decent setup, great backstory for scrooge, and a great guest character and unquestionable impact on the character. However.. it does have it’s problem; As Don Rosa, who as i’ll remind you is both a huge barks fanboy and huge scoldie shipper, himself pointed out he wrote his final story, and had planned to for years ENTIRELY because this one never quite explains how Scrooge and Goldie went from old enmies to lovers.It did lead to one of his best stories and one of the first I read post life and times so, props to that. And of course as I pointed out some things have just.. not aged well, especially the kidnapping so their relationship kinda comes off like stockholm syndrom as a result of both of these. 

That being said.. warts and all.. it’s still a really damn good story and a good one to try if your intrested in barks work or where Goldie came from: it has adventure, some really good jokes and if you can get past the dated bits the plot is solid. And while it goes without saying i’ll say it anyway Barks art is goregous as always ESPECIALLY in the flashback sequence. Overall not the best AGED Scrooge story, though not the worst either see Voodoo Hoodoo, good god, but defintely a classic for a reason.  If you liked this review, follow me for more, and for more duck content as I still have more of the three cablleros to work through, another chapter of life and times coming up this week befor ewe break again for feburary, and some other fun stuff. Until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure. 

[imnotwolverine]

Happy New Year, and hello 1000 followers!!

Hello dear readers! Welcome in my writing nook, and welcome in 2021 - FINALLY!! 

2020′s been a long year. A sad year. A year that felt like March for 9 months straight. A year that left a little dent in my corner of the couch as I was huddled away, writing in the most awkward positions because my cats tried to get on my lap alongside my laptop (it doesn’t fit - trust me, kitties). 

But, it was also a fun year; I could spend long hours reading and writing to my heart’s content. Meeting new people, and discovering kinks and fantasies I never knew were even a thing. To that; thank you my fellow horny bitches, you gave me the perseverance to work on getting proper orgasms, buying a sex toy and making my boyfriend very confused about what-the-hell was going on with me. (thankfully the shock is now gone and he’s enjoying this new horny me far too much 😂)

In more fun news; I just noticed my once small reader tribe has crossed the 1000 follower-mark (WHAT?! HOW?! YOU GUYS AND GALS ARE AMAZING -- *bounces off the walls*) 

I don’t really know how to thank you all for your love and support in reaching this unique milestone. But to those who are just crazy about reading, let me share with you something from my vault of short stories - a little side project next to this blog, to practise my writing ❤️

The Keeper

This new world order was hardly orderly.

--

It was dusty chaos, filtering in through the sole newspaper-covered window above the door that had just veered at the return of the Old Man, his persistent coughs making that same dust curl and swirl through the air.

Feeling my old bones crack, I took a moment, stretching out on my paper throne of Descartes’ body of work, before I jumped aside so he could add his new-found treasures to this grand collection of paper-bound napping nooks.

It was a good new stack. Six thick covers, the pages yellowed and musky in smell. Perfection, really. Old, gold, glorious perfection. But the Old Man didn’t seem to share my sentiment; his leathery face was wrinkled with concern, heavy brows furrowing like a thick hairy caterpillar above his gentle eyes.

Finding a new spot I swished my long tail, more dust swirling up in the single streak of light that caressed the silhouette of the Old Man.

I hadn’t seen him this worried since we met all those long years ago, his warm hands taking me to this dusty good place that I called my home. Our home. A home that oozed old world magic; thousands of books all lined up in ceiling-high cabinets, their vastness somewhat resembling the sky-high buildings outside; that is however where the comparison stopped. This place was warm, kind, soothing. It smelled nice, felt nice, housed mice - my favourite.

Outside, the world was cold, white, wicked. It smelled of chemicals and disdain, the presence of nature and animals one not wished for in its green, disorganised beauty. But the Old Man had been different. Had been. Right now he moved with the same hasty manner the men outside did, his heavy feet moving daintily past the hastily stacked collections, the structure in them long gone.

The same had happened to the ever structured and unchanging man I once knew; The Old Man was looking older each day, which was strange for a being I thought immaculate and immortal. In my long years of life I had never truly ever seen any differences in this man, his wrinkles ever wrinkly and his eyes ever curious. But, these past few weeks I started having my doubts. I never liked change, but change was suddenly here in abundance. I could hear it on the nervous streets outside. I could feel it in my aching bones and the knits in my pelt. I could feel it in the lack of scratches I received, the Old Man suddenly more occupied with the world outside than in.

This new world order was a terrible thing indeed.

Stretching up my aching back, I curled my tail around my paws, watching as the man passed yet again, his eye catching mine for just a second, his feet slowing down so he could give me a long overdue sign of affection.

“Hello Minnie.” He said gently, his warm voice making my muscles tremble in delight, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait yet a moment longer. Duty calls!” And with that he disappeared once more, the door hastily closed behind him as he moved back out into the streets that no longer had names.

Everything was changing and I didn’t like it one bit.

--

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away - or actually a few streets from here - I lived a perilous life of hunting, fighting, mating and waiting. You see: I was not made for the streets I lived in, the large neon lit signs up above too bright for my eyes and the food too sparse to feed the real hunger inside of me. The hunger that goes beyond the growling of the stomach; it was the hunger that gnawed at my brain and my heart as I watched dark figures pass by beneath their umbrellas, their eyes not directed at me, but at my much shinier counterparts on those sky-licking white screens.

e-Cat, e-Book, e-Love..e-Life. The words sparked with promise on beaming backgrounds, luring in the attention of the drifting souls down on the streets. Luring them in to look up, up and away from the truth that could be found right at their feet. A truth that once, an age or so ago, was so very normal.

It must have been a good time then. With ear-scratches and hugs and real talking; I had once even seen humans talk so close to another that their lips touched. And they seemed to find it very agreeable indeed, their lips curling in what the Old Man had explained to be smiles.

Smile (verb)

Form one's features into a pleased, kind, or amused expression, typically with the corners of the mouth turned up and the front teeth exposed.

Humans are peculiar beings.

Then, one day, someone looked down, not up. A man, a dreamer probably, his step shortly disrupted from his travels as our eyes met and, just like that, I was invited into his life, his shovel-sized hands picking me up and stuffing my scrawny bones beneath his warm jacket.

The Old Man.

--

“Why..I thought you had gotten rid of this?” A new voice entered the small haven of books, the door swiftly closed again. Their hushed voices made me blink open my eyes, a flickering light turned on to brush artificial light over the Old Man and the new person. A Young Woman.

She was pretty I think. Her hair cut just beneath her ears and her body wrapped in a large, fresh smelling jacket. I liked her smell. She smelled of my creatures, two males I think. And so with a little more curiosity I yawned and stretched, welcoming the two back in my domain.

“Hi there Minnie.” The Old Man wistfully scratched me behind the ear.

His voice sounded fragile as crystal, his eyes looking equally translucent as they shimmered in the low light of the single light bulb.

“OH..what am I to do, Dee? It’s just..” He turned back towards the woman, her eyes still looking in honest amazement at the huge collection of books stacked up high to the ceiling.

“Well..this is more than a ..little problem, Badger.” She looked back at him, teeth biting down onto her lip in thought. Humans sure had a weird way of expressing distress. Why didn’t she just hiss or growl? Furl up that pretty mane of her? - At least she got the eyes right.

With a quick flick of her large pupils she looked at me, then the books again.  

“Alright. I’ll..I’ll see what we can do.” And with that she disappeared back out of the door, back into the mayhem of white light and clicking feet on cold pavement.

--

“Hahaha. Oh, aren’t you a happy little purr-machine?” His large hand stroked comfortably over my back, my legs stretching out a little further to give him extra length to touch and soothe.

“How about I read you something, hmm? Ever seen one of these?” He picked an object from one of the shelves, the thing foreign, but smelling of forests and sweat. I liked that smell.

“It’s a book. A very old, nearly extinct..book.” He shuffled a little in his seat, his hand scratching over my chin as he sensed my shock-surprise at being moved. And then he opened this so-called ‘book’, his deep voice sending warm vibrations through my body, my eyes closing slightly as I let him take me away to another world. A world with a thousand trees. And nymphs. And gods - which I think from his descriptions, are like humans but then ever older.

Every few minutes or so he would turn a page, a new whiff of smells entering my satisfied nostrils. I was warm, safe and quite content, my muscles vibrating along with the man’s words as he relieved the ache deep in my soul. I had never heard or smelled such words as his, but I liked them very much.

--

A loud crack burst open the door, that fierce white light burning my eyes as I quickly skedaddled, getting out of the line of sight of whatever horrific beasts were here to break into my sanctuary. Humans, their smells not to my liking. Too much rubber, plastic and other synthetic whiffs.

“Take him.” One spoke, the others following his curt instructions, the Old Man being mercilessly dragged from the corner where he trembled like a child, his large body not small enough to hide behind the books like I could.

It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure whether it had happened at all, the small room quiet and the dust settled before I dared to look again. I waited and waited. The night came and went, but the Old Man didn’t return. My hunger did though. The gnawing, aching emptiness made my bones clatter in their furry furbishments and I tried my best to understand the words the Angry Men had spoken.

“Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention. Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention.” The words had near eaten me alive when the dark door opened finally, the satisfying scent of two tomcats alerting me it was her. She was not happy though, my heart already aching for her before she could switch on the light, her tears muffled behind a pale hand.

“Oh gods.” She squirmed when the light bulb flickered on, her eyes roaming over a new trail that led over the floor, the smell reminding me of food..though I hadn’t found any, anywhere.

“Oh gods..Badger.” Her eyes started to rain, her lip trembling in pain as she cried out.

That is the moment when I crawled out of my hiding, my careful paws walking towards her until she noticed me, her lips curling up in what I learned was that good emotion. A smile. Though on her it looked a little weird - were there more types of smiles? 

“Minnie.” She whispered, picking me up to cuddle until our short interaction was roughly disturbed by a sound outside. “Shit..Fuck..Okay we need to go.”

And, again, I found myself in the insides of a jacket. This time hers.

--

From the insides of the nice smelling jacket I heard a million voices spinning around us. Some human. Some metallic. Some whispering, some loud. My ears were folded flat against my skull by the time the world quieted again, the two of us landing on a mattress in a mal-furnished room; there were simply too few comfortable places to lay on, the mattress the only surface that was to my liking.

The Young Woman got up, her nose sniffling with the threat of more tears as she conjured up some food and water. Strange food and water. The type that was the standard these days. Tasteless. Shapeless. Soulless food. And disgustingly sterile water. Blergh.

But thankfully this new place brought me something good: the woman was more than eager to hug and cuddle, her body sinking down onto the mattress again so I could crawl up to her, her eye-water sinking into my fur as she held me close.

I wanted to speak to her then, and I did. I talked and talked and talked. But I’m not sure if she understood me. Why was all this water coming from her eyes? Was she the goddess of rain? I leaned in heavier into her warm chest and felt my muscles buzz with eagerness.

And then she found it. My greatest secret. The thing that the new world order was supposed to hate according to the Old Man.

Scratching my chin, I easily surrendered it to her, her fingers removing the small tube from my collar, unscrewing and finding two things: a miniscule piece of paper, reminding me of the smell of home, and some type of metal pill-tube-thing.

Silently she read the words, her lip trembling again with emotion, before they turned into a watery smile - happiness, love, good!

“Oh, I will..I will.” She mumbled.

Curiosity sparked in me and I spoke to her again, begging for her attention: “Please tell me what it reads!” -- And of course she couldn’t understand my words, but the sentiment was clear I think, for she now finally read it aloud:

“Code Minerva. Keeper of Wisdom. 112049 - Erase after uploading. Ps. she loves ear scratches.”

--

It was the day the new world order fell into true chaos.

I liked it very much.  

--

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[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

The Set Up - Harry Styles One Shot (Part 2)

Part 1

Harry sighed at his sister’s words. He knew that should never set him up with someone that wasn’t a good person, but he just wanted to find someone naturally. Then again, how many times had he gone out with someone through mutual friends, so why would this be different just because he was his sister and his mother behind it. 

Looking over at you, chatting and laughing with the man at the bar. His annoyance level was beginning to rise and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he was slightly jealous. He wouldn’t say he was a shallow man, but as with most human beings he noticed how beautiful you were. Your smile and what little bit of your laugh he could hear brought a smile to his lips. 

“Go and talk to her,” Gemma said. “Just have a few minutes of a chat. We’ll be leaving soon anyway, so might as well get it over with now.” 

He rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his drink and handing the empty glass to Gemma. 

“Oi, what am I supposed to do with this?” She asked. 

He shrugged with a smirk before making his way over towards you and the man. When he approached the two of you, he cleared his thought, making both of you look over at him.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” he smiled. 

“Hey,” you smiled back looking over at him. 

“I uh, I hate to interrupt,” Harry started. 

“It’s uh, it’s okay,” Alex said. “When you said you came here with a friend, I didn’t realize-” 

“Oh, we’re not-”you started, but he had already excused himself. 

“Sorry,” Harry winced. 

“It’s fine,” you said. “So, did you need to tell me something? Is Gemma ready to leave?” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I thought since I invited you to come along, it would be rude of me not to.” 

You sighed, looking at him, “Before we continue this, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” he said cocking his head to the side in confusion a bit. 

“Are you only doing this because Gemma put you up to this?” You asked. 

“So, you know about the whole set up thing, too?” He asked. 

“I knew it,” you sighed. “You know what, you don’t have to take pity on me for your sister. In fact, I shouldn’t even be here right now. I’ll just go and you can carry on about your night.” 

You grabbed you jacket and hopped off the stool to make your way towards the door, when he grabbed your arm. You stopped, feeling this weird sensation in your body from his touch. You turned around to look at him. You two were standing closer than you had been all night. 

“I’m not taking pity on you,” he said softly. “Do you want to know the real reason I came over to talk to you?” 

You sighed shaking your head, “Why?” 

“Because when I saw you talking to that guy, I was a bit jealous,” he whispered. 

“Okay, you’re drunk,” you said. “And if you’re just looking for someone to fuck tonight, you need to look somewhere else.” 

You went to leave again, but he pulled you back. “I’m not-Okay, maybe I’m a little bit drunk, but I’m not looking for someone to fuck tonight.” 

You rolled your eyes, “So, what? You saw me talking to some guy and got jealous, for god only knows and now what? You don’t even know me.” 

“Exactly,” he sighed. “I don’t even know you, yet I got fucking jealous over someone else talking to you because I wanted to be the one to talk to you.” 

“Well, now’s your chance, what do you want to know?” You asked. 

**

When you left your flat that night to go to the award show, you never imagined that you would find yourself grabbing ice cream with Harry Styles at one in the morning. After the little scene at the after party, he had asked you to join him for ice cream and you found yourself saying yes. 

Which brought you to where you are now, stopping at the supermarket to grab a pint of ice cream, since all the shops were closed. You were sitting out on a park bench taking turns taking bites of the ice cream. 

“So, my sister said you worked for The Mixtape?” He asked.

You nodded, “I do, although technically, I’m co-founder,” you said. 

“Wait? Really?” He asked. “That’s been around for ages.” 

“You know it?” You asked. 

He blushed, “I may have listened to a few podcasts and read the magazine a bit.” 

You smiled, “I started the blog when I was sixteen with one of my best friends. I mostly posted about my favorite songs, albums, how music easily music could take you back to a place or a memory. I would also talk about different shows or bands I had found. Then it sort of just took off... turned into more a website after we found a few other writers because it was too much for the two of us to handle. Next thing I knew, we were printing a magazine with interviews with different artists and other music fans. And now we’ve started a podcast to really dive into topics.” 

“Wow,” he said. “That’s amazing.” 

“Thank you,” you blushed. 

“Now, I do have to ask,” he said. “Since you own a music website, I assume you’ve listened to my music before?” 

“I have,” you nodded. “Let me guess, the follow up question is going to be... am I fan?” 

He laughed, “Perhaps.” 

“I’ll be honest with you. I am a fan,” you said. “But as far as keeping tabs on who are as a person, I’m not that type of fan. The only things I do know about you are from Gemma and your mum.” 

“Oh god,” he laughed. “I feel like I’d rather you google me.” 

“Stop it,” you giggled. “They never told anything bad... except maybe not to try anything you’ve cooked.” 

“I swear I’m never going to live that down. It was one time. I was watching a cooking show and I thought I’d give it a go, but I didn’t exactly have all the proper ingredients, so I improvised,” he laughed. “It was horrendous.” 

You giggled, “How old were you?” 

“Twelve, I think?” He said. “I was trying to be nice and cook my Mum dinner instead we ordered pizza.” 

“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” you smiled snagging another bite. 

You noticed him watching you, staring at you, with a smile causing you to blush, “Uh, what’s wrong?” You asked. “Do I have ice cream on my face?” 

“No,” he laughed. “Nothing’s wrong...well maybe a little.” 

“I’m not following,” you laughed. 

“I’m going to have tell my sister she was right,” he said. 

“About what?” You whispered. 

“That I would like you,” he said. “I know it’s a little premature and we technically only just met, but I would really love to see you again, if you uh, also want to see me again.” 

“I’d really like that,” you smiled. 

**

It wasn’t until a few days later when you met up with Harry again. You two had briefly chatted over the phone trying to figure out where and when you see each other. During your conversations, neither one of you mentioned or referred it to as a date, but you had to admit you were hoping it was. You both decided on some doing something casual, a simple dinner at a nearby restaurant and then you said you would take care of the rest of the night. 

Harry was on his way to pick you up and you could feel the nerves bundling up inside of you. You changed your outfit five times before finally deciding upon a pair of dark wash jeans with a gucci belt paired with a long sleeve see through black top. You wore your hair in a curly half up do with a bun on top, slipping on a  few of your favorite rings and necklaces. 

Once you were fully dressed, you took one last look in the mirror before throwing some necessities into your bag and heading into the living room. Just as you were grabbing your coat, your phone alerted you that you had text message. It was Harry saying he was outside. Instead of going through the letting him in process, you decided to just meet him there. 

Pulling on your coat, you grab your bag, locking the door behind you and heading down to the main floor. You looked around, seeing Harry parked just down the street a little bit. You smiled knocking on the door, which he quickly got out to open the door for you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled. 

The drive to the restaurant consistent of mostly small talk. A bunch of how was your day, how have you been, etc, etc. When you arrived, Harry gave his keys to the valet before following you inside. He had placed his hand on you back as the two of you walked in. 

“Reservation?” The hostess asked. 

“Yes, two for Styles,” He smiled. 

“Right this way,” she smiled taking two menus and walking towards the back fo the room. 

“Is a booth okay?” She asked. 

Harry looked at you and you nodded, “It’s fine.” 

“Your server will be right with you,” she smiled. 

“Thank you,” both you and Harry smiled. 

“If you’ll hand me your jacket, I can hang it with mine,” he said. “There are hooks over here.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you smiled slipping it off and handing it to him. 

Even though he was trying to be discreet, you could easily see him looking you up and down. You felt heat rush to your cheeks before sat on your side of the booth. Harry joined you on the other side taking the menu in his hands. 

“Have you been here before?” He asked. 

“Once,” you said. “Actually, it was uh, with someone from work.” 

“Uh-oh,” he said. “I feel like there’s a story there.” 

“Nothing gets past you,” you joked. “But yeah, there’s a big, fat, shitty story there.” 

“I’m all ears if you ever want to share,” he laughed. 

You laughed before skimming back over the menu as you gave the waiter your order. 

“Okay, so what’s the plan for after?” He asked. 

“Well, there’s pub that has a songwriter night a few times a week,” you told him. “I usually go to scope out any up and coming artists to profile on the site. I thought maybe we could check it out tonight, if that’s okay with you.” 

“It’s more than okay,” he smiled. “I’d love to go.” 

“Great because I already got us tickets,” you smirked. 

“What would you have done if I said no?” He asked raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh, I would have just found someone else to join me,” you shrugged. 

“You wouldn’t,” he gasped. “You know for a fucking fact that you wouldn’t have near as much fun with anyone else.” 

“Hm, I guess we’ll just have to see about that,” you smirked. 

“Guess we will,” he smirked. 

**

The rest of dinner had gone great, in between bites and sips, the two of you found yourself laughing and joking about different things. At one point, you two were laughing so hard, tears started filling up your eyes. After Harry paid for the bill, you both got up and he helped you slip your coat on. You smiled pulling your hair out from under the collar and grabbing your bag. 

“So, I need to tell you something,” he said as the two of you waited for the valet to bring around his car. 

“Should I be nervous?” You asked. 

He laughed shaking his head, “I have that exact same shirt, but it’s in white...” 

“Oh my god, you do not,” you giggled. 

“I do,” he laughed. “It’s a possibility for tour.”

“Well, if you do, you know I’m going to do a who wore it better, right?” you smirked. 

“You, definitely, you,” he smiled. 

“Thank you,” you said looking down a bit. 

The pub you were taking it him to was a few streets over, so it didn’t take entirely too long to get there. You smiled getting out of the car after he parked. He headed towards the entrance to wait in line, but you pulled him back. 

“Follow me,” you smirked heading towards the back door. 

“Well, someone’s a bit of a rebel,” he joked. 

“Or I know a guy,” you smirked. 

“Should I be jealous?” He laughed. 

“That does seem to be your thing,” you laughed. 

“I promise I’m not like a jealous, controlling type boyfriend,” he said quickly. 

“Boyfriend?” You raised an eyebrow. “Already throwing the b word around? What sort of girl to you take me for, Styles?” 

“I well, I mean, you know... Im just going to shut up now,” he said. 

You laughed, “I’m just taking the piss out of you.”

“You know my sister said you were nice, and I’m starting to think she was lying,” he smirked. 

“Remember how I said I could find someone else to join me?” you smirked. 

“Fair enough,” he laughed. 

You showed your tickets to the security guard, who let the two of you in, and Harry followed you over to the VIP section. 

“Damn, you are quite official aren’t you?” He asked. 

“That I am,” you smiled. “I mean it’s not exactly a suite or side stage tickets to an Ariana Grande concert.” 

He laughed, “Maybe not, but it’s cool nonetheless.” 

“Pst, I know,” you smirked. 

In the hour that had passed at the club, you two had seen about 3 performers, finished a small cocktail and somehow had inched closer together at the booth. His arm had made it onto the top of the booth, which made you even closer. You found yourself looking over at him throughout the night whenever you sipped on your drink or bopped your head to the music. Luckily, he never caught you, but there were times you could feel his gaze on you. 

Since the music was pretty loud in the smaller space, it was hard to make conversation. 

“Are you having fun?” You asked him once the performer was done. 

“I am,” he nodded. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place before now.” 

“Well, glad I could be the one to let you in on a little secret,” you smiled. 

“Maybe next time I can be the one letting you in on a secret,” he smiled. 

“Ooooh, so not only have you brought up the b word, but you also want to see me again?” You smirked. 

He blushed with a laugh, “I’d be a fucking liar if I said no.” 

“Well, that’d make two of us,” you said turning towards him. “If I said I didn’t like the sound of that.” 

Smiling over at you, you could feel him leaning closer towards you with a glance down to your lips. Instinctively, you moved your head closer to his, and just when you both were about to close the remaining distance between you, when music started playing again, causing the two of you to jump out of your little trace.

**

It had gotten late, so the two of you decided to head out. Ever since the almost kiss, the tension between you was growing. You weren’t sure if it was your own need or his as well, but you were practically itching at wanting to press your lips against his. Of course, you wouldn’t be opposed to taking it past way more than kissing, but this was still new and you didn’t want to just bed your best friend’s brother in case it didn’t work out. 

When Harry pulled up outside of your building, he turned the car off and looked over at you. 

“Do you mind if I walk you up?” He asked. 

“Not at all,” you smiled. 

He nodded as you both got out of the car and headed into the building. You typed in your code and then got onto the elevator. Neither of you said anything on the ride up, only once you were standing outside your door. 

“Well, this is me,” you said. 

He nodded running his hands through his hair, “Tonight was fun.” 

“It was,” you smiled. “Thank you for inviting me out.” 

“Anytime,” he smiled. “I meant what I said about seeing you again. I’ve uh, I’ve got to go to New York in a few days, but I’d love to see you when I get back.” 

“Sure thing,” you smiled. “Just let me know when you get back.” 

“Well, I uh, I was hoping I could call you, while I’m gone?” He asked putting his hands in the pocket’s of his coat. 

“You better or I’ll hunt you down,” you joked. 

He laughed, looking down as he shuffled his feed, “I should probably go. It’s getting late and I’m sure your neighbors don’t want to hear us talking out here in the hallway.”

“Right,” you nodded. “So, I guess I’ll just see you when you get back then?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

You nodded again waiting for a spilt second to see if he would try to kiss you again, when it was apparent he was not, you grabbed your keys out of your purse and unlocked your door. 

“Goodnight,” you smiled with a wave. 

“Goodnight,” he smiled back. 

You turned to head inside, when Harry’s voice stopped you. 

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes?” you asked looking back at him. 

He walked closer to you looking down into your eyes as he put his hands on the sides of your face. Your gaze dropped down from his eyes to his lips and back up again. Next thing you knew, his lips were against yours and you felt as if your heart was going to burst. 

**

Sooo... this one shot has now turned into more than one part. I don’t see it being super long... but we’ll see where this goes.