#or maybe like cigarets

[oddman-the-oldman]

I think I've come up with a compromise solution to the 2nd amendment VS Mental health arguement

Put a sin tax on guns, ammunition and other supplies that might be used in reloading spent shell casings as well as the parts to repair guns, extra magazines, scopes and laser sights etc... to pay for mental health services similar in weight and nature to the current taxes placed on alcohol. There can be an annual licensing fee with a tax stamp similar to an automobile license tab.

You could exempt safety equipment like trigger locks gun safes and locking gun cases to encourage their use.

All of the common sense stuff that the NRA says we need, to in the way of mental health services that will stop the mass shootings will be funded.

.

[koiiiji]

pov ; you are giving the birth to a baby

starring ; Hyungseok, Jonggunn, Jungoo, Gitae + honorable mention

Hyungseok : the hero we never thought of but needed. as you go into labor, he go step by step with you through it. he is holding your hand and belly when you are already in hospital. in the delivery room, he holds your hand tightly, his thumb gently rubbing your palm and just silently being patient with everything, because doctor said that you need to focus on her commands and pushing the baby, not on his voice. yet, Hyungseok is incredibly empathetic. when the pain becomes intense, he mirrors your breathing, encouraging you to breathe through the contractions. all in all 11/10, proud father and husband. crying when everything is over and you and the kid are alright.

Jonggun : he thought he would be a hero, because come on what’s so scary about giving a birth? Jonggun, convinced that childbirth is just another challenge he can handle. he really thinks his experience in life has prepared him for anything. but as the contractions start to intensify, he watches you in pain and he have no idea what to do, where to put his hands and how to help you. and when nurse helped him, telling him to hold your hand during another contraction, you grip his palm so tightly that you almost broke it. excuses himself and left the room, to smoke half of the cigarets rethinking his life. he came back when you already give a birth to his son, but doctors said that the child took all your energy, so now you’re under doctors control and care for a while. so at first Jonggun would be a little distant to the child. but all in all so proud of you and the baby. 7/10

Jungoo : another self named hero he thought he would be. he is little better than Jonggun, because he attended prenatal classes with you, and generally he is better in empathy. so he believes he has a solid understanding of what to expect and how to support you through labor. Jungoo helps you with breathing exercises, encourages you to roll on the birthing ball, and checks in constantly, making sure you’re comfortable and at ease. and everything was fine until labor room. he was holding your hands, all supportive and stuff, but then medical staff brought in the epidural needle. his composure shatters as he sees the size of the needle. “BABY, THERE IS A HUGE NEEDLE! WHY ARE THEY PUTTING IT IN YOUR SPINE?! BABY WHATS GOIN-” his voice is filled with panic, and he starts to hyperventilate. Jungoo faints right in the delivery room, causing a little chaos. annoyed lady doctor rolls her eyes and instructs the nurses to *citation* “remove the man” from the labor room. Jungoo came to feelings when you already give a birth to twins and now resting, while nurses got your babies. ah! Jungoo is super excited about his new role as a father, so he gonna TERRORIZE nurses and doctors with questions.

Gitae : no. just no. not gonna happen. he will pay for anything you want, any little whine and cry and wish, but you not gonna convince him to go to the hospital with you. he will pay for best doctors and hospital but his foot not gonna step inside. he remembered once his mother told him how she gives birth to him and he is genuinely… tensed scared. of women. and labors. like ta hell you mean you will push a HUMAN out of your body? so nuh uh. but he will came to take you home, in all glory, flowers, gifts, whatever you wanted for giving him strong, healthy boy. all in all 5/10 for leaving you, but maybe +1 point for expensive gifts and house full of flowers.

honorable mention ;

Gimyong : a hero. we knew about him. we needed him. and he was there. best boy. but kinda freaks out too because he doesn’t know what to do. should he hold your hand? but you already holding the bed frame. should he whisper something to you? but you screaming in pain. help he don’t know what to do!!!

Taesoo : scared as hell!! didn’t care at first about the child, you’ve been his #1 priority. it’s kinda gives medieval vibes but he is gonna gift you a fur from his haunt or fur coat.

[neochan]

( 1:59 am ) • lonely soldier!jaehyun x bestfriends gf!reader

a.n. did i just write a drabble based on how me and my husband got together…maybe<3 am i missing a bunch of details…yeah.

jaehyun’s thoughts are clouded, heavy with exhaustion and desire that he can’t control anymore. every night since he’s returned from deployment, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the memories of endless combat and the cold emptiness of his bunk. the laughter, the conversations he overhears—it all feels distant, as if it belongs to a world he no longer understands. he’s on the edge of something dark, something he can’t shake off. and then he sees you.

at first, it’s just a spark, a fleeting thought, but it grows, feeding on the loneliness that’s been gnawing at him for months. you’re familiar, someone he’s known for a while, but now you represent everything he’s been denied—the warmth of a touch, the solace of closeness, a moment of peace. he knows it’s wrong, that you’ve been with his best friend for years, that your relationship is solid. but logic doesn’t matter anymore. the longer he’s around you, the more he’s consumed by the thought of what it would be like to have you, even for just a moment, to feel alive again.

there’s a desperation in his eyes that he can’t hide anymore. it’s in the way he looks at you, lingering just a little too long, in the way his hand brushes against yours when no one’s watching. it’s not just a simple want—it’s a deep, aching need, a hunger that’s tearing him apart from the inside out. he’s a man who’s been pushed past his breaking point, and now, after everything he’s endured, after all the lonely nights and the empty mornings, he’s certain of one thing: he wants you.

jaehyun sits next to you on the driveway, the cold concrete beneath him doing little to ground the weight of everything swirling in his mind. it’s quiet out here, the distant sound of music from inside the house a faint hum, barely registering. you hand him the cigarette, and as his fingers brush yours, it feels like the first real thing he’s touched in weeks.

he takes a drag, staring into the darkness, the smoke curling lazily in the air between you. “it’s different, you know? being back,” he says, his voice quiet, like he’s still working through the thought. “i thought I’d come home and things would just… fall into place. but it feels like everything’s changed.”

you take a sip from your beer, the cold can slick against your palm, trying to keep your expression neutral. “different how?” you ask, though you can sense what’s coming.

he glances toward the house, where your boyfriend—his best friend for over fifteen years—is inside, probably asleep by now. the way jaehyun’s jaw tightens, you can tell he’s struggling to say what’s really on his mind. “even with him,” he finally admits, eyes flicking back to you. “it’s like we’re not even friends anymore. he barely looks at me, barely talks to me. it’s like i came back, and i don’t fit into his life anymore.”

you look down at your beer, unsure of what to say. you’ve noticed it, too—how distant things have felt between them since jaehyun returned. your boyfriend hasn’t been the same around him, like something unspoken hangs between them. “i think he’s just... adjusting too,” you offer, though it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

“yeah, maybe,” jaehyun mutters, taking another drag from the cigarette, but the frustration in his voice betrays him. “but it doesn’t feel like that. it feels like i’m just... someone he used to know. like we’re just pretending things are the same when they’re not.”

the weight of his words hangs between you, thick and heavy. jaehyun looks lost, confused, like the world he left behind doesn’t fit him anymore. “everything’s changed. him, the way he is with you... even you,” he adds, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second before looking away, the tension in his voice undeniable.

“me?” you echo, caught off guard. your pulse quickens as you take the cigarette back from him, trying to hide the way your hands shake. “how have i changed?”

he hesitates, exhaling slowly, and you can see him grappling with what he wants to say. “i don’t know,” he admits, frustration evident in his tone. “it’s like i see you now, and it feels different. i don’t know if it’s because of everything that happened over there or because i’ve been away for so long, but... it’s not the same.”

you’re both quiet for a long moment, the weight of his confession pressing down on the space between you. “you haven’t changed, jaehyun,” you say softly, though you’re not sure you believe it yourself. “maybe it just feels different because you’ve been gone. but you’re still the same person.”

he shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “i don’t feel like the same person. it’s like everything i thought was solid when i left is... slipping away. you, him... i feel like a stranger in my own life.” he glances toward the house again, jaw clenched. “he was my best friend, and now it’s like i don’t even know him.”

you bite your lip, knowing that nothing you say will fix the distance between them, or the sudden shift in how you’re feeling about all of this. “maybe you just need time,” you suggest, trying to offer something, anything, that might make sense of the mess that’s unfolding between you all.

“time,” he repeats, the word laced with a bitterness that surprises you. “time for what? for him to act like i’m not even around? like i don’t matter anymore?” he rubs the back of his neck, frustration spilling over. “i thought he’d be happy to see me, you know? we’ve been through everything together. but now... it’s like i’m just an inconvenience.”

your throat tightens at his words. you’ve seen it too—how distant your boyfriend’s been with jaehyun, how things between them that used to be easy and natural now feel strained. but there’s more to it, something you can’t quite name but feel deep in your gut. “he cares about you,” you say quietly, though the uncertainty in your voice betrays you.

jaehyun sighs, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “i know. but it’s not just about him, it’s... this.” he gestures between the two of you, and for the first time, the tension crackles openly in the air. “you and me sitting here like this... it feels different, doesn’t it?”

you don’t answer right away, because you’re not sure what the answer is. or maybe you’re afraid of admitting that you feel it too—the shift, the way your heart pounds when he looks at you, the way the silence between you feels full of things neither of you are ready to say. “maybe it’s just because you’re feeling lost,” you offer weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he gives you a look, like he’s searching your face for something real. “maybe. or maybe it’s because i’m seeing things i didn’t before. maybe it’s because i’ve come back, and you’re the one thing that doesn’t feel... wrong.”

your breath catches in your throat at the weight of his words, the truth you’ve both been dancing around finally laid bare. you glance back at the house, the lights off now, the only sound the distant hum of night. you feel like you should pull away, say something to shut this down before it spirals into something you can’t take back. but you don’t.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you finally admit, your voice trembling slightly. “i don’t know what to say.”

he leans in just a fraction, the cigarette burning down between his fingers, forgotten. “you don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his gaze holding yours, full of confusion and something else you can’t quite name. “just... tell me i’m not the only one feeling this.”

you don’t answer right away, because you can’t. the silence between you is suffocating, and you know that the second you acknowledge what’s happening here, there’s no going back. but in the quiet, under the stars and the distant hum of the world, everything else—your boyfriend, the years of friendship, the rules you both know you shouldn’t break—fades into the background.

and for just a moment, you forget to stop yourself from leaning in.

[mcumorningstar]

A Rose By Any Other Name || Part One

part two part three

series pairing: tommy shelby x reader, hints of john shelby x reader, hints of tommy x lizzie

summary: Resigned to a life as a whore, the infamous Shelby brothers find you in a compromising position and you apprehensively accept their protection. (Set in s2).

warnings: 18+ minor’s dni, prostitution, 1920s attitudes toward women and prostitution (physical and verbal aggression), unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, typical peaky blinders content, (slow burn sorry)

author’s note: I was bored and it’s missing Tommy Shelby hours (he’s so fit I can’t cope). This is kinda short but I’m hoping to make it a series. Also this is the first fic so if anyone reads please be nice :)

Work was a little more bearable if they fucked you from behind.

That way you could imagine the man rutting into you was a handsome actor like Tom Mix or Rudolph Valentine, or even a dashing soldier in his uniform, and not some brutish married factory foreman after too many drinks in The Garrison.

“Mhm fuck,” The nameless man grunted, pulling out and painting splatters of his cum on the backs of your thighs. Whiskey-laced breaths evened out against your skin and his grip on your neck loosened.

You didn’t look at him as the pair of you redressed, only thinking about the money now in your purse. From his clothes, you could deduce that he worked in the BSA factory but he was too clean to work on the factory floor. It was more than you usually knew about your clients and, when he opened his mouth to speak, you winced.

“Does Harry know you’re whoring behind his pub?” The man laughed, slurring his words and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders.

Ignoring him, you fixed your dress and tidied your hair. The brute wrapped his meaty fingers around your jaw and pulled you into him. He was probably quite handsome in his youth.

“Too high and mighty to open your fucking mouth?” He goaded, squashing your cheeks between his calloused fingers, “How much for your mouth?”

Noise from the pub spilled out into the streets, raucous men wasting their wages on cheap liquor. Any plea for help would be futile. Even if they could hear you, a whore caught behind the pub with a man was hardly worth a second look.

“You’re hurting me,” A weak croak escaped your rouge-smudged lips. It was a gift from one of your regulars but maybe wearing it at the local pub was a mistake.

“On the house?” He sneered, yellow teeth and thinning hair visible in the dark of the alley. With an iron grip, he pushed you to your knees, the thick mud and jagged stones cutting into your skin.

Aggressive clients were an unfortunate commonality but, whenever it happened, it was as frightening as the first time.

The scratch of a match drew you from your panicked stupor, crowded against the grimy brick wall.

Light from The Garrison illuminated the alleyway as the backdoor opened and slammed shut, casting the alley into darkness again. Your breath caught in your chest, your fate no longer in your own hands as you silently pleaded for the stranger's presence to startle the man.

A shadow appeared on the wall from the man’s lit cigarette. A Peaky Blinder. Shit.

The man above you stepped back, his eyes on the man’s shadow as it tripled. His jaw tightened before he dragged you to your feet. The commotion caught the three brothers’ attention, their hushed conversation halting.

Thomas Shelby’s scrutinising gaze fixed on you until the man excused himself and hurried out of the alley onto Garrison Lane.

John and Arthur Shelby chuckled, nudging one another and failing to hide their smirks. Whiskey dripped from Arthur's moustache and John's tooth pick hung from the corner of his mouth.

With flushed cheeks, you brushed the tiny and blood-smeared stones from your knees and righted your skirt.

Deep blue eyes didn’t falter, pinning you to the spot.

“Is Lizzie still inside?” You asked meekly, attempting and failing to meet Thomas Shelby’s eyes.

Thick fingers ran his cigarette across his pink lips, taking another drag as his gaze assessed you. Fighting the urge to touch your hair or tug your lip between your teeth, his eyes finally broke away from you and it seemed his assessment of the situation was complete.

You were aware of one another, only by association. Lizzie was now Thomas’ secretary and she dragged you to The Garrison whenever she could. The Shelby brothers acknowledged your presence, as Lizzie’s friend, and they will look out for you as a favour to her.

Arthur broke the silence, his gruff voice full of cheek, “Yeah, talking to a BSA worker. Your fella outranks hers. Does that mean you can charge more?”

For men who frequently pay for whores, they were at ease to laugh at your expense.

It was the middle brother who spared you, snatching the whiskey from the eldest and offering you a swig. Against your better judgment, you took the bottle and swallowed a mouthful or two.

“Don’t worry, his cock went nowhere near my mouth,” You spat with no real bite behind it, “Didn’t want to take the piss with his shallow pockets.”

John and Arthur stood in stunned silence, their cheeks reddening and their eyes averting away from you. A wiser woman may have kept her mouth shut but you were banking on Lizzie to save you from any potential consequences. And you were humiliated, what else did you have to lose?

Thomas took a drink from the bottle before handing it back to his older brother. His deep Brummie lilt travelled through the silence, “We’ll drive you home.”

Without waiting for a response, he headed onto Garrison Lane and the brothers looked at one another, dumbfounded. You weren’t in the business of saying ‘no’ to a Blinder, especially not the Blinder, and especially not after your spiteful words. With shaky legs and sweaty palms, you followed the brothers.

A brand new Bentley was parked in front of The Garrison. Thomas held the passenger door open, finishing his cigarette. Arthur and John wrestled until Arthur manhandled his younger brother into the backseats, releasing his neck from a firm headlock.

Stepping back, Arthur motioned you towards the backseat but Thomas cleared his throat. The two brothers shared a moment of unspoken disagreement.

“I’ll sit in the back. I don’t mind,” You said as if your voice wasn’t yours. Three gangsters within arms reach was more than enough to set your nerves on edge.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just a chair,” Arthur grumbled with a soft and crooked smile, as he clambered into the back with a more than delighted John. Smiling politely, you took the passenger seat.

This was your first time in an automobile. Thomas started the engine and glanced over when you crossed your legs, unsure how to sit lady-like in the confined space.

Your skirt rode up as you got comfortable and your grazed knee was exposed. Thomas kept his eyes on the road as he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, handing over a white hanker-chief with a small embroidered T.S in the bottom corner.

Opening your mouth to protest, Thomas cleared his throat and focused on the drive. A silent order to accept the offer. Carefully you dabbed at the small trickles of blood, staining the white fabric, until all that was left was raw, grazed skin.

Thankfully, the drive to your lodgings wasn’t quiet; in fact John and Arthur talked your ear off as they passed the bottle of whiskey between them. You didn’t have much to say, mortified by the situation they found you in and frankly a little terrified to be in a car with the Shelby brothers in the first place.

Thomas was quiet. Lizzie said he’s been like that since he got back from France, but his silence was unnerving as you sailed through the streets of Small Heath.

“You live with Lizzie?” John asked as the car pulled in outside your lodgings and the engine cut. Clumsy hands gripped the back of your seat as he leaned over the front seats to smile at you.

Lizzie said John was a good boy, the best of a bad bunch. Nevertheless, blood rushed in your ears and your fisted the material of your dress at his proximity and hot whiskey breath.

Thomas sighed and lit a cigarette, surprising you when he got out of the car. Plumes of smoke followed him as he rounded the car and opened your car door.

“Yes, I- There’s three of us,” You answered, your scuffed brown heels stepping onto the uneven cobblestones.

“Three whores living together? Sounds like the start of a joke,” John laughed, his tooth pick long gone, and you were pleasantly surprised by the lack of insult in his voice.

“Or a very nice dream,” Arthur chuckled along too, his deep voice at full volume making you jump. With his brother distracted by you and the bottle, John scrambled into the front seat.

Arthur's swift smack to the back of John’s head echoed in the quiet of the street. A small smirk twitched at Thomas' lips but you averted your eyes before he noticed you watching.

"Lizzie is a secretary now, John," You played along, most comfortable with the younger brother. John's shining eyes were glued to you as you searched for your door key.

Arthur scoffed and mumbled against the lip of the bottle, "Yeah, Tommy's secretary." Nobody acknowledged the insinuation that hung in the air.

Opening your front door, you turned to the three men, slightly less afraid than you once were, "Thank you for driving me home. Goodnight."

"Night love," John and Arthur responded; Arthur's deep grumble and John's cheery lilt. They turned their attention back to the whiskey, fighting over it like children.

Before you shut the door, Thomas stepped closer to you, exhaling smoke through his nose. Did he want to come in? Payment for the lift home? Or, payment for the lift home? Whatever it was, your stomach felt like you swallowed a tonne of lead.

"Is everything okay, Mr Shelby?" Your voice carried between you, like a dainty flower ready to wilt.

"Tell Lizzie," He began, his cigarette hanging from his lips as he reached into his pocket, "That she's to come to work early tomorrow."

Folded paper money appeared from his pocket and suddenly the wad of cash was in your palm.

"Is- Is this for Lizzie?" You stuttered, blushing like a maiden at your suggestion. There was something heart-stopping about being the subject of Thomas Shelby's arresting gaze.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at you, taking his cigarette between his fingers and looking you up and down. Shit, was that the wrong thing to say? The Peaky Blinders never harmed women but that wasn't a comfort as you stood in front of him.

"Come on Tommy! It's fucking freezing!" Arthur yelled from the car. Thomas ignored him and threw his cigarette to the pavement.

"It's yours,” He said as if it was obvious, “Whores working behind The Garrison is bad for business."

That bastard! Lizzie told you all about her sessions with Thomas Shelby. Prostitution is only acceptable when he's doing the fucking?

"I'm not a charity nor a bookie you can bribe Mr Shelby," You pressed the money to his chest, "Save your white knight persuasion for Lizzie. Goodnight."

The sound of John and Arthur's laughter disappeared behind the wooden door, as you slammed it in Thomas' face. Muffled conversation between the brothers carried into the house, relieving you once the car drove away.

You had only been in your bedroom for a moment before gentle footsteps hurried across the landing.

"Is everything okay? I saw the Bentley parked outside," Thelma's brows were furrowed and she pulled her robe taunt against her body, peering into your bedroom.

"Yes," You nodded, slightly out of breath from your racing heart, "The Shelby brothers drove me home."

Thelma's jaw dropped, "With- Is Lizzie with you?"

Shaking your head, you draped your bag over the railing of your bed frame and unpinned your hair in front of the mirror.

"They said she was flirting with a BSA man. Caught me on my knees behind The Garrison," You flushed, failing to keep a straight face. Thelma burst into a fit of giggles.

Through the mirror, you saw her covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her amusement. You turned to face her, giggling at the ridiculousness of it.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to laugh," She sat at the bottom of your bed, as you unlaced your dress.

Living with other women was a comfortable situation but living with other whores was even more so. Who else would you go to for a second opinion if you thought you had the clap?

Your dress fell to the floor in a ripple of fabric and your heels were kicked off, "No it is funny. John is sweet. Arthur was drunk and loud.."

"..and Thomas?" Thelma goaded with a teasing grin.

"I slammed the door in his face," You winced and Thelma gasped," Do you think Lizzie will be mad at me? I couldn't help myself."

As much as Lizzie protested, it was glaringly obvious that she was in love with Thomas Shelby. When he started meeting with her on a regular basis, her heavy pockets and orgasmic bliss clouded her judgement. It would be hard for any of you to not fall in love with a client who makes you cum. Now she was his secretary but nobody was disillusioned by that title and, after a few drinks, she giddily confirmed that he bent her over his desk semi-regularly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think that he loved her too but a man like Thomas Shelby was not bound by such silly notions.

Thelma giggled with a warm smile, "The sun shines out of his cock as far as she's concerned, but she’ll get over it.”

Giggling along, you hoped that Lizzie would be a few drinks in and find the whole ordeal hilarious...

[deadcroisany]

Amavi || Ch.2

That day Gabrielle conveniently lost her cigarettes, and she acted like the entire time she was supposed to be studying, she wasn't throwing glances at the closed window across from her every 2 minutes while tapping her leg nervously. To the point where her mom had to shout at her from downstairs because they could hear her heel thumbing on the wooden floor through the ceiling to the living room.

Her mind was racing about how to approach this when she just decided to wing it and go with the flow. She locked her door, buttoned up her shirt, which she usually had a bit too open when in the comfort of her room, and grabbed a matchbox on one hand and a tiny rock on the other before making her way to the window.

Gabrielle noticed the lights were on. Then again, she would wake him up even if they weren't. When the peddle hit the window, it made a sound. Not too loud, not too quiet to go unnoticed by the boy inside the room. Still, he took his sweet time to answer, and Gabrielle was left glaring at his curtains, head propped up on her fist, till he finally opened them.

He must have been sleeping or was simply tired. Those were her first thoughts and the first thing she noticed about him. Aside from the white patch over his left eye, It wasn't that bad, but it was different. Kind of made her sad. Not that it changed his face that much; it could've been worse.

"Finally. I thought you died," she remarked, opting to ignore the subject for now. There is no need to be soft and make things weird.

He flipped her off, and she smiled, knowing her decision was the correct one. "Toss a few."

He fished a few out of his pocket. "Two?"

"Four." He paused and gave her a look, making her shrug. "I run out."

"You never give me more than three," he pointed out, still focused on the cigaretes in his hand. Gabrielle watched him, remembering that her father used to have a friend who had lost his eye, and he couldn't really focus on objects for a while. He would try to grab something, but he could only grab air. It was something he got used to after adjusting.

"Next time, I'll give you five." She looked at the matchbox in her hand, reading the words she had written on it: "Plus, I have a gift for you."

She was aware it wouldn't do Michele any good, but something about him not being confident, even when he is being an asshole, and locking himself in his room made her uncomfortable. Maybe because he was never meant to be quiet, even when they were younger, he was full of life. It may not seem like it at first, but he was one of the few people she knew who was unafraid to live the way he wanted. Maybe she admired him for it, or maybe she craved that quality of his to stay in her life.

His quietness unnerved her. She was the quiet one; her quiet was familiar. That's why they had been friends, she thinks. She was quiet, and he never misunderstood that. He didn't misunderstand her loudness, either. She returned the favor, knowing that's just how Joseph was—he could bite.

Biting was something they both knew how to do. Heck, she was worse than him, blowing up and lashing out like a second language. Bruised knuckles and bloody noses brought her comfort, in a way.

So, late-night smoke breaks were needed. For both of them. And for him to go back to how he was, he didn't need just a gift or one of those magazines boys liked so much. Gabrielle was going to make him remember how to be spiteful.

He tied four cigarettes together, as she had requested, and threw them at her. They were a bit off the mark, yet Gabrielle caught them and made a show of counting them, checking to see if they were unsmoked, and one of them was a bit burned at the end of it. The girl held it up, showing him "Cheap."

He smirked unapologetically, resting his arms on the stone service of the window sill. "Still waiting for my gift." His words trailed off as he watched her place that one cigarette he had tried to smoke about an hour ago but decided against it between her lips, which made him unconsciously lick his.

"My mom is going to bring you cake one of these days."

Gabrielle lit it, taking a drag and letting the sounds around them fill the quiet. Just from the floor below she could hear her sisters laughing, talmking  and running around. A few houses away there was a store, that sold the best pastries Gabrielle had ever tasted. even now, she could smell the croquembouche in the air.

He scoffed, "That's not your gift."

"I can't bake."

"I know, Cheri," he joked.

Gabrille laughed, remembering how she had created chaos in her kitchen a few years ago, to which the boy was a witness and was never planning on letting her live it down. Finally, she showed him the matchbox; he squinted at it in confusion, then looked back at her face.

Joseph didn't see how a matchbox was a gift, which made him curious in a way only Gabrielle could make him, but before he could question her, the matchbox landed on his chest, and he looked at it, pushing his hair back. He had been in the process of growing it out just at the beginning of summer, maybe because British girls liked it or because he had heard Gabrielle say she liked longer hair.

Whichever it was, the admission would only be heard by the wind alone in the privacy of his room as he lay awake in the middle of the night, his thoughts eating at him, wondering if the light in her room would shine and if he would seem too pathetically obvious if he went out to smoke.

There were words on the matchbox, written in black.

"You didn't find out from me." And he nodded, for his tongue was covered in something bitter as he remembered the older Magnan sibling. At the same time, an almost warm feeling spread through him as he looked at her. His missing eye made it harder for him to adjust to any distance or change in light for a while; therefore, this was the first time since they started their conversation that he could take her in.

Her dark curls, her olive skin tone, and her brown eyes with hints of green and flecks of gold. Her relaxed posture, leaning her cheek on her hand, the cigarette hanging from her lips—fuck, her lips—lazily .And he remembered the last time they hung out, and the bitterness spread from his tongue to the rest of his body.

Could the bitterness drown her away? Cover him completely so he can be free.

She smiled and said, "It looks good, by the way." motion towards her own eye.

No, probably not.

"I look like a pirate."

"Poor, pretty Joseph. Your handsome face scarred. How will you get through with all the girls checking you out?"

At least she did not mention Vincent Auriol.

The blonde laughed; his face was scarred; his head was a mess; his mom was distraught; and he had the audacity to laugh.

Gabrielle could never have guessed that the laugh wasn't because he was looking forward to all the girls being interested in him. But because he was cursing his luck for the one he wanted, he wouldn't be one of them.

The next day, when Gabrielle saw him walk on the school grounds, she gave Michele a look, and since Michele did not know any better, she thought it was simply because the brunette felt for her situation. It didn't even cross her mind; the look was an apologizing one.

At the end of the day, he lost an eye; it's permanent damage. Her consolation thoughts made her push away all guilt as she chatted with Simone.

Simone was definitely the easiest person to have a casual conversation with, though sometimes she took Gabrielle by surprise with her words. In her defense, being asked if you are a runaway princess from some dynasty would probably take anyone by surprise. "Since you are wearing pants so much, I thought it was because of horse riding." Simone explained, her cheeks heating up when the tall girl threw her head back with a loud laugh.

"And your first thought was that I was a princess?"

"Well, you wear them a lot." The Algerian made a motion towards her pants, with a smile that turned shy when Gabrielle leaned forward, whispering a secret:

"They make my ass look good."

The short-haired girl put a hand in front of her face, certainly not expecting her to say something like that. She had heard many boys comment on her ass, that's for sure, but it did not cross her mind that she cared about that. Gabrielle adding that 'it's not like my boobs on the big side' made her hit her shoulder, laughing.

After a while, she remembered she had to go put her gym attire on, which she was not going to do in the boys toilet, so she had Annick stand guard in case Giraud passed by. The blonde took her role seriously, insisting Gabrielle go change first so they could avoid any suspicion if she was spotted out of the girls toilets.

"We match." Gabrielle noted with a big smile as she put her hair in a high ponytail when Annick took notice of the muscles in her arms. Her mom had muscles too, but they were the type of muscles one got from working a lot, which were nothing like Gabrielle's.

"Do you work out?"

"My dad teaches me savate," she explained, walking next to her with a shrug. "I like it."

"That's kinda cool." Annick said, looking around, avoiding her gaze even when she could tell from her peripheral vision that Gabrielle had turned her head to get a look at her. She let her, mostly because a part of her was used to being starred at; she had faced worse gazes. Keeping her cool, her eyes landed on her, only to find the girl looking at her much differently than when men or spiteful girls looked at her.

Gabrielle threw her hand around Annick's shoulders; it seemed foreign for someone to do so, but her body refused to pull away. "I'll teach you if you want."

"I'll just have you do the dirty work for me."

The fact that Gabrielle nodded with clear self-assurance and no hesitation made it seem that she would in fact do something like that for her. Maybe she would do it for fun, even.

Walking inside the gym with Gabrielle holding her close gave them a strange sense of deja vu when all eyes landed on them.

"I think they are jealous of me." Gabrielle whispered in the blonde's ear, "I got the best girl in France."

"France?" Annick found it excessive to make her out to be the best out of every girl in the entire country, even when the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

"Definitely."

Well, the gym turned out to be a disappointment since the boys were clearly having fun while they were stuck climbing a fucking rope, which can only be fun when you are 10 years old and don't know how to do so. Some stuff is fun till you find out how to do it; then they are just chores, a way for a teacher to give them something to do so he won't have to think about them too much.

Gabrielle was just keeping herself occupied by zoning out or listening to Simone's insane scenarios about Annick being some secret Hollywood star child. Though she had to admit she had thought about that one herself, she came to the realization that kids born to famous, rich, and accomplished parents probably wouldn't be good at anything; in fact, she doubted they would even care to try. The only time she felt like butting in was when Simone complained about a bruise that had formed on her thigh by absentmindedly adding:

"The love of your life won't give a shit about a bruise or a scar, Simone."

"What if he does?" She sounded absolutely horrified by the idea.

"Then he is not the love of your life."

At some point, the four girls had gotten tired of doing the same thing over and over again, so they just sat side by side on the blue mat, with Simone and Gabriele usually starting a conversation. Which didn't go great since Annick was her usual closed-off self and Michele looked like she was sitting on hot coals the entire time, clearly anxious.

Gabrielle kept an eye on her the entire time, mostly because she was used to it from keeping her younger sisters in line when her parents told her to. Well, and even if they didn't, it was her job to help them out with anything. It could get frustrating at times; that was the role of the oldest, though her elders would say. It was a role, and everyone has roles in their families, friend groups, and society in general.

Then Michele decided to start climbing the rope again to keep herself busy, and all that was left to do was watch the boys play. Gabrielle narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose as if a foul smell had entered her nostrils, knowing full well she could do much better than any of them. Applebaum proved her point when a ball hit him on the side of his head, which made her scoff and look to the side.

Coincidentally to her right, where her gaze diverted, was Descamps, whom she noticed had a smirk on his face and a certain, familiar spark lighting up his face. Nothing good, she knew. But at the end of the day, none of her business exists. Still, she watched him make a sign to Dupin, his partner in crime, and they snickered together.

A thought passed through her mind at that moment. Leaning her weight to her left, she whispered to Annick. "Is Dupin pretty, or am I crazy?" Who, mostly because this was the second weirdest comment she received in the past 15 minutes, rolled her eyes. "It was just a comment. Not like I would give him the role of class president in a silver platter!" Gabrielle exclaimed, offended.

Maybe it was also a dig at the fact she thought that Annick had every right to keep the date to herself, become class president and put Giraud in her place. She deserved to be at that position, she studied the hardest, got the best scores but Annick decided that keeping a low profile would be better.

"I don't know about Dupin, but his friend has been checking you out the entire time. Maybe keep your focus there."

A beat of silence. Annick looked at her straight in the eyes, while Gabrielle wondered if she could get away with getting physical with her like she did with her younger sisters. 

Annick might be a proper lady but she was sure she would bite her if she even tried.

Gabrielle raised her hands in surrender with a laugh "Okay, I'm shutting up." 

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hello!

I wanted to say that I love your blogs and seeing that you posted something can make my day :)

I would like to ask if I can request a blurb/hc of Wick taking care of a sick reader?

Or Zib teasing the reader (shorter than him) about their height which makes the reader upset and then Zib having to appease them? - i hope it makes sense😭

Also I wanted to add - please don't overwork nor rush yourself, get some proper rest and take care!

A/n: I WILL DO BOTH, and ahhhh you're so sweet, thank you for giving me my to favorite boys 😩

<Wick taking care of a sick reader>

"Love?"

Stepping into the room, Wick frowned as he looked you over. He hated seeing you like this, all bundled up between the blankets. Hearing your coughs, seeing your body shake.

Stepping close, he flinched at your cough as he sat next to you. Rubbing your back gently, he brushed a stay curl aside as you weakly looked up at him.

"I'm sorry Wick." Coughing, you looked up at him as you gave him a weak smile. "I'm sorry you had to cancel our date night."

Shaking his head, Wick smiled as he bent down giving the top pf your head a gentle kiss. "Never apologize love....I'd rather spend time with you....now I know the perfect thing to make you feel better. My grandmas famous recipe!" He beamed.

Letting out a weak laugh, you did your best to hide your cough as Wick covered your body with another blanket. "Get some rest dove, I'll bring you the food and you'll be better in know time."

Sitting by your side, Wick made sure that you were comfortable. He set a bath for you and while you were cleaning yourself he changed out the sheets for fresh ones. He even went as far as to carry you back to the bed.

"What if you get sick Sedgewick?" You weakly looked up at him, your ears flattened on your head, tail twitching as he moved to lay next to you.

"Then I will take that risk." He muttered kissing the top of your head. "Now get some sleep, rest is very important in getting better."

Letting out a soft laugh you nuzzled your face into his chest. "Okay, but I'm only doing this for you."

<Zib teasing short reader>

"That short enough for ya....I mean...you sure you can reach it?" ​Dorian Zibowski or Zib as everyone called him teased you as he hovered ofer your short frame.

"I can help ya of you like." The cigaret dangled from the corner of his mouth.

Puffing out your cheeks, your fur bristled as you tugged the mic close to you. "How very kind of you Zib but I'm fine! Maybe you should worry about not hacking up a lung on our next performance."

A deep chuckle left his lips as he took a step towards you. Grasping your chin he gave you a teasing grin bending down, his head pressing yours as his hat pushed up. "I keep forgettin how cute you are when you get all flustered."

"Zib!"

Humming, Zib put out the cigaret as he then placed his hat on your head. "You weren't complanin last night though. Gotta say you looked really good wearin my shirt."

Feeling your body grow warm, you turned your back to him. "You....shut up!"

[cerise-angel]

West coast

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+ smut; smoking and drinking

Kind of a singer!au? (Omg Djo hi!!!) Heavily, if not totally, inspired by the song west coast and the ultraviolence album. Just saw the pictures above, while listening and yeah, this is it. Hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you guys think 💘💕😖 (if i have the guts and time, maybe i will do one for each song of the album) Emotional smut ❤️😭🥵 Also this is my first smut, sorry if its not that juicy..... English is not my first language, sorry for any grammar mistakes/mispelling.

The night was hot and humid, the wind blowing relentlessly, boiling a summer storm with it. Even so, the small restaurant was almost full, pretty much all the tables taken, the dim lightning focusing on the small stage. Not that people seemed to be paying much attention to the man singing. You were though.

Sitting beside the bar in a tall chair, you ordered another Jack n Coke to the bartender, who seemed much happier to bring you more alcohol. "This was supposed to be fun." You thought to yourself, sighing. It was your vacation after all, and you decided to come down to south California, staying in a fancy resort.

Felt was nice, but lonely, it had started to bother you, bubbling in your chest, that same feeling of fear and relief of being alone, which usually ended up in tears or in the best peace you've ever known. The pretty singer seemed to be as frustrated as you. You focused on him, the way his hands played the guitar, his shirt opened until the fourth button, leaving out a sight of his chest and the gold chain resting against it. He stopped playing for a break, receiving a light but sure round of applause. He brought his drink to his lips, and locked eyes with you.

The way you were staring at him, as if he was good enough to eat, made him cock an eyebrow at you, which caused you to choke and spill your drink. He smiled, chuckling lightly, and even though you were embarrassed and tipsy, you couldn't stop looking at him. He started playing back, and you decided to head out of the restaurant, too ashamed for your own good.

Grabbing your phone, while sitting in one of the iron wired chairs outside, you texted your friend.

just embarrassed myself in front of the cute singer. that's why i hate gemini season.

You attached a funny selfie of you, making a fake crying face, and pressed send. Sighing yet again, you looked up at the dark skies, very cloudy, the smell of rain creeping from the grounds. It was going to rain very soon, but you really didn't care. It was fucking hot, your dress clinging to your body, your body getting damp with sweat. A cold rain would do good.

Contemplating your options, you settled for finishing your drink, and asking one more to the waiter that passed by. Surely time had passed, but you didn't know the amount. The wind was blowing even angrier, bending the palm trees and knotting the swiss cheese plants around you.

Your friend finally answered your phone, at the same time your new drink came.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Looking up to what it was supposed to be the young boy who had been attending your orders the whole night, it was the said cute singer. You felt hot in the cheeks and on the back of your knees. You wished for the rain. He looked at you with a soft smile dangling on his features, a mischief burning in his eyes.

"Can I sit with you?"

You nodded, chugging down a big gulp of the whiskey mixed with soda. He sat down, not in the chair in your front, but beside you. He reached for a pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, and drank his golden rum.

"Do you have a light?"

You nodded again, picking a neon pink lighter from your small purse.

"You don't talk?"

You looked at him a little angry and embarrassed, your mouth forming a pout before you could answer. The cute singer laughed, finally lighting his cigarette.

"Just messing with you, pretty. Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad. And I do talk."

He looked at you again, his eyes burning like his cigarette. He smiled, smugly. You smiled, ironically. He kept looking at you, and the drink you had earlier and the hot weather, made you look down, at your phone. Your friend's message was still unread.

i always thought embarrassing yourself was yoour flirting tactic? lol get him tigress

You chuckled lightly, and seconds after, as if in cue, the skies opened its gates, and big drops of water started to crash against the earth. You cursed under your breath, and quickly got your stuff, shoving your phone in your purse, and grabbing the half full cup to take to your chalet with you. The cute singer got up too, offering you his light jacket, to cover your clinging dress. You took it, grabbing his hand and bringing him along with you. He stopped before you could go any further, though.

"Hey, pretty, what cabin is yours?"

"Eight."

"Why don't we get inside, wait for the rain to subside, and then we go?"

The way he kept saying we, made your blood rush, your cheeks get red, your hands get sweaty, your breath hitch. You nodded, again, and he pulled you close to his body, bringing you back to the restaurant lobby.

Strangely, his cigarette was still on fire. You probably looked at it with a weird expression, because he chuckled, the hand that was still on your waist, rubbing your sides.

"My name's Steve Harrington. But you can call me Steve, or cute singer, whichever you like, pretty."

The way this man could make you turn into a giggling high school girly who just got a wink from her crush was insane. Maybe you were insane. It was his fault though, his pretty rough hands, the slightly chapped lip rubbing the cigarette, the faint smell of ash and vanilla he had. You were feeling dizzy. Putting a hand on his biceps, you pushed a little distance between you two.

"I'm sorry for ogling at you. You just looked really nice in the stage and no one paid you enough attention."

"You don't think I look nice now?"

He had, in the most subtle way, pulled you back into his chest, his hand resting on your lower back, his eyes glinting with desire. You looked up at him, at the smug smile you wanted to just kiss off his mouth, the small freckles he had on his neck and face.

"I think you look much more than nice now."

Steve dropped the cigarette on the floor, and his other hand caged your face. His lips were on you by a mere second, tasting like rum and salt.

"The rain decreased. C'mon, pretty."

------

The rain was a drizzle now, making the hot weather much more bearable. Steve had your hand in his, his other hand holding a bottle of golden rum he had taken from the kitchen. Your cup was still in your hand, with a very watered down liquor on it.

Steve stopped, letting your hand go and giving you the bottle before lighting up another cigarette. You drank a small amount from the bottle, smiling, tipsy for him. He smiled back, puffing the smoke before kissing you again.

The chalet wasn't far, but you two were eager. Walking fast and tangled when the rain started to pour heavily again, you made to the door of the cabin, soaked and dazed.

You unlocked the door, took off your kitten heels and walked inside. Steve did the same, letting his shoes out. You went to the bedroom, grabbing a towel for him and one for you. When you got back to the kitchen/living room assemble, Steve had put some music on, and was on the balcony. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even if you wanted to.

He was swinging slowly to the song, the breeze adding more allure to his silhouette. His cigarette on fire, his hands were up, dancing in a drunk manner. You wanted to eat him. You discarded the towels in the chair, and being a little intoxicated from the alcohol, from the heat, and, mostly, from him, popped the front buttons of your dress, reveling no bra and a glimpse of your panties.

Steve has stopped dancing, his eyes glued to your lustful form. He wanted to get inside again, and take you on the small couch, but he knew better. You seemed to enjoy playing this game, and he wasn't going to end your fun. So he waited, licking his lips, and chugging down the rum.

When you got to the balcony, the wind had risen, bringing some of the rain inside it. Steve reached for you in a moment, his hands now on your ass, his hips glued to yours, swinging with him.

"What song is this?"

You asked breathlessly, only to not give in to him first. Everything about him made you lose it, and one of his hands played around your almost exposed breasts now. His head was hanging low, eyes focused on your glowing skin, and the shivers he could bring you with just a slight touch.

"No idea, honey."

He gave in first. His lips chased yours, licking, kissing, burning. Your hands were on his soft silk hair, your lips connected to his, your whole body reacting to him. Steve's hands were now in your shoulders, pulling the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts. His kissing started to slow down, pecking your lips, your chin, your neck and finally your breasts.

You whimpered when his lips involved your nipple, his hands now resting in your waist and ass, steadying you in place. Steve looked up through hooded eyes and eyelashes, and you left a near pornographic moan at the sight. He smiled against your skin, pulled the rest of your dress off and turning you swiftly, so that your back was on display for him.

His hands played with your breasts, and he kissed your bare shoulders. You couldn't take it anymore, and started to push your hips against his, the aching lust taking the best of you. Steve fucking chuckled, putting his hands on your hips to stop you. You whined.

"Steve. Do something."

"I am doing."

You moved your hips again, turning in his embrace, locking your lips in a heated kiss. Steve's hands kept you flushed against him, his hips now moving in sync with yours. Your hand traveled down to his jeans, touching his clothed cock. Steve whined and you chuckled.

His hands did the same, going under your cotton panties, making you gasp and moan. He kissed you back immediately, keeping your sweet noises just between your two. You finally pulled his jeans and boxers down, looking at his pretty cock. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Smugly, he touched your chin, tilting your head up.

"My eyes are up here, honey."

You rolled your eyes, ready to talk him down, but his fingers pushed inside you. Steve turned on his heels, bringing you with him, so now you were pressed against the balcony fence. Softly, he tapped your leg, and you sited on top of the fence, opening your legs for him. Steve pulled your panties down, and you helped him out of his shirt. He was more eager than you, pressing himself against your pussy before the shirt was off. You kissed him again, and he kissed back softly, slowing down while his hands secured you by the waist. Slowly, Steve pushed himself inside you, making you gasp and whimper at the stretch. His mouth pecked you, easing you into it. His hands were now cupping your jaw, his breathing ragged, forehead against yours. Softly, you muttered.

"Move, baby, move, baby."

Steve gave you the prettiest smile, rocking his hips against you. You clawed at his back, your legs wrapping on his waist. Steve's mouth was back to your breasts, one of his hands squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh while the other kept caging your jaw.

"Steve. Steve, please. More."

"You-Jesus, honey, you so sweet. Fuck."

His lips kissed your mouth again, his hips keeping a tough rhythm in and out of you. Your hands were now on his hair, tugging, pulling, caressing his scalp. Steve's eyes were glued to the meeting of your bodies, the way you fitted him perfectly. He picked up the pace, faster and deeper, making you cry out in pleasure. His mouth latched to your neck, sucking, biting, kissing. You kissed his face relentlessly, lips meeting his forehead, his temple, his eyes, everything. You were close enough to hot white pleasure, and Steve seemed to notice, bringing his hand to rub your clit. Your head fell back, mouth opened, while he kept fucking you and kissing your neck and breasts.

"C'mon, honey. Come to me."

And you did. Your body felt limp, completely relaxed, your lips twitching a lazy smile. Steve slowed his pace, easing you out of your bliss. You brought your lips to his neck, and Steve whimpered, his hips stuttering against yours. You sucked the same spot, nipping gently at the soft skin. Steve pulled out, painting your thighs with his seed. He smiled, too, before kissing you again.

The kiss was gentle, slow. Steve helped you out of the fence, making sure to support your tumbling legs. You wrapped your arms on his neck, nuzzling your face in his chest.

"Shower with me?"

You asked meekly, not wanting him to leave. Steve nodded, wrapping you in a hug, following you to the bathroom. It was strange, how much you liked him. You met him in less than a day, and here you were, letting him wash your hair, and help you to apply body oil. You quite probably were insane.

Steve's skin was warm to the touch, soft and painted with freckles. You washed his back, in a retribution for him washing your hair. Steve kept you close, always touching you, kissing you. It made you feel like maybe he was liking you too. Maybe you weren't that insane.

After the shower, you clung to him again, worried that he might leave you. He smiled, reassuring you he wouldn't, pulling you on top of him in the bed. Steve pulled the duvet to cover you, and you turned the ac on. When you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. His eyes were even prettier in the small lightning, and you had to resist to urge to touch and connect the freckles on his bare chest.

Steve kissed you, and nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his rough hands squeezing you against his own body.

"Steve. I think, I think, I'm in love."

He looked up, his cheeks glowing pink, his eyes shining with yearning.

"Honey, I'm in love."

[ifuckingloveryoshu]

IM BACK IN THE GULAG AGAIN! HELLO. I've been grinding out my college courses and this is part of it. Ryoshu is my f/o and I set her as my fictional partner in this mandated child raising simulation for my child development class. I am well aware all of this is out of character but I don't care. I named the fictional partner Ryoshu to make this more fun for myself. If ya didn't last post, this is an adopted son named Yuzu because I'm not creative.

Under the cut is just the work. That is all. Sharing it helps me actually be productive for once.

I have found out the term for being very angst and mad after giving birth. It is called Postpartum Depression. My headcanon with Ryoshu is somehow, her partner is dead, I haven't thought why yet, but postpartum depression hits Ryoshu like a truck once Yuzuki is out. After a long period neglicted her smoking habits, she finds herself reaching her fingers to her lighter sort of stress. A few days after the birth, she set Yuzuki down on a table and physically distances herself away because she can't handle this thing in her life right now. She's irritated, annoyed by the shill cries coming from the infant's mouth. Her fingers twitch and her hands unconciously reach for a box of cigaretes collecting dust next to her. She walks out of the room and takes the longest drag she has in over 41 weeks (the time it takes for baby to develop in the womb)

And she never really stops smoking again after, again. But, it didn't become a problem again until the events of Hell Screen. Anyways.

Man, I forgot this woman is employed. Very nice of Limbus Company to give her six weeks. I can't imagine them being that generous any other time. There's probably a catch. I can't imagine Ryoshu using all those 6 weeks, I more expect Ryoshu to dip and leave two weeks in and not say anything. Not that I think she'd become an absenty father on pupose, but once she realizes or thinks this new child is in safe hands, she would never express it out loud but she's the breadwinner to make sure this child is going to make it out in the City ok. In those weeks, I bet she'd either whip me (or whoever partner she has) into shape so I don't mess baby Yuzu up, or she's taking me and the child into the bus weither anyone allows it or not. She refuses to compromise and I doubt after what happened to Virgilius, at the very least Virgilius would try to negotiate with The Company to drop us off at a safe location or somehow get a room in the Corridor. You know those rv children? It's no way to live but that is effictively what will happen to Yuzu. No sense of being grounded in one place and that will cause its own slew of problems, getting exposed to the concept of mortality early (Or maybe getting the misconception that everyone just revives after dieing, they just need a local clock to rewind them) or I don't know. Horray childhood trauma for Yuzu /j Man the cycle of violence will 100% repeat itself. Ryoshu barely interacts with the kid that is hers. I don't blame her.

I'm picking "I will quit work and stay home with the baby until Yuzu is old enough for daycare and will continue to work." but can you imagine hijinks with the Sinners and a child, and out of everyones child, Its Ryoshu's child? I am now imagining Outis yelling at the other sinners not to drop the baby. I can imagine the baby vomiting on Rodya's face. Gregor somehow makes the baby laugh as it plays with his little cockroach anntenna if he had any.

Its the adopted baby, Yuzu. For refrence, the right answer is "I will teach my baby self-soothing techniques and put them down in the crib before they are completly asleep." and that's the one im putting but realistically, it would be either adapting to the scedule or using the strict scedule I feel. I'm not sure but it would be difficult entrusting anyone else with the baby.

This is why I don't like babies.

I'm singing to the child. Props on the devs of this for adding the option "Leave Yuzu in their crib and walk away."

Right off the bat, Number Two is dangerous. Do not give your children to a neighbor you don't know well. Even if you feel you know them well, you probably don't its safest not to. Be careful about all of these. I'm going to leave out exactly why. YOU NEVER KNOW and its not your fault when people take advantage of Your Trust. Don't beat yourself up too hard, but ASAP if there's any signs of anything bad going on with anyone around them, you need to find out for the safety of your child. It's also rare your child will 'lie' about something bad happening with relatives. Its rocky and I say this but there is never a one size fits all thing and don't 100% trust your gut actually because doing that feeds into pre-existing biases you may have at that given moment. I can't tell you what do do but if your reading this, please do reseach and think critically.

It's either "slow to warm up" or "difficult" so I just put "slow to warm up". I think Difficult would be more realistic but im indecisive and id be here all day if I didn't chose anything. Also in all honesty I do not like my fictional baby and I want to punt the baby out the window but don't tell Ryoshu that she'd kill me. I swear ill warm up but im 20 im too young for a baby. Ryoshu's too traumatized for a baby, were stuck with this thing. ok? Agh. I am hissing at the fictional baby. I'm stressing too much about the fictional child I was forced to raise.

It's mostly heathly foods if we can help it, no problem. Im the poor sap getting healthy baby food or making it. Having a fictional baby makes me angry at the world. I hate babies.

I don't know the answer to this one. Baby gym classes for bonding and shit.

If anyone living in the City asked to put anything on my baby, I would drop kick them. No. In the real world though, yeah thats fine, I mostly trust you.

Reading and talking both is the way to go.

I need to save the rest of this for a reblog. Give me a bit.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Hey, y'all! I'm so sorry that this update is so long overdue. A bitch has been soooo BUSY omg these past 2 weeks have been all about homework & work plus low energy because my cycle is on now. I hope y'all will take 4 chapter updates as apology gifts. Please enjoy! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

TEN: SOMETHIN’ WICKED THIS WAY COMES.

Once in Sage County, a day’s walk away from the Devil’s Trail, you go shopping. 

“So remind me,” you say as you look through a rack of skirts in the little store. “What’s the plan again?” Gojo is happy to ​​run it by you again: “You’re an aristocratic woman here on business with her two personal escorts, so you’ll have to act like a bitch, but that won’t be too hard for you.” 

You strike him in the side twice, hard. “Ow, ow, I’m kiddin’!” he exclaims. Geto glares at you both under his hat from a rack of dresses, eyeballing two beautifully sewn pieces. “Don’t attract any unwanted attention, you two,” he criticizes. “Hmm…this isn’t quite your color. Maybe somethin’ red…” 

“And you think that this is gonna work?” you ask. “‘Cause you realize this entire plan could go to shit.” Gojo goes to take out a cigarette, only stopping when the shopowner eyeballs him. “Have some faith in us, sugar,” he scoffs at you. “You’re lookin’ at two seasoned actors here. None of our plans go to shit!” 

After running like hell away from Benji’s men who rudely ambushed you, you three finally made it to Sage County.

It is truly the crowned jewel of this Northside of the county––buildings towering over you, steam rising from chimneys connected to homes, businesses, and shops; automobiles traveling down the street so fast that you, Gojo, and Geto had to walk your horses on the sidewalk; train stations and food carts and people trying to sell you shit, not recognizing you behind your bandana and hat. But as soon as they saw the Gunslingers, they backed off. 

“We’ll have to lay low for a minute if Benji is really here,” Geto said as you walked, his hat tipped low to not give off any red flags or tips to anyone who could recognize them. “So stayin’ at a hotel for a day or two might be the move. It won’t knock us off course either.” 

You walked between the duo, pulling Reneigh along behind you. “I don’t get it,” you scoffed. “How did he even find us?” For Benji’s men to know exactly where you were is no coincidence. 

“Benji’s got his ways, little miss,” Geto says, puffing on a cigarette Gojo passes him. “He’s got people all over the place; a whole operation of members. I wouldn’t be shocked if his bandits in Bull’s Creek said somethin’ about us lookin’ for him.” Now it all makes sense! Someone snitched! 

“So now he’s tryin’ to take us out,” you sighed. “Great. Maybe they’ve got a Willow Springs in the afterlife.” Gojo’s blue eyes lock on yours, irritation swimming in them. “Don’t say that,” he said, so firmly that it shuts you up completely. “Nothin’ is gonna happen to us. We’re gonna get you to Willow Springs and bag Benji ‘cause that’s what we agreed on.” 

The blue-eyed outlaw stands with you now, pulling out a slim, violet dress decorated in beads. “Oooh, this is pretty,” he coos. “Rich-lookin’, dontcha think?” He shows Geto who taps a thoughtful finger against his chin. “It’s her color,” he says, delighted by the little article of clothing. “Now all we need is some accessories.” You snort as you watch the two grown men look for necklaces and earrings. “Y’all are enjoyin’ this more than me. 

Gojo laughs, passing you the dress with some satin shoes. “It’s always fun to play some dress-up now and again. Now put this on and show us how ya look.” He shoos you off to a try-on room while he and Geto look for accessories to hide their features. 

You try on the dress and the slippers, noticing how soft they are and how the dress hugs you tight. You feel good in it. Normal, even, like a regular woman who doesn’t bust guns and jump from county to county. You look at yourself out of your hat, boots, and bandana, feeling different, but a good different. You feel beautiful. When you walk out to show Gojo and Geto, they are busy counting their coin to pay for the items. 

“How do I look?” you softly ask, making them stop. You immediately have their attention, their eyes grazing over your body and the extra layer of skin that the dress provides. “Like you could win an award,” Gojo chuckles. You instantly feel like maybe this plan could work. 

After the boys change into their own disguises–suits and fake mustaches–, you head over to the five-star hotel you had your eyes on before and park the horses outside before heading into the clean, sophisticated-looking lobby. A man in a doorman uniform looks up from his book, immediately frowning at the sight of the Gunslingers. 

“Are you hear to purchase tickets for the opera tonight?” he asks, nervously staring up at the very tall, very muscular men holding your bags behind you. You shake your head, though it does explain why so many rich-looking folks are here. “Can I help you then?” 

“I hope you can,” you snootily respond, trying not to laugh as you do. “I’m attending the opera tomorrow and ordered a room here beforehand, but it was taken without my knowledge! I’d like to pay for another, please.” 

The man, still nervous, nods and flips through the book where a bunch of room numbers sit. “May I have your name so I can put you on the waitlist?” he asks. 

That’s when you muster up as much of your acting skills as you can. “Waitlist?” you scoff, putting a hand to your heart. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” The man stays silent, so you continue. “Alana Tabuki, first of my name, owner of several acres. Now, I don’t want to believe that you’d disrespect me, sir, because you’d also be disrespecting my men.” 

You turn to the Gunslingers who still look menacing despite their disguises. You offer them your arms dripping in bangle bracelets. “They don’t take too kindly to that, do you, boys?” you titter. 

The duo takes each of your hands and begins to pepper them in kisses, starting from your knuckles to up your arm to your shoulder. Each kiss leaves a trail of fire up your skin, similar to have Gojo’s kiss made you feel. Once they get to your neck, you start to feel liquid heat pour into your stomach, especially when the two begin to softly moan in your ear. Is this still a part of the plan? 

“O-Okay, that’s enough,” you stutter, feeling hot in your dress. “We don’t want to make the poor man feel uncomfortable.” 

The desk clerk, sweating bullets and looking like he wants to die, rapidly grabs a room key from behind him and drops it into your hand. “O-oh, look at that!” he squeaks. “We have a room that just opened! Please follow our luggagemen to take your bags, ma’am!” He nods at the two luggagemen near the elevator. 

You nod your thanks and slip Geto the key. “Nicely done,” he whispers, pocketing the key before walking off with Gojo who gives you a wink. You proudly smile and follow them close behind as they help the luggagemen with their bags, probably weary about giving them their shit. 

But before you can walk into the elevator, someone comes around the corner and bumps into your side, nearly knocking you down. “Oh, excuse me!” you gasp, stumbling to the left. What you really want to say is, “Hey, watch it!”, but you know that would gain too much bad attention. 

However, when you look at the stranger, all words and thoughts cease to exist. All you feel is fear and dread wrapped up in one as you stare at the man before you. Benji the Bandit is much bigger in person–about six-something feet towering over you and even bigger because of his hulking frame. You bet he’s even taller than Geto and Gojo combined. 

He is much older with long, black hair streaked in gray, a salt-and-pepper beard, an eyepatch that covers his scarred right eye, and a smile glittering in gold that sends shivers down your spine. Despite the wrinkles by his eyes, obvious aging, and the suit he wears, he still scares you like he’s the Boogeyman. 

“No,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice that sends shivers down your spine. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m so desperate to get these opera tickets that I forgot my footing.” He laughs, the sound like a rumbling earthquake, and gives you a nod before heading off to do his business, walking with a slight gate on his long cane, his big, ringed hand tattooed with a rose on it. 

You don’t get a chance to say anything else because Gojo is pulling you inside the elevator and the doors shut, and with it, your target. 

**********

Your five-star hotel room is much better than sleeping in a tent or in the open by a fire. 

The clerk hooked you and the Gunslingers up with a hotel suite with two separate bedrooms with their own washrooms, a kitchenette with appliances for brewing tea and coffee, and a lounging space with two fluffy armchairs and a couch near a window overlooking the streets below. The floor is shag carpet, the walls are painted a buttercream yellow, and sweet-smelling, red flowers sit on the table in front of you where you sit on the couch. 

Included with the flowers are two trays of food, a bucket of ice, and a complimentary bottle of champagne that Gojo has already popped open. The trays are littered with finger foods: crackers, all kinds of cheese, fruits, meats, and mustard. Gojo sits next to you, chomping on cheese and sipping bubbly, his bare feet kicked up and having ditched his disguise for a wife beater. 

You hear the water in his and Geto’s chosen bedroom shut off and out walks Geto in a robe, his muscled calves and chest dripping in water on full display. He pulls his wet locks into a bun, looking like a wet, dark-haired Adonis. “Ah,” he sighs. “Much better, though I am jealous of the two of you for havin’ such a beautiful view durin’ your soak this mornin’.” 

He smiles at you but you can’t find it within yourself to return it. You would be indulging in the luxury of the room with them if it wasn’t for Benji the Bandit taking up your thoughts. “You should,” Gojo chuckles. “It was a very beautiful view…I mean, before we were rudely interrupted by bullets, don’t you agree, Y/N?” 

You don’t really hear him, staring blankly down at your satin slippers sitting by the door. You haven’t yet changed out of your dress, even though your bag is in your bedroom now. “Y/N?” Gojo repeats.

You turn to him, finding him and Geto staring at you. “S-Sorry,” you say, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m just a little tired is all.” 

But Gojo isn’t dumb. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. “You’ve got somethin’ on that mind of yours.” He pours you a glass of champagne and passes it to you. You barely take a sip.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worried. “Can’t we talk about it? It’s important that you’re feelin’ as good as we do.” 

You want to tell them you saw Benji, but at the same time, you don’t want to worry them. They seem so relaxed. “How come y’all wear gloves all the time?” you randomly ask. They blink at you, confused. You nod down at Geto’s bare hands which are bigger and thicker than Gojo’s. “I noticed even when we’re not on our horses, you wear gloves. Y’all germophobes or somethin’?” 

You make the joke to avoid getting forced to cough up the truth, but you even feel weird doing that. Gojo snatches a strawberry from the tray. “Nah,” he chuckles, chewing on the fruit. “But Sugu is. I’m shocked he hasn’t wiped this place down yet.” 

His partner glares down at him. “Not yet,” he growls, snatching the champagne glass from a giggling Gojo. “The gloves are for protection. Not only to avoid leavin’ fingerprints on our targets but to also hide our tattoos.” 

He shows you his rose tattoo inked on his knuckles, the same as Gojo’s. “Benji made us get these when we started,” he explains. “He wanted us to prove our loyalty to him by gettin’ his symbol on our skin forever.” He snorts crudely at the ink, shaking his head. 

Seeing the distaste in his and Gojo’s faces at the sight of the ink on their skin, forever bonded to them whether they like it or not, you break. “I saw Benji earlier,” you finally confess.

A tense, shocked silence falls onto the room and you instantly regret saying anything. “What?” Geto asks and his tone shocks you––it’s sharp and intimidating like an angry father would use. “When?” he demands. 

You swallow hard, knowing you can’t button your lip now. “Earlier while y’all were takin’ the luggage to the elevator. He bumped me comin’ around the corner.” 

The duo continue to stare you down, making you feel uncomfortable. “Did he say anythin’ to you?” Gojo asks. You passively shrug, hugging yourself as a way t self-pacify. “Just that he was sorry and he’s goin’ to the opera tonight…which I also think we should attend.” 

The white-haired outlaw scowls at you. “And how in the fuck are we supposed to do that?” he scoffs. “We don’t even have tickets!” 

You scoff, glaring at him. “This is comin’ from the same guy who scammed a motel clerk out of some rooms,” you sharply retort, eyeing the both of them suspiciously. “What’s up with y’all anyway? All of a sudden, y’all sound like y’all don’t wanna catch this big-bodied bitch.” 

“That’s not true, Y/N,” Geto firmly protests. “We wanna catch Benji as much as you do, but this is also the same guy who tried to kill us just this mornin’. If he knows we’re here, we could be in big trouble and blow this whole operation to hell. That’s why I said we need to lay low for a bit.” 

But that isn’t good enough for you. “So we just…sit here and let him get away?”

You can’t help but be increasingly pissed at this new “plan”. You would think that the Gunslingers would be jumping at the chance to get Benji, but instead, they’re hesitant. Resistant. Not at all the Gunslingers you met and thought they were. 

“It can’t be just a coincidence that he’s here at the same time as us, Geto,” you argue. “It’s a miracle! Obviously, somethin’ in the universe is tellin’ us to get this guy and y’all are more concerned about blowin’ your cover?” 

Geto sighs, looking physically tired of your shit. “This isn’t about our cover. It’s about keepin’ us safe and alive until it’s the right time to pounce.” 

“This is the right time!” you argue, standing up from the couch. “What other time do we have to wait?” The duo just stare at you, neither one backing down from their decision. You simmer, angered at them.

“Maybe I was wrong about y’all,” you hiss. “Fine, since y’all wanna be pussies about it, then I’ll go myself.” 

You begin to stalk towards the door, but Gojo gets up and blocks you from going any further. “No, you’re not,” he sternly says. He looks strange without that usual, gigawat smile on his face. Scary, even. His blue eyes look like ice to you, making you feel like you’ve been dipped in a pool in the Arctic. 

But the stubborn, bratty bitch in you just scowls up at him. “And who the fuck is gonna stop me?” you fridigly ask. Before he can answer, you push past him and continue to walk towards the door. 

You barely make it to the knob when you suddenly feel something tighten around your midsection. You look down, finding a leather whip wrapped tight around you. “Hey, let me go!” you snap, pulling at the whip. “Dammit, Gojo, I said let me go!” 

Gojo just stands there, holding onto the whip with one hand, watching as you as struggle. “Nah, I think I’m gonna let leave ya there to think about your bratty behavior.”

He yanks on the whip, causing you to forcefully be jerked toward him. You try to dig your heels into the floor, but it’s no use. He’s just too strong. 

“Satoru,” Geto firmly says. He stands from the couch, fists clenched. “Let her go.”

Gojo scowls at him, but releases you anyway. You stagger away from him, finally feeling like you can breathe. Geto strides over to you and stands in the middle of you and Gojo, not wanting the suite to turn into a battlefield…but it already has. 

“Let’s just calm down, okay?” he suggests, collected and composed. “Y/N, I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be for right now. We’ll find out where Benji is headed next and go from there, but for now, let’s just relax and get some rest.” 

He tries to take your hand, but you flinch away from him and storm off to your bedroom to get the rest he speaks of. But you can’t get rest, especially when night falls. You toss and turn, haunted by vengeance, leaving you hotblooded and your pistol hand itching. 

When you rise from your bed in your PJs, Geto and Gojo have already gone to bed, their door cracked and the sound of Gojo snoring heard throughout the suite.

You slip into your purple dress and heels from earlier, make your hair look presentable, and slip on your leather jacket. Once you’re dressed, you add your accessories: a gold necklace, bracelets, a knife in a garter belt strapped to your thigh, and a pistol that you slip into your purse. 

You don’t bother leaving a note. You know that the boys will know where you’ve gone. So you slip out of the suite, locking it, and down the quiet hallway to the elevators. You don’t turn back. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll rethink this and decide to stay. So when the elevators ding, you walk in and head to the lobby. 

Once the doors open, you give the doormen a nod as you head outside in the summer night. Reneigh is waiting for you along with Geto and Gojo’s Broncos, all of them chuffling when you see you. You pet Reneigh’s nose and untie her before hiking your dress up and mounting her, feeling weird without your riding boots and pants. 

 “C’mon, girl,” you whisper before softly clucking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Reneigh takes off clicking down the path, leaving the hotel behind.

[grimparks]

Chapter 3:

Just a Little note to say that because there is a remake of the au, some information in the old chapter are not canon anymore so I have to remake them, anyway enjoy your Christmas gift!

Narrator- the next day as promised, Kyle went to see the guys he knew that could help him and the new guy to actually find Stan and Clyde

Kyle- that should be that house… just hope that he hasn't moved…

*ding*

Kyle- …

???- yes hello…

Kyle- are you uh… The Mole ?

Christophe- WHO GIVES YOU THAT ? Wait … WHAT ARE YOU ?

Narrator- Christophe took his shovel to put the sharp side right under Kyle face in a fast way

Christophe- you’re not a human… either a hybrid…

Christophe- what kind of anomaly are you…

Kyle- I… I don't know ! It just happened one day and pouf!

Christophe- not enough…

Christophe- i want a really answer NOW

Kyle- I’M HERE FOR THE NEW GUY STOP

Christophe- uh ? Pardon ?…

Kyle- stop with your shovel dude ! I’m just some kind of superhuman I don't know ! You're some kind of goddamn WEREWOLF. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ?!

Christophe- pff…

Christophe- I’m not a werewolf dude, I’m a fox, un renard!

Christophe- whatever, you’re right what do you want ?

Kyle- so um… i… the new guy and i need your help to infiltrate the police station, at night, to get some documents…

Christophe- uh uh

Kyle- so ?…

Christophe- why do you want to get there, what kind of paper do you need ?

Kyle- it’s about Stan March and Clyde Donovan disappearing.

Christophe- Okay…

Christophe- so, how much am i paid ?

Kyle- wait what ?!

Christophe- yeah, the new guy helped me one time so it’s okay for me to help her, but not you.

Kyle- i think it’s “they” actually… but, come on… what do you want, how much ?

Christophe- they are okay with anything so shut your mouth…

Christophe- and uh… a package of cigaret

Kyle- that’s all ?

Christophe- yes, you know with the price getting more and more expensive and all that stuff… and my stupid mom doesn't want to buy me those…

Kyle- yeah okay okay I’m going to pay you that

Christophe- yipee

Kyle- anyway, there will be a reunion tomorrow at the new guy home at… uh 10PM. You can come ?

Christophe- uhhhh… je crois, uh, yes i can.

Kyle- awesome!

Christophe- i can’t believe a human can see hybrid that’s incredible

Christophe- mind if i smoke ?

Kyle- um… no it’s okay

Christophe- cool

Christophe- need anything else ?

Kyle- yes actually, do you remember the theater kid that was at my school and who was with Wendy Testaburger ?

Kyle- the one that gave me your card.

Christophe- Oh… that faggot… why do you need him ?

Kyle- well, he was maybe annoying but he was good to create infiltration plan so… yeah

Christophe- i see…

Christophe- yep, i know where that gay ass lives… come on follow me

Kyle- if you have anything else to do that’s okay.

Christophe- dude i was watching a shitty French comedy…

Kyle- oh okay let’s go then!

Narrator- meanwhile all of that the new guy was just doing their usual stuff

Narrator- like robbing a laboratory

*alarm ringing*

Security 1- how haven’t we seen him ?!

Security 2- I don't know man! He just appeared from nowhere !

Security 1- god damn, that guy is fast !

Security 1- what has he stolen ?

Security 2- the last experience of the boss

Security 2- the guy is exiting the building ! GET THEM NOW

New guy- HAHA, see you loser !

Narrator- they broke the window of the building to finish in a little street not so far away.

Security 1- EVERYONE, HE GOT OUT OF THE BUILDING

New guy- HAHAHA, HILARIOUS

New guy- so… what is this…

New guy- oh… shiny, why does that idiot need that ? I mean…

New guy- he’s smart he could create it himself.

New guy- little sus

New guy- oh someone tried to call me… again… Kyle ? Oh yeah, that’s right I’m supposed to search for Stan and Clyde i forgot…

New guy- uh… should call him before or after i go home…

Security 1- not a move…

New guy- hehe, guess I’ll do that after…

New guy- ready to play my dudes ?!

Narrator- Kyle finally arrived to his destination following Christophe during all that time

Kyle- you’re sure it’s here ?

Christophe- sure, nobody have a note under their name that say « incredible actor »

Kyle- you’re right

*ding*

Kyle- …

Kyle- he’s not-

Gregory- greeting ! Who is here WHOA- WHY IN THE WORLD A HUMAN CAN SEE-

Christophe- come on dude, he heard that all day give him a break

Gregory- i uh… my mistake…

Gregory- wait a sec… you’re one of Stan's friends ?! Dude, you know I hate those guys !

Christophe- uh… actually he came to ask for your help…

Gregory- really ?! Interesting… So what do you want ?

Kyle- actually it’s the new guy that sent me here-

Gregory- EVEN BETTER ! So what is it ?! You got my attention.

Kyle- um… you see the new disparition thing ?

Gregory- yes… Stan is finally gone ! Is a good thing !

Kyle- um…

Christophe- i forgot to mention he hates Stan

Kyle- never mind… uh… the new guy needs to find a private case in the police station about uh… someone… and we need YOU to create a plan to break in !

Gregory- um… it must be Pocket… okay I’m in !

Kyle- who’s tha-

Gregory- I’m sure we’re gonna make a great team together !

Christophe- urg…

Kyle- WAIT, who’s Pock-

Gregory- it reminds me of so many great memories!

Gregory- is there a meaning organized ?

Kyle- um… yes tomorrow at 10PM

Gregory- oki… see you too then ! Especially you Christophe, it’s been a while!

Christophe- la ferme abruti

Gregory- i still don’t speak baguette…

Christophe- just go back in, you idiot!

Narrator- let's go see what the new guy is up too while all this is going on

New guy- HAHHAHA, comedy

New guy- where was i… oh yes call Kyle and get my alcohol stock back!

New guy- i really look like my mom uh ?…

New guy- YEAH NO, you’re not looking like that BITCH… hehe…

Narrator- on their way back in town ready to go into all the alcohol shops to buy every bottle of vodka and red wine she actually got a call from Kyle.

*bip*

New guy- yes ? Hello, Euphonie on the phone…

Kyle- hello… yeah i got the two guys i talk to you about into the plan.

New guy- FANTASTIC! Can I know who they are ?

Kyle- i don’t think you know them actually-

New guy- pff- dude, i know everyone in the town! And most people know me from the wanted poster on all other walls !

Kyle- oh then, it’s Gregory Bellarose and Christophe … uh, i don’t know his complete name…

New guy- OH, these two dumb dumb! Interesting… it’s gonna be even more fun…

Kyle- yeah yeah… just do you know someone who is good in computer science to maybe hack into the police station system ?

New guy- i… uh…

New guy- i can try…

Kyle- i thought that maybe Kenny could help us but… his parents have a divorce so i don’t want to disturb him.

New guy- yeah yeah… I can try to call someone but I don't think he can…

Kyle- okay okay… thank you by the way.

New guy- that’s my job dude, don’t worry !

New guy- anyway, i have stuff to do so see you tomorrow !

*bip*

New guy- where was i… oh yeah

New guy- mom stuff…

Narrator- a good hour flew by as the new guy come back home with a lot of all kind of alcohol

New guy- I'M BACK ! HAHA, no one there of course…

New guy- oh i need to call my buddy i forgot…

New guy- beep boop bap

*phone calling sound*

???- hello ?

New guy- hii, how are ya doing ?

???- uh… good and you ?

New guy- Goood, I put the shiny blue sphere in your mailbox as you wanted !

???- wait… YOU’VE TOUCHED IT ???

New guy- calm down… i just looked at it really quick but that's all i swear…

???- Great…

New guy- …

New guy- why…

New guy- why do you need it so bad ?…

???- …

???- you don’t need to know…

New guy- Terrance… we haven’t talked for months and… you just come back out of nowhere for me to get you that…

Terrance- that’s your job, i just… i can’t tell you that

New guy- i guess i don’t deserve to know it then hehe…

Terrance- let’s just say it’s dangerous stuff…

New guy- really…

New guy- i could…

New guy- help you ? Maybe…

Terrance- no… no need

New guy- of course…

New guy- oh ! By the way, I have to ask you something !

New guy- you see the late disparition ? Well I got put on the case and me and my team need yoouuu to maybe hack the police computer system !

New guy- what do you think ?

Terrance- i uh…

Terrance- i can’t

*weird background sound on Terrance side*

Terrance- uh ?

Terrance- where is she ?

New guy- is something wrong ?

New guy- hello ?!

Terrance- uh … i need to go

New guy- Terrance what’s wrong ?!

Terrance- I’m sorry please forgive m-

*cut*

New guy- oh…

Terrance- hello ?!

Terrance- Euphonie ?! You’re here

???- hi you !

End of chapter 3

[dissvicious]

Stag Party: Buggy: Yes

The hangover isn’t even a good movie but also a scenario of „Cabaji, Buggy+ Strawhat Bois loose Zoro before the wedding, which usually wouldn’t even be too much of an issue but Zoro got the rings“ is pretty damn funny

(Originally thought of them loosing Buggy but let’s be honest if someone goes missing during a Stag Night it’s Zoro)

It's maybe because I'm currently doing my yearly rewatch of How I met your mother and Red look a bit like lily aldreen to me but reading you I can't help but think about a mix between the hangover and Marshall stag night.

Picture this :

Buggy had planned a perfect stag night. The usual drinking feast with his crew on the big top, without his soon to be wife and children. But Red was like "oh hun please take Zoro, Sanji, Luffy and Usopp with you. They're really sad I don't wanna do any party on my side. They'll behave themselves don't worry. I'll just spend a quiet night drinking wine and plan wedding with Franky and Robin." He tries to say no but she gave him THE WIFE GLARE TM.

.... A few hours later you can find a flabbergasted Buggy in some tavern. Luffy is eating his twentieth dish of the night. Sanji is unconscious on the ground, face covered in blood because a stripper smiled to him. Usopp is telling to the bartender how he's actually the best man for the ceremony and - wait, no he's actually gonna OFFICIATE the ceremony since he's the captain of both the Sunny and the big top. Zoro went to the toilets hours ago and now he's nowhere to be seen. Chopped is crying in a corner why DID THEY HAVE TO TAKE HIM FOR FUCK-

Cabaji awkwardly pats the back of his captain as the lighten cigaret of sanji is starting a fire in the tavern.

Everything's fine.

[galactic-academia]

Love One Another (As I Have Loved You)

Continuation to Finding God and Divine Wrath

Rating: M; minors, pass your way.

Category: F/M

Fandom: The Young Pope

Relationship: Lenny Belardo x F!Reader

Tags: language, sexy times drowned into metaphors, angst, unrequited (?) love, Chrismas mass, Reader smokes cigaret and has hair long enough to get pulled; TW: rejection, loneliness. Read as "The author chose not to warn for content, or Archive Warnings could apply, but the author has chosen not to specify them" on AO3. Don't hesitate to message me to get more informations if you want to read this story but don't feel like starting it without full warnings.

Words: 873

Notes: Set before Lenny became pope, but after he became Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York. Don't blame me, blame the Noots (don't, for I love my Noots).

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines |

This is ridiculous.

You and Lenny… It has always been complicated. You’re both piggy-headed and have far too much pride for anything between the two of you being a bed of roses, even without considering his situation. But this outdoes all the shit you’ve come through.

There, on a Christmas day, you’re chain-smoking on your couch while glaring at your TV. Monseigneur Belardo is celebrating mass into St Patrick’s Cathedral before thousands of believers, since the whole affair is broadcasted on TV. And truly, this is ridiculous. 

He’s been babbling for almost an hour now, about love, and peace, and forgiveness and you would laugh your heart out if you weren’t so goddamn mad. Please, Lenny Belardo doesn’t know shit about peace and has never practiced forgiveness. As for love… He shouldn’t be authorized to even spell the fucking word.

The first time you fucked Lenny, long before he became the a Cardinal and the Archbishop of New York, it wasn’t about love. Transgression, yes; sacrilege, certainly; but “love” was never mentioned. But when he cupped your hips in his large, almost trembling hands to receive the bestowal of your body like he would hold the chalice with the wine become blood of Christ; when he came to your altar as often - in not more - as he went to Jesus’ one, maybe it didn’t need to be told? Maybe Lenny didn’t need words and labels to love you.

What a fool you have been.

When Lenny’s been called to a “higher destiny” than the one he had in your humble city, you followed him. No question asked. You left your job and you sold your house and you came to New-York, ready for a new life, and you weren’t afraid, for Lenny was with you. Should have been with you.

But you wouldn’t believe what a fucking cardinal has to do. Meetings, business trips, phone calls to one end of the world and then the other. Masses, benedictions, public appearances, preachings… Maybe he has some time to pray, while he’s brushing his teeth… 

He didn’t have time for you, and his secretary was beginning to be rude with you; when she hung up on you after one too many calls to his office, you lost it. You went to his place and cried for him until the security came and tried to make you leave and Lenny stopped them. For the first time in weeks, he finally was before you.

You weren’t prepared to get sermonized.

“This is my life, now”, he has said, “I’m a servant of God and I must honor Him”.

And it hurts you to think back about it now, the tears in your eyes and the tremor in your voice when you told him “I thought you loved me”. What a stupid thing to say in the first place…

“I only love God.”

Now, it seems laughable how, the closer to God he thinks to get, the more his heart desiccates. It didn’t make you laugh, then.

To see him spout all that nonsense in front of an adoring audience, it riles you up. You can feel it simmer low in your belly. Isn’t he pretty, that bastard, all in white; an albino peacock doing a cartwheel in front of its court. And that smile… You’ll never get tired of that smile. It calls troubles, fun troubles; a bratty behavior met with a few, powerful slaps and a punishing pace. You can almost still feel his hand pulling on your hair.

Fuck, you liked it when he lost control over himself and get a little rough with you. You suspect he came harder when he could see tears rolling down your cheeks.

As the choir ends and Lenny comes back to his pulpit, opening his arms and making his voice vibrate through the cathedral, you can’t help but rub your thighs together. It’s been too long. And why not, after all? Isn’t Christmas about love? It would be relevant, for once, giving yourself some love on Christmas day, yeah? So you drown out Lenny’s soliloquy - the man has always been his better audience, anyway - and let your fingers play another anthem; your eyes never leaving his angelic face.

You push yourself over the edge quickly, never better served than by yourself, yeah? Well… It’s efficient, at least. In a haze you see the assembly get up and turn to each other to shake hands, kiss on the cheeks - sometimes both - and Lenny stays there, petrified. Alone, standing high in a storm of people bending toward each other, let in peace to witness his fellow human beings show affection to one another. Just as he asked them to.

And, once again, you would laugh - if you couldn’t feel your heart shattering into your chest. He looks both so majestic and lonely in the center of that magnificent cathedral, surrounded by those ethereal lights. You miss him.

Not five minutes after the end of the Service, as you’re still breathing a little hard, your phone lights up and starts to vibrate. You shouldn’t pick up, not after the crap he dumped on you.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shoul-

Back to The Young Pope Masterlist

[rocketrouquine]

Random thoughts on my second viewing of episode 2 :

The « you wear fine things well » replay : Taika hasn’t the same expression, when I tell you this is a different take, I’ll bet my script supervisor ass on it. If they did that, it’s for underlining the fact that they weren’t seeing the same thing in the relationship…

Stede, my sweet angel… maybe don’t tell everyone you meet (even your lovely towel collegues Maggie, Jane and Tiff) about your heart trouble with fucking Blackbeard.

The way he’s saying « they draw him to look like a ghoul » is so sooooo gay. Like disgusted sassy sista level.

Fuck you that’s how I am may or may not become a motto of mine.

Actually this whole scene, Lucius is in a fucking telenovela. The stop in the doorframe, talking across your shoulder without turning and the little disappointed head nod at the end. « oh, yeah. Now you care ? » (it just missed an hairflip) He came to ham and I’m here for it.

Sea witch again. I mean we actually saw him talking with birds last season so why the surprise.

Ed behind Frenchie in every room like a fucking dead child jumpscare in leather.

He’s actually terrifying all calm and smiling. You can sense that he can turn at every second. Like a MF snake (you know the ones, fuck yuuuuu)

Sir when you approach me like that, all analytical and stuff, I don’t think there’s anything I won’t let you do to me (imagine Ed turning this on Stede in the bedroom pffffiouuu)

*Wheeze « A panto ? » (give this man an Oscar)

I really have trouble with « he’s our dick ».. you are aware that this is the man who had absolutely no problem stranding your love on an island ? Who pushed for it, even ? That in the memory you evoke, he’s the only one not sitting with you all, all alone in the background sulking ? I guess if you consider him like the nasty old dog who bites everyone and barks all the time, I can see it…

You have hope, it’s cute . Archie is actually really interesting because she represents the classic pirate (like Ed’s crew before being Stedefied), being put amongst the crew of what she thinks is probably the rockstar of captains but they do things all weird and emotional (between bloodbaths). You can see that she’s tempted but also don’t hesitate to throw the first punch in the battle to the death because that’s how stuff goes.

Take the fucking leg (« …bitch » very much implied)

The little ships were all over the place. They kinda treat Olu like a himbo this season which if my memories serve me right was the opposite of what he was last season. (He’s still emotionally intelligent but the logical sense seems to have gone. In this scene anyway)

Every time a new character says China, I cannot take out of my mind that they are mocking Trump. (Roach’s one in particular was spot on)

Awwww Olu’s all bashful and shit, I’m sure he’s moving his shoe on the ground, like a little shy child.

Stede, All happy about the soup : So wild it’s insane ! Lucius, eyes rolling to the back of his head : Jesus Christ, Stede, keep your pants on. * gets up and go drag on his cigaret like an old nihilist prostitute. * Ahahaha! Lucius is so done with Stede, I can’t ! He reminds me of me with my mom when I was a teenager. (I was horrible)

shitty pathetic incompetent captain  Holy shit, this burn must have dried up the ocean and that’s why they have to drag the boat on land.

The Oookay of Black Pete must be studied.

I had a dream about you last night  and with that phrase, all Blackhands shippers burst into flames. To then die a horrible death for the next minutes and being turned to dust at … best I could. (Also, If I had told you about « good for you » « it was good for me » I don’t think this is how you would have envision it)

But seriously the acting in this scene was INSANE. (I mean more than good, I mean stellar)his laugh is haunting me.

Wait… wait.. is he doing the romcom trope of being horrible to him so that he would leave, to protect him ? but instead he tortures him until he has no choice but to kill him ? Ed, darling, you basic trope girl.

Yeah I guess we could call it closure. Hum.

Yeah, I am ! And I’m alone ! Don’t be like me. Stede has evolved SO MUCH. I’m actually very much hopeful about the discussion he’s going to have with Ed. It won’t be miscommunication bullshit.

The puppet game… Something tells me Lucius won’t like to listen to Pinocchio anymore. Don’t even ask him to make any voice. Stede! The hand went where you think!

Well, Hello back little black scarf which goes with everything ! Especially with the ultimate descent into the pitts of madness and despair.

Stede is choosing « alive » on Blackbeard old poster : thank you, magic of belief, for saving Ed’s life !

There’s a drawing, I repeat, he doodled Ed’s face amongst little bouts of emo poetry… oh stede.

Beheading, arsoning, just a little bit of a dick love of his life.

HE’S NOT BROKEN. SHUT UP !

calm down, you two, with the head against head : you kissed once. In the words of spicy rat boy « Jesus Christ keep your pants on »

Romance novel cover one legged indestructible little fucker Izzy under the rain.

IZZY’S HEAD ON FANG’S SHOULDER AS THEY ARE KILLING ED, WHAT !

After the pyramid scheme, Olu being the get away text.

Okay, on to the next. It will be a fucking novel.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

My final thought on Vilnius rehearsal.. (might be a bit long 🌺)

My tumblr habit is to post a few things in the morning before i go to work, and then the rest after work in the evening. This morning i shared a few posts/asks i got about Richard at the Vilnius rehearsal. During the day i received several more asks on the subject, anon and non-anon, with possible explanations, support or comments on this morning's asks.

Normally i share all the asks i get, because i believe every opinion is valid. But i've decided to not do that in this case (apologies to everyone who took the time to send me an ask about it today) and only share one last thought on the Vilnius rehearsal.

I ❤️ Rammstein, I ❤️ their music, they make me happy (and sometimes sad, in a good way, if you're a Rammstein fan, you probably know what i mean).

I want the band to love playing for us, i want them to be happy that we're happy, i want them to have fun.

In general in bands i love watching guitarists at work, i love to watch the stuff that goes on in the background, and Rammstein is no exception, but i love each of the guys, for various reasons.

In the last few tours, the band visibly had fun on stage, all of them laughed a lot, there were little asides when one or other didn't follow the script 😊 little gettogethers, teases, little pranks.

I love that, it makes watching them live even more fun than just listening to their albums.

From the Vilnius rehearsals, the first clips i saw, during the show, what people filmed with their smartphones, were clips of everyone enjoying themselves, apart from one: Richard.

Richard seemed to me in his own bubble, looking at the audience, but hardly interacting with anyone on stage, constantly turning away to the people in his own corner. Some of the fun interactions we saw in the last tours, he completely skipped, didn't make eye contact, ignored what others were doing, especially Paul who is always easiest to interact with because of his playfulness.

That hurt. Physically hurt.

It shouldn't have, but it did.

To me it looked like he was ready to leave the band alltogether, right there and then, before the tour even started

Yes, i'm an even bigger dramaqueen than he is 😊 but that was what it felt like, just from watching these clips.

It took a long time, and several chats in support with others in the fandom (you know who you are, thank you for that 🌺), to come to terms with what i'd seen from the clips.

And then Richard resumed his weekly ig posting with an old pic of him smiling, relaxed with his cigaret 'on the road again'....and i breathed a sigh of relief...okay, he's not quitting.

Richard has no idea how his bubble came across to me, will never know. He was just doing his thing at rehearsal, going through the songs in the right order, making the costume changes work, fiddling with his sound. Didn't seem to have fun, but maybe wasn't even looking for it. Had i just seen the photos that have been posted later by various people, i probably wouldn't even have reacted this strongly...it was those earlier clips that did it.

Today on my way to work i realised that in the end: my fun should not be depending on whether *he* is having fun. I'm responsible for my own fun, like he is for his. I want to fly to Vilnius, shake him and tell him "Enjoy this damn thing", but they'd probably intercept me before i even got there 😊 I hope he's more open to it, able to leave his bubble.

I want the band to have fun on tour. All of them. And i would love to see fun interactions between them because they so obviously show the fun.

I really hope Richard joins in the fun, that he makes that choice.

Like my fun is my choice 🌺

I ❤️ Rammstein

[valentino-moth-man]

I see that when you breath out the smoke from your cigarete it's red??? Does it smell different? Like it looks like it would smell like idk strawberry's or smth

I honestly don't know, I haven't exactly tried it on myself, maybe ask Angel or Voxxy.

[paradoxcase]

@korla-the-kenku:

As yet unsent is the short story that takes place in the middle of the book

Oh, is this going to explain what Camilla and Corona and Judith were doing on that random planet?

@wellhappybirthdaytomeiguess:

So it’s implied I think that Pyrrha always made sure her eyes were not seen when she took over Gideon’s body. For example, when she was dallying with Wake-in-Cytherea, she never turned around to face Harrow…

Sure, but Harrow spoke face-to-face with both of them during and after the incinerator incident, and she would have noticed if their eyes had changed, wouldn't she?

@eye-lantern:

I think the packet Pyrrah mention is the one with the cigarets. There is a theory about Gideon not smoking, and that every time he does, it's Pyrrah. It would explain his nod after the diner where he got exploded.

That would make sense based on the fact that Pyrrha was the one who smoked, but I don't think there's enough information right now to say that Pyrrha would have done that little nod but Gideon wouldn't have. Like, I don't know. Gideon was only around for this one book, and for the most part we don't know for sure which things they did were him and which were Pyrrha, and for most of the book they were acting under orders from John anyway, and they both seem like they'd kind of be don't-rock-the-boat kind of people. I'm assuming Pyrrha gets more development in the next book, but do we ever get a good sense of what kind of person Gideon was? And if that was Pyrrha, then I think the other Lyctors would definitely have noticed the eye color change if there was one

@wellhappybirthdaytomeiguess:

The passage about the fight between little Gideon and little Harrow reminds me how, despite how unlikeable Harrow is in Gideon, how miserable her life has to be to contemplate suicide at ten years old. :-(

Yeah. And the way Gideon is talking about it there, it sounds like maybe she is feeling guilty that she might have made Harrow feel that way because of what she said

I THINK the bit at the end with Harrow in the tomb is intended to imply she is putting herself in the same place where Gideon spent time in her mind. And she knows the magazine isn’t real because she knew the mags Gideon got. She talked at one point about them being really bad. Methinks she protests too much :-p

Why would the Tomb feature in this fantasy, then? Or is it just sort of the implication that Gideon hanging out in her head for the whole book added some stuff to Harrow's mental space, or something like that?

@racefortheironthrone:

@wellhappybirthdaytomeiguess Regarding the magazines, I've seen a couple different theories, all involving Harrow secretly perusing them under the guise of some official function: one theory is that Gideon was getting the mags via tampering with requisition letters and that Harrow was aware of it and signed off of the titles anyway, another theory is that Harrow regularly searched Gideon's cell and would just "confiscate" the stuff under her mattress, etc.

A+ theories, I love it

@wandering-minx:

Re John's eye color in the 21st century. It actually has an explanation in Nona. Re: Harrow's knowledge on dirty magazines there is a theory about how she could have this knowledge but it deals with spoilers from "The Unwanted Guest" short story to be read after Nona.

Ok, cool, I'll be interested to get to that

@eye-lantern:

Also yeah the dramatis personae from Nona is the key change that while it is still the same song, you are going to see a lot of new things

I can't wait for this, either. I know I've seen a few different names that looked BOE-like, but the only specific one I can remember right now is Hot Sauce