#or start building get bored halfway through and just put in the necessities and start playing XD

[malicemismanager]

I. I might? Almost be done? Building this stupid manor? I still gotta do the landscaping, but. It's almost over?

I almost can't believe it, this has taken me literal months, I started way back last January. Granted, most of that is cuz I abandoned it by February 'til like two weeks ago, but still. That's a long ass time. XD

[ashthewaterghoul]

Can I get some slightly spicy Mountain/Rain? 🙏🏻

I don't write a lot of spicy stuff so I hope this is okay. It was going to be a few hundred word drabble, but in true Ash fashion, I yapped.

"Good" - A Mountain/Rain One Shot

“Your little innocence act doesn’t work on me, Rain.” Mountain said, his voice finding residence low his throat.     “S- sorry, sir, I didn’t-“     “Didn’t what? Didn’t meant to drag yourself to my kit and start playing? I thought you were going to be good for me?” Mountain taunted, standing behind Rain and encasing him in his shadow.     “No! I am! I am good! Please, I’ll show you-“ Rain went to spin around, but Mountain’s hand locked firmly around his throat and stopped him from moving.

Words: 1452

Tags: Praise k!nk, like a smidge of choking, dom!Mountain, sub!Rain, instrument practice with a happy ending, spoiler it's fade to black bc I'm not up for writing full blown scenes yet but there is plenty of spice to make up for that (I hope), ends on a really corny joke so I'm just going to apologise for that now💀

For the love of Satan, MDNI

~~~

    Water and Earth got along like a house on fire. Water nourished the plants and the Earth carved out spaces for rivers and lakes and ponds. It was a glorious relationship in which they helped each other out.

    The same can be said Mountain and Rain.

    Not only did their Elements call to each other, but Mountain was the one who nutured for Rain after his summoning. Not only was if from necessity, but because Mountain’s stomach dropped at the skinny Water Ghoul shivering in the summoning circle. It ending up a happy coincidence that the two both were in the rhythm section of the Ghost project, and Rain’s spot on stage being one right next to Mountain. They were each other’s everything and often made their appreciation known to each other.

    But right now? Rain was bored.

    In fact, he was starfished out on the music room floor, his bass laying somewhere near to him. He’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours as the little squeaks of Mountain’s tuning keys filled the room, where music once had.

    They often had little practice sessions with just the two of them. It was important that drum and bass locked in with each other so their music sounded the best it could. And they were never going to say ‘no’ to a bit of alone time.

    They were just going through the songs from Impera but they weren’t even halfway through Spillways before Mountain stopped, saying something was wrong with his kit. And so Rain sat down to wait. Then he slumped. Then he started lying down.

Read below the cut or on ao3

    After Satan-fuck knows how long, the Earth Ghoul put his hardware down and sighed.

    “Done?” Rain asked, lifting his head and, yes, maybe he had his fingers crossed.

    “Yeah, I gotta go to the bathroom though.” Mountain replied as he stood.

    Rain groaned and flopped around so he was face-first into the ground.

    “So dramatic.” Mountain muttered, his eye-roll practically audible.

    “Fuck you.” Rain said, albeit muffled by the carpet.

    “Maybe later.” Mountain said.

    Rain was about to say something else but his voice was cut off into a groan as Mountain threaded his fingers into Rain’s waves and pulled his head up by his hair.

     “Is this the game we’re playing?” He whispered, low and almost threatening into Rain’s ear, “Because I can take as long as I want in the bathroom. Hell, I could go to the Clergy ones on the other side of the building. After that, maybe I want to try a new layout with my kit. Maybe my drums will fall out of their tuning again as I move them around and I’ll have to fuss with them all over again. So, I’ll ask you again, are we playing this game, Lilypad?”

    Rain’s brain was short-circuiting, and he mentally cursed himself for falling this easily. The two usually loved to fight over who (quite literally) came out on top and earn the submission of the other. But all Rain’s brain could think of right now was wanting to be Mount’s good boy.

    Rain shook his head as much as the strain on his neck would allow, biting back whimpers at the hold Mountain had on his scalp.

    “That won’t do, baby. Words. Let me hear my Syren’s gorgeous voice.” Mountain said in that same husky whisper.

    “No, sir.” Rain replied shakily.

    “Good.” Mountain said, purposefully avoiding the full phrase and gently lowering Rain’s head back down, “Wait in this room until I get back.”

    Rain had no chance to respond before Mountain was out the room. He groaned again as he curled in on himself, internally cursing how responsive his body was to Mount’s brief action. He also cursed himself for wearing the tightest pair of jeans he owned because now they were even tighter.

    He did his best not to palm his bulge, Mountain may not have said it but he knew there was the extra demand of “No touching”. It was always there and Rain didn’t even want to try so much as ghosting his pinky over his zipper. Somehow, Mountain always knew.

    What he didn’t say, however, was that Rain couldn’t move. So, he sat up and groaned as his back ached. There may be a carpet, but it was thinner than Rain’s patience and rough stone floors laid beneath it. As Rain stood, he caught sight of Mountain’s drum stool. He sat down on it and gave a few obligatory spins before facing the kit properly.

Well, Rain was still bored and now he was frustrated too. Mountain had taught Rain some drums over the years and so the Water Ghoul’s deft fingers reached out for the two sticks and started playing the simple grooves, fills and the like that he knew. He lost his shirt at one point and didn’t notice Mountain watching in the doorway.

    “Having fun?” The Earth Ghoul shouted over the noise.

    Rain froze like a deer in headlights and he scurried to put the sticks down where Mountain had left them. The Earth Ghoul chuckled and his unreadable expression made Rain shiver. Rain put his hands in his lap, carefully avoiding where he was still painfully hard, somehow even harder than he was before, and fixed his eyes firmly to the ground.

    “Your little innocence act doesn’t work on me, Rain.” Mountain said, his voice finding residence low his throat.

    “S- sorry, sir, I didn’t-“

    “Didn’t what? Didn’t meant to drag yourself to my kit and start playing? I thought you were going to be good for me?” Mountain taunted, standing behind Rain and encasing him in his shadow.

    “No! I am! I am good! Please, I’ll show you-“ Rain went to spin around, but Mountain’s hand locked firmly around his throat and stopped him from moving.

    Mountain’s fingers wriggled and adjusted slightly to make sure he had a safe hold on Rain’s gorgeous neck. Ghouls may be a lot stronger than humans, but there was still a right and wrong way to do this. And when Rain gave his signal of two taps of his tail against the ground, telling Mountain he was green, the Earth Ghoul got right back into it.

    Not loosening the hold Mountain had on Rain’s throat, he sank to his knees behind Rain and put his mouth right by the shell of the Water Ghoul’s ear, “You think you’re so good? I’ll need you to prove it.”

    “Please.” Rain got out, quite literally choked off, “Wanna be so good. Your good boy.”

    “One good thing, I suppose, is you’re already prepared for me.” Mountain said, running a hand along Rain’s dick print. Rain could feel his smirk as the Earth Ghoul squeezed Rain’s neck and cock at the same time.

    He wanted to moan or say something, but the hand on his throat simply forbade it. Rain was starting to see sparkles and gave one harsh tap with his tail to tell Mountain he needed to let go, and the Earth Ghoul did so immediately.

    “Fuck.” Rain gasped as he took lung-fulls of air. His jeans somehow grew even tighter and he was sure that the button was about to pop off them.

    “Stand up.” Mountain commanded as he did the same, again enveloping Rain in his shadow.

    Rain did so, wobbly slightly as he got his breath back. He tried to turn and face Mountain but a rough hand shoved his shoulder.

    “I didn’t tell you to do that, did I?” Mountain nearly snarled, “I thought you wanted to be good?”

    The push from Mountain made Rain nearly fall straight into the drum kit. But he managed to catch himself, hands braced on the high tom. He shuddered and knew he’d played right into Mountain’s hand when the Earth Ghoul let out a chuckle at the stance Rain had landed in.

    “Maybe you are good.” Mountain said contemplatively, kicking his stool out the way and pressing his own clothed bulge against Rain’s clothed ass, “You look so eager like this. Practically begging for it.”

    Rain was close to fully begging. But thankfully he didn’t have to as saw Mountain’s t-shirt land in a heap over one of the cymbals. Mountain used a hand on each of them to get both of their flies open and pushed Rain’s jeans down with his underwear before his own. Rain groaned in anticipation when that heavy appendage landed with a slap on his lower back.

    It was definitely going to take them a while to get back to their practice session. But of course, it’s important for drum and bass to properly lock in with each other so their music sounded the best it could.

A/n: Syren herself has picked up and wrote a chapter 2 where we do indeed see Mountain wrecking Rain over the drum kit…

[hansoulo]

lay back in cloying sin

part three of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW-ish; references to marks and bruises, kissing, probably inaccurate descriptions of ballroom dancing, fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.3k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/ktfhett

A/N: boba & reader: [tyler the creator voice] oh no i hope i don’t fall 

༓ series masterlist ༓ 

Dinner was a tedious affair, filled with hollow pageantry. It was one last hurrah before the send off of the honored guests, one of which you’d never talked to and the other who was nowhere to be found. The former, Lord Vader, sat at the head of the long table and made for very unamusing company. You had the distinct impression that he’d rather be anywhere than here, having to listen to his uniformed subordinates squabble in grating voices and your father simper about mining collectives. That made for two of you.

But the cavernous banquet hall was always beautiful, if a bit ostentatious, and the food never disappointed, so you consoled yourself with a loosened corset and the promise of a second dinner by servants who pitied your forced small portions.

You floated into the large room, shuffled through by the compounding procession before an older man offered to help you into your seat. The ornateness of your evening wear made you grateful for the help, watching in sincere thanks as he pulled out the high-backed chair.

“Thank you, um…” the color of his robes and the softness of his hands signalled high rank and you chanced a guess. “Duke...?”

“Sagcock,” he finished for you. “Jovron Sagcock.”

He has got to be joking.

Evidently, he wasn’t.

If the man saw you choke on a laugh, sputtering it into a hiccup as you sat down, he pretended not to notice. After all, princesses knew better than to be unbecoming or crass or know why any part of that exchange could be fodder for humor.

Fighting down one last cough, you attempted to regain some sense of decorum. What a wonderful start to the evening.

The arrangement of persons on this particular night was strange though, even disregarding the title of the man now seated beside you. There were more people than usual filling out the hall tonight, all fancily clad and buffed to shining. Boba wasn’t anywhere to be found.

The supposed importance of the occasion probably necessitated a shuffling of seats to soothe egos and encourage conversation, but you weren’t used to being so close to the head of the table, near parallel with your mother. Usually your elder sisters sat higher and provided you the benefit of distance. Of course, they were all gone now. Your brother was still too young to be at evening dinners, so there was no buffer between you and your parents’ ire.

Maybe this was the Maker’s way of getting back at you for your tiny tryst. Maybe they all knew about what happened in the garden and were just waiting for the shoe to drop, branding you as a harlot and finally letting you free. Vader’s static words travelled down the table and mingled with your father’s but you were too busy entertaining worse-case scenarios to understand conversation.

People were observing you, you realized partway through the first round of courses. Watching you with strange eyes as if you were the last scrap of halfway-spoiled meat for imperial officials and all the nobility that had come to pay their prostrate respects. No one had really given half a damn about you before, which made it all the more strange.

A heel foot softly kicked at yours underneath the table, breaking you out of your glazed thoughts. The fork you had been mindlessly moving across your plate stopping mid-swirl. Looking up, you met the quiet glare of your mother and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you asked. Your question was punctuated with a smile too large to be genuine. The queen’s head jerked towards the grizzled man seated to her right and you turned towards him at her behest, face open in trained invitation. “Oh, hello, General.”

General Enes, current commander of the army of Quas Killam. Not strictly Imperial, but aligned close enough to have him in the king’s good graces and to reside permanently at court. He was also a Duke and probably a cousin thrice removed, but who was counting?

“No need to stand on pleasantries, your Highness,” the gray-haired man assured you, one large hand resting over his stomach as servants replaced the dirtied plates in front of you with new ones. You only sipped delicately at your algarine as he chortled and remembered, “It seems like yesterday that you were running around the palace with your sisters. A little sprite of a thing, weren’t you?”

Was he drunk already? “Yes, I remember,” you tread pleasantly; carefully.

The general settled and let out one last chuckle before his eyes grew hawk-like again, trained in the jewelry and accoutrements that signified your being old enough to marry but young enough to have not yet been taken. Like a prize. Or a charity donation. “You’ve grown into quite the young woman, you know.”

So that’s where this was going. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and tried to look gracious. “Thank you, sir. That’s a high compliment.”

“How old are you again, dear?”

Masking your surprise at the forwardness of the question, you supplied your age to a nod of approval from both him and your mother.

“A good age, I’d say. ‘Round the same as my youngest.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you shot a look down the table and caught a glimpse of cropped flaxen hair, its owner sitting enough seats down to prevent any shared conversation. You counted your blessings for it and smiled, tight-lipped. “Your son and I shared company when we were children.”

“Well that’s very nice,” the queen interjected quite loudly and looked around the long table with a light laugh but cold eyes. “Isn’t that nice?”

Your father looked at you for the first time all evening as if on cue, boring a hole into your face with the words he seemed to be telepathically trying to put in your mouth.

The taste of bitter wine on your tongue made your thoughts fevered, though not borne out of alcohol so much as the memories of someone else’s touch in the same places. “Yes,” you repeated vaguely. “Very nice.”

Darth Vader apparently didn’t remove his helmet. You wondered why he came to dinner at all.

The remaining evening hours had been whittled away by dessert and drinks. Everyone who cared to stay shuffled into the ballroom, a behemoth of a thing filled with inky windows and sparkling artifice. It was a blur of waltzes and predetermined couplings with boys you’d been ignoring since you were old enough to kick them in their shins, but you didn’t care enough to go to pains to avoid it. They broke up the monotony of introductions, at least, and let your mind and body be somewhere else for a while.

All compounded, the night left you flushed and tired. You needed alcohol. Or air. The latter was probably the more reasonable choice of the two.

Being in the midst of ballroom theatrics allowed for an easy enough escape, and a side entrance to a balcony overlooking the palace grounds became the object of your attention.

The tall double doors lay open in their glass encasings and spilled out lamplight refractions on the guests’ gaudy clothing and gaudier jewelry, everything sparkling and warm. But you were far enough away from it to still be chilled by the night air, a balm for your flushed cheeks and fizzling temper.

Usually guests ignored it in favor of staying indoors, so you were fairly confident in the promise of solitude and an undisturbed breeze.

But someone apparently had the same idea as you.

“Hello,” you ventured out a greeting to the silhouette not yet fully in your vision. You stepped closer and the heels of your shoes echoed on clay tiles. “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?”

Royal Highnesses shouldn’t really care about whether or not they were disturbing strange party guests, you could make them leave if you felt so inclined, but something in you was feeling magnanimous tonight. You tried not to think about why.

The figure didn’t turn back towards you, still facing out towards the blurry glitter of urban lights far off in the distance. It looked pretty this far away, all glowing masses and amorphous buildings that scraped the sky. You’d never  been close enough to see all the dinge and smog that made its home in places not populated by princesses. Marble felt more familiar than metal.

The man wore metal too, and his voice scraped at your chest when he answered. “You’re not bothering me, princess.”

Oh.

You ventured cautiously towards the balcony’s edge, next to the man you now could recognize as Boba. The thick stone railing was cool to the touch. “Hello.”

His helmet tipped to the left, which was probably his way of saying it back.

“I didn’t see you at the dinner,” you noticed quietly. Would it be presumptuous to assume he was avoiding you? Intellect said yes, but ego didn’t listen. You leant forward, the speckled marble digging into your elbows as you mirrored Boba’s sightline out into the city. “You know, you wouldn’t have needed to make conversation. Lord Vader was the guest of honor and all he did was sit there.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“Ah.”

A silence lapsed between you, awkward as if you were strangers. You were though, weren’t you? Strangers. Not friends. Not lovers. Not really.

But if he asked you to crack yourself open for him, you would. You would rip apart every satin petticoat and snap the boning in your corsets until your hands were raw if it meant he would touch you; skin to skin. You’d run away and cite a hidden fountain as the reason why.

You didn’t know what he’d give up for you, if anything. Boba didn’t seem like the type to have much in the first place. Either by choice or by necessity.

The garden afternoon nagged at you after having time to form coherent thoughts, and the fizzy shine of palace lights reflecting off his helmet reminded you of what you’d been meaning to ask.

Night made you softer-spoken. “Why did you let me take off your helmet?”

Night made his edges sharper. “Why did you want to?”

“I asked first,” you volleyed back as reason enough to get an answer first.

Boba wasn’t a Mandalorian in the true sense of the word, at least that’s what gossip told you, so it didn’t really matter if he took the helmet off or not. But he kept it on in front of everyone else.

The hunter gave you visor-silence and your impatience made you concede. “I just wanted to see you,” you breathed out, still not looking at him.  The admission sounded much more naive than you intended.

His words held their characteristic aloofness but were edged by gentle teasing. “What if I said the same?”

That he wanted to see you?

You still didn’t understand half of why he did what he did and what he wanted, but you turned to face him head-on anyway. Cold moonlight fell on your neck and the air cracked with fever. You tried to reply in jest. “Then I’d say that you were being stupid.”

“You’d be right.”

A swallow bobbed in your throat. He always seemed to take up your vision; fill it and suffocate you with seemingly no effort. “And then I’d ask you to do it again.”

“Do what, princess?”

He knew. He just liked seeing the words come out of your mouth.

“Let me take your helmet off.”

This time, he guided your hands up himself. They were slow and almost careful running across your palms, placing them on the mechanisms your fingers found in quick memory. Set on the balcony railing, the helmet seemed to be a prop. An upside down bucket filled with all the things you had yet to say to each other, spilling out onto the ground in a fog.

“I like you better without it,” you decided when he turned back towards you, his weight still resting on the railing with one cocked hip. Everything about the way he looked was dark: inky black curls and scarred brown skin and eyes that pushed the air in your lungs with a stall and a catch. They looked even darker next to tan clothes and green armor.

His voice wasn’t entirely lacking in humor. He did that. Humored you. “Do you now?”

“Mhm.” you nodded with fake seriousness, slightly giddy and slightly too brave. You blamed it on an excess of wine and good company. “Better-looking.”

He only scoffed, a flash of pearl-white canines serving as one half of a smile. A smile that had been wider when it was against your collarbones, your neck, your mouth. A smile that you wouldn’t mind being in other places.

You nudged Boba’s shoulder with your own when a waltz kicked up in the background, faint through the open ballroom door. “There’s music,” you implied, half-joking and half-expectant. There had been this whole time, of course, but acknowledging it now seemed better than never. “You should ask me to dance.”

“I’m not one for dancing, your Highness.”

The title made you roll your eyes, a commonplace formality that you usually insisted on but now found overly facetious. Coming from him, that is. “Clearly not,” you almost snorted. Pushing away from the marble ledge with a finality that seemed almost comical, you held your hand out and waited, eyebrows raising and fingers beckoning. Well? your face seemed to say, Are you coming?

His sigh was bone-deep and settled in your chest like chunks of black plaster, but it felt good. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” you replied, as if it’d be ridiculous to expect anything else. Princesses danced with men at parties. You were a princess. Boba was a man at a party. In a roundabout sort of way. “It’s easy, I promise,” you assured, wrapping your hand around his wrist and pulling him away from the balcony. His glove slipped down a bit; just enough that your thumb could press one soft circle against the tan skin over bone.

Uncomfortable wasn’t really the correct word for how you thought he felt. You doubted Boba could ever be uncomfortable. No. No, the right word would probably be… bemused. Like he was in a menagerie watching a creature, something exotic and pretty, with mild interest while it still had his attention. But you did have his attention. That was something.

“You put your right hand on my waist,” you moved to reposition the large fingers more accustomed to blasters than they were to bodices. Boba smirked, almost boyish, when you caught his hand wandering someplace else. “Not that low,” you chided with quiet exasperation, placing your palm atop his and guiding it back up.

The pale leather was warm underneath your skin and you bit down a smile, almost awe-struck at how strange your hand looked next to his. Yours was polished, weighed down by heavy gold bangles and softened by years of idle play. His, you suspected (for you didn't actually know; hadn’t yet actually seen), was anything but.

“That’s good,” you supplied lightly. “And then I do this,”your other hand reached to rest on Boba’s shoulder. “And then- no, no you give me your left hand. Hold it out- good.”

Still looking down, you were careful not to trip over your skirts or his boots. “And now we just-” you breathed out and glanced up, surprised to find his expression strangely careful. Almost tender. You gulped down the quiet notch in your throat. “-now we just um… sway. Like this.”

You eschewed complication in favor of a simple rhythm, just letting your feet fall wherever they liked so long as they didn’t tangle in themselves. Now wasn’t the time for anything laborious; you didn’t have faith enough in Boba’s footwork. But he actually wasn’t too bad all things considered. A bit stiff and a bit gruff, but those were part and parcel. It was a bit like dancing with a tree trunk. A very handsome, very broad, very taciturn tree trunk. It was easy to let yourself sink into it a little with how solid he felt.

The man arched an eyebrow when your fingers stretched to thread together with his. “Just sway?”

“You’re welcome to do a jig instead if you’d like,” you replied wryly as your weight shifted from foot to foot. The hand around your waist stiffened at the prospect and a grin escaped your face.

“Nevermind.”

The amusement that had previously only been in your throat escaped in a quiet laugh. “Thought so,” you whispered, victorious. Tension, bunched up in your shoulders and collected in your bones, melted completely when he pulled you closer and let your head fall against the space of his neck. Sinew fit against silk like puzzle pieces and warmed the quiet moment that followed. Neither of you spoke for fear of disturbing the fresh peace.

You found yourself dwelling more and more on hypotheticals. Unrealistic and stupid, you knew, given who you both were. But still you dwelt, unable to fathom a reality outside of the last nine hours and inside a reality within which Boba was gone.

Would he fit here, with the stucco and plaster and ivy? With all the sheltered society of an insignificant court? With you?

You wondered if he dwelt on hypotheticals, too.

Swallowing cold air as Boba thumbed the collar of your dress, you felt the light scatter of broken blood vessels from hours before smart again. Your cheek pressed against the pauldron of his beskar, but neither of you were really dancing anymore. “I- I wanted to talk,” you began quietly. “About earlier.”

“Did you not like it?” Did you not like me?

“No! No, I…” you shook your head, trying to rid yourself of his assumption. The crystals hanging from your headpiece tinkled with every soft movement. “No, I… I liked it. I like…” The lump in your throat seemed to travel down back into your stomach. “You,” you finished, swallowing the final word and leaving all its implications to settle in the night.

He could feel the rise and fall of your chest; delicate and airy and resigned. You spoke again. “But you’re leaving tomorrow and... and we could’ve been caught. And the more I think about it the more I really am not looking forward to the idea of some court scandal or being cloistered up like a nun because I—”

He called you your name.

He’d never used your name before.

You lifted your head off his shoulder, desperate-eyed and looking for answers you both knew he couldn’t give. “Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

You barely breathed out an okay before the arm around your waist tightened, crushing you against cold metal and a warm body.

He kissed you how a lover would. Like how a first kiss should’ve been.

It was gentle. Warm. Tender-mouthed and aching, placing promises down your throat with a soft hand and closed eyes. It was… It was…

It was broken up far too quickly.

A voice called out your name from somewhere far-off, regally accented and not at all welcome. It called your name again, first middle and last with all the titles in between with much less patience. Your mother, queen consort.

The groan of displeasure that escaped you was muffled in Boba’s mouth and swallowed up before it could give either of you away. He recovered much faster than you did, peeling back from your body with eyes already alert and scanning the shadows for passersby. There were none. For now.

“It’s my mother,” you whispered, letting your eyes roll seemingly out of your skull. “They’re probably doing some send-off for Vader’s entourage.”

Neither of you mentioned the fact that Boba was part of that entourage too.

Your last words were rushed before the footsteps became too close and the mercenary pulled away. You didn’t really want to stay to hear the answer. “Will I see you again?”

Boba Fett, you’d come to learn, wasn’t the kind of man to offer more than what he knew he could give.

The helmet went back on. “I don’t know.”’

[hattiepins]

Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him. 

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything. 

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles. 

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it. 

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans. 

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery. 

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you. 

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest. 

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move. 

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.” 

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion. 

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner. 

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says. 

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn  my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous. 

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink. 

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children. 

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way. 

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching. 

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart  flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter. 

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute. 

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat. 

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.” 

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession. 

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man. 

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it. 

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels. 

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking. 

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment. 

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly. 

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating. 

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh. 

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share. 

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature. 

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers. 

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring. 

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances. 

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his. 

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature. 

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless. 

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does. 

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you. 

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra. 

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps. 

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin. 

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes. 

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you. 

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed. 

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers. 

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs. 

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now. 

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face. 

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you. 

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit. 

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.” 

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste. 

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. 

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric. 

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing. 

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust. 

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good. 

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks. 

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy. 

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall. 

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” 

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise. 

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch. 

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed. 

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own. 

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest. 

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again. 

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother. 

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right. 

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go. 

Every week you repeat it all like routine. 

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift. 

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made. 

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through. 

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate. 

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.

[onepiecereactions]

Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration, OS

Smoker, Tashigi, Garp, Kizaru OS.

Humour.

Warning vulgarity.

2100 words.

English Version

Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration

Smoker hated coming backfrom a mission. Don't get me wrong, he loves his job! But two things annoyed him the most about these moments.

On the one hand, that meant not going on the sea for at least a few weeks. Indeed, Marineford had established a complex system of turnover of vice-admirals so, with some exceptions, at least 3 vice admirals are always present on the base in case of necessity.

The feeling of freedom, feeling the air on his face, not being locked, that was what made Smoker happy deep inside him. That and the feeling of having helped the citizens and brought some justice back to this damn world, obviously.

On the other hand, returning to base meant a horrible administrative mountain. And just thinking about it, headaches were already migrating through the vice-admiral's head. Luckily, Tashigi was always ready to help him and do some of his duties to let him rest.

So it was with a heavy heart that Smoker set foot on the base for the first time after months of mission. While Tashigi was already rushing into his office with the firm intention of working all night to do her report on time, Smoker was walking mechanically to his private apartments. He threw his dirty jacket on the floor, took a long, hot shower, and get into his bed, already cursing tomorrow's hellish day.

The next morning the vice-admiral woke up in a bad mood. He grabbed his jacket that he had left on the soaked bathroom floor and sighed: it was ruined. As resistant as the clothes made by Marineford are, staying intact when you get cannonballs in your back is complicated. And Smoker, unlike many of the women on the base, hated walking around topless.

So his first resolution of the day was to go find a new jacket. And of course, he was going to ask Tashigi to do it for him. At first, as a man of integrity, Smoker was remorseful about leaving so many of his tasks to his colleague, even if the latter was doing wonderfully. But after several years in Marineford, honestly, now he didn't care.

So he grabbed his den den mushis and called the brunette. After several seconds of waiting, Tashigi did not pick up. Smoker worried, it was very unusual for the young woman who had a reputation for answering even when she was asleep.

He then quickly took two cigars from his desk, threw his dead jacket over his back, and walked quickly to his office.

Misfortune never happening alone, of course, on the way he passed Admiral Kizaru. The latter joined him in his race to his office and took the opportunity to discuss. The Yellow Admiral had the reputation of loving to talk, much to the misfortune of Smoker who loved calm above all else.

"Oh, tell me dear friend, are the holes in the jacket a new fashion? I know that I am no longer very young but still, I don’t understant. Is it to provide a ventilation system? Don't tell me you have a fever my dear friend? Do you want me to call the dear caregivers of the "

Kizaru didn't even have time to finish his monologue when he got the door of Smoker's office in the face. The latter had already crushed his cigars to refrain from hitting the high-ranking officer in the face.

Once he was sure he heard the yellow monkey leave, he got into the chair across from his desk and reached into the second drawer to extract two new cigars.

After a few seconds of enjoying the smoke reaching his lungs, Smoker grabbed the stationary den den mushi of his desk and, as he went to call Tashigi, a note stuck to the back of his device intrigued him.

"Even though I warned you last night, that I sent you an official mail 48 hours before and that I slipped a note under the door of your apartment, I want to remind you, just in case, that I am absent that day until 7:30 p.m. All the captains have a meeting. I wish you a very nice day. Captain TASHIGI. "

Oh shit. For a little Smoker could have cried. It was certainly one of the worst announcements he could receive. No Tashigi. No Tashigi for a whole day! One more day after a mission! All the calls and assignments she receives today will go straight back to him, her boss! In addition to her work he was going to have to do his own! With holes in his jacket.

Smoker decided to go on strike. The schedule for that day was already far too scary to be able to live it. A thousand times he would have preferred to fight against Monkey D Luffy rather than going through it.

He then decided he would do what was necessary. He got up quickly from his seat, crashed out of his office and almost ran towards Building C. It was barely nine in the morning but the Vice Admiral thought he was fainting when he saw the huge queue in front of the door. . Obviously, it was Monday, and those morons in the administrative sector never worked weekends.

He then did like everyone else, walked over to the door to grab a numbered ticket, sat down on one of the few free seats and waited.

To his left was an ordinary soldier, without a shirt and pants, just his underwear. Smoker could smell a familiar scent of magma. Akainu had made his own again during the training of his subordinates.

Smoker looked at his ticket, number 38 and sighed. As he was about to improvise a nap while waiting his turn, his portable den den mushis rang.

"Vice-Admiral Smoker, I'm listening. » He said wearily.

The soldier at the other end of the line looked surprised to find the Vice Admiral and not the Captain. “Captain Tashigi is in a meeting, her calls are being redirected to me. If it's not urgent hang up ". Without further ado, the soldier hung up to the vice-admiral's delight.

1 hour later.

"I swear in front of Gol D Roger that if that damn den den mushi rings one more time I will blow his head against the wall." Grumbled the marine for the third time in a minute.

After an hour of waiting and 15 calls, the Vice Admiral was finally called into the room.

He almost tore his jacket from his back, put it violently on the desk while trying to keep his nerves and glared at the woman in front of him who remained unmoved.

"Vice Admiral Smoker, registration number XXXX, I need a new model 3 series AB size 98 jacket with option 13". Smoker had been clear, to the point, and hardly angry.

The woman, who was well into her fiftieth, looked at him indifferently.

“It doesn't work like that, vice-admiral. She said in a weary voice, as if she was talking to the first moron in the area.

Smoker struggled not to crush his cigars again but revised himself to think it would be difficult to face this without cigars.

"So how do you do in this case?" He asked sharply.

The woman didn't even bother to answer him, she just gave him a form. Smoker thought it was a big joke when he found himself with a five-page double-sided document in his hands.

" Are you kinding me ? Five fucking pages for a fucking jacket? Can't you just write 22 fucking words on a fucking post it note and talk about it? Bellowed the Vice Admiral who was already starting to turn to smoke in annoyance.

"Blblblbl, blblblbl, blbllb" The den den mushi began to ring, straining Smoker's last strength to stay calm.

" It's not my fault ". The woman began in a slow, boring voice.

Blblblbl, blbllblb, blbllb

"If you are too stupid"

Blblblb, blblbl, blbllb

"To complete a simple form"

Blblbllbbl, blblbl

"That even Kizaru gets to"

Blblbl, SCRATCH.

The vice-admiral's den den mushi flew across the room, finishing its course into the wall.

To the slow voice of the woman was added the tears of the den den mushi.

"FUCK OF," Smoker yelled as he stormed out of the room to make sure his fist didn't end up in the woman's face. He went out like a madman and locked himself in his office to try to find calm and serenity.

He grabbed a third cigar and after about ten minutes of relaxation began to fill out the damn form. He was only halfway through when the door to his office slammed open, knocking out the lustrous wood that had already received quite a few knocks.

"Ah my dear friend, I went to the infirmary and got you some medicine to lower your temperature. But beware, this is a suppository! ".

Smoker felt his heart stop beating when he saw the yellow admiral's face in front of his nose.

Blblblb, blbllb

"Oh my dear friend I think someone is trying to reach you on your stationary den den mushi. "

Blblblb, blbllb

"Maybe you should answer, maybe it's urgent, don't you think? "

Blblblbl, blbllb

Smoker had a vision. The den den mushi stuck, smeared with haki, right in the middle of the admiral's face, his nose bleeding.

It took phenomenal self-control for the vice-admiral not to reproduce his impulses. For the second time, he chooses to escape.

He took a pen with him to finish filling out the damn file that had become completely unreadable so much he had massacred it.

He found himself in front of the lingerie door, walked past all the soldiers and walked into the office. He barely had time to put a foot inside when he felt a stapler cross his face with its smoke.

"I DON'T THINK I CALLED YOUR NUMBER!" Yelled the woman who had "briefed" him earlier.

Smoker crushed the doorknob but stayed calm. He turned around, took a ticket from the machine, and sat down in the only seat available: the one next to Vice-Admiral Garp. "

Smoker sighed and prayed to all the gods that this old fool would leave him in peace.

So he settled down next to him and inspected him discreetly. He then realized that the old man's uniform was impeccably worn if the traces of grease were omitted from his shirt from all the donuts he had. But the Marineford hero wasn’t wearing socks.

"Don't ask questions kid." The grandfather simply told him when he met Smoker's gaze.

"Hey Smoker, I heard you're after my grandson. Did you know that when he was young he used to have fun sticking his finger up his nose to eat his boogers? Except that this stupid pirate, as he is elastic, he always ended up bleeding from the nose. Suddenly he would start screaming and running in all directions. Most of the time he would smash into a tree or a wall and fall apart, by the time the bleeding ended. Did you also know he got clean very late? I had to buy him pyjamas with an opening pocket on the buttocks because he never managed to undo his buttons and ended up pooping on himself? Ah and also the time when ”.

Smoker wanted to: die.

Blblblb, blbllbl

A mirage ? a hallucination?

"Vice-Admiral Garp, I'm listening. Ah hi Sengoku, how are you? A fishing trip? Now ? Ah I'm coming. By the way, don't you have pairs of socks to lend me? »And so the Vice Admiral disappeared through the maze of hallways, much to Smoker's delight.

It took no less than forty-five additional minutes of waiting for Smoker to finally put the damn file in the damn good drawer which, by chance again, was in building A and, as it happened, no administrative soldier was available to take the paper which he therefore had to deposit himself.

The same day, at 10 p.m.

"A call for you Vice Admiral Smoker." The bartender handed the den den mushi to the vice-admiral, who took a last sip of sake before answering.

"Good evening Vice-Admiral, I hope you had a good day! » Tashigi began. "I was wondering why you weren't answering den den mushi... I received an official document for you. It involves a fine for "disrespecting an administrative colleague" as well as a two-week ban from returning to the lingerie office. Is everything okay ”.

"I STILL PREFER TO WALK NAKED THAN TO RETURN TO THIS OFFICE".

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Vacation | Colson Baker

Warnings? Drunk Colson? Swearing? 

Requested? Nah I was bored on vacation 

Summary: You and Colson head to the east coast for vacation together. While there, he ends up confessing his feelings in a embarrassing way for the two of you. 

Word Count: 2,126

“Are you ready to go to Portland!!!” Colson yells running into your room and collapsing onto your bed. You laugh as he rolls over and his long hair falls into his face which he tries to push out of the way by blowing air up. 

“Yes sir!” You cheer and Colson laughs as you sit up and nod in affirmation at him. He takes a second to look around your room and sees your empty suitcase. 

“Bruh,” he whines and you start to giggle. 

“Okay okay I still need to pack but I’ll be ready by morning!” you insist and Colson rolls his eyes. 

“Come on!” he says standing up and dragging you up with him. 

You and Colson were headed to Portland Maine for a getaway from the fast city life. You had suggested the idea of a getaway for a while now and then eventually planned it all, down to the destination, hotels, and practically the minute you’d be leaving LA. So, for Colson to see you slacking on your packing the night before the trip was funny to you. 

“Okay,” he says standing in front of your closet. 

You and Colson have been friends for years now. You met at his concert a few years back, somehow sneaking your way backstage with a friend who was a huge fan of him. She had started kinda freaking out upon seeing his friends around back and got herself kicked out but you ran straight into Colson. 

You somehow managed to play the whole thing off, not coming off as a crazy fan and Colson and you ended up talking until security realized you weren’t supposed to be there. Thankfully, Colson vouched for you being there and you got to talk longer until you did have to leave and exchanged numbers to hopefully hang out again. 

You ended up getting closer over the years and now you’ve even decided to vacation together and hideaway from paparazzi for a while and of course have fun and make some memories. 

You grew up on the east coast and for years your father talked about visiting Maine but between other destinations, school, and work, your family never got around to it. You always loved the idea of the Atlantic ocean, going whale watching, eating lobster, relaxing on the beach, the whole nine yards. 

So, when you had suggested the idea of a vacation and Colson agreed, you started thinking of a list of places to go. After picking Portland, everything else was a breeze. 

“Okay, you’ll need a dress for a night out,” Colson says grabbing your favorite black dress and throwing it on your bed. 

“Jeans for running around,” he continues grabbing a few pairs of jeans along with shorts. 

He continues grabbing shirts, your usual pajamas which were just a merch shirt and shorts, and any other necessities he thought you probably needed. Kells turns back to your bed, counts the clothes making sure he grabbed enough and turns to you. 

“See why would I pack if you could just do it for me?” you ask and Col rolls his eyes and shoves you slightly. 

“Finish packing! I’ll see you in the morning!” 

When Colson shuts your door, you realize you’re grinning at his retreating form and try to stop out of habit. You turn back to your clothes and suitcase and start packing just as he told you to. 

The next morning, you wake up to the sun just barely hitting the horizon. You groan as you sit up, and check the time to see it’s five am. You get up, slowly getting dressed, and gather the little things around your room to stuff into your purse before checking on Colson. 

You walk to his room, leaving your suitcase outside and stepping in. You notice all of his lights are off and he’s still dead asleep causing you to sigh in annoyance. You flip on the light and watch as he flinches. 

“Col,” you call quietly and the older boy moves a little but just turns away from you. 

“Colson!” you call out and he groans and cracks an eye open at you. “Get up,” you say sitting on his bed and shaking his shoulder. 

“I thought you said we’re leaving at 8?” he groans. 

“Yeah, 8 east coast time.” 

He groans and you giggle lightly before grabbing his arm and pulling him up. He falls out of bed and you tell him you’ll be downstairs waiting and will come to get him in the next five minutes if he’s not down here. Thankfully, the rapper makes it downstairs with a minute or so to spare and you’re both off to Portland. 

By the time you’ve landed, the jet lag is starting to get to both you and Colson and you decide to head straight for your hotel before figuring out what to do for dinner or the rest of the day. 

“So, you will be in room 411 and you’re in room 506,” the concierge says handing you and kells your room keys. 

“Wait we’re not on the same floor?” you ask confused. 

“No ma’am. I’m sorry we couldn’t get you on the same floor.” 

“It’s all good we can always just share rooms at some point,” Colson suggests and you nod. 

You both head to your rooms and get settled. You drop your suitcase on your bed before wandering around the room to your window to see the view. You gasp when you swing open the curtains, a perfect view of the bay displayed in front of you. 

Just as you turn away from it, you get a text from Colson. You open it and see him telling you to put on the dress he packed for you and to wait for him to come to your room. You roll your eyes but throw your phone down and get ready regardless. 

Just as you’re running a brush through your hair and trying to pin it up, there’s a knock on your hotel door. You rush over, opening it to Colson in a black blazer, a white button-down half unbuttoned to show the tattoos you love, and black dress pants. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out and you realize he’s staring directly at you and the dress you had put on. A blush covers your cheek and floods down your neck as you smile wide at the boy standing in front of you. 

“You gonna pick up your jaw and come inside or what?” you ask holding the door open and now it’s his turn to blush. 

Colson steps inside and you walk back over to the mirror to finish putting your hair up. When it sits in a nice half up half down style, you turn around to face your best friend. 

“Ready to go?” 

The two of you decide to walk to the restaurant Colson picked, an outdoor seated restaurant in the heart of Portland. As you walk the two of you admire the city around you, the views, the buildings, the people, everything. 

“I think I’m gonna move here,” you say when you’re about halfway there. 

“And leave me?” he asks and you smile. 

“In a heartbeat.” 

He fakes pain at this, clutching his heart dramatically and you laugh loudly as he straightens again.

When you get to the restaurant, the place is beautifully decorated with fairy lights and the table is facing the bay. Colson pulls your chair out for you as you sit and your heart is practically bursting with half butterflies and half happiness. 

“The album release is soon,” you start after you both order dinner. “Are you excited? Sad? Relieved?” 

“All of the above?” he answers taking a sip of his drink. “This album is kind of like my baby. I’m nervous for fans to hear it but I love it so much that I don’t care if no one likes it. I love it.” 

“I’ll always love it,” you say, placing your hand over his and he smiles widely at you. 

The rest of the dinner is like a fairytale, you and Colson talking about life, the rest of the vacation, and the food of course is amazing. As you walk back to the room, you take your time wanting to enjoy this time. 

“It really is gorgeous,” you say looking at the bay. 

“It is,” Colson agrees but you can’t see that he’s not looking at the bay.

You turn and look at him, offering a smile regardless and continue walking. He takes this opportunity and slips his hand into yours, slotting his long fingers in between yours and it’s like lightning touching your fingertips. 

You reach your hotel and Colson offers to walk you to your room. You get to the room and turn towards him, falling silent. You look up at the taller man and decide to take a leap of faith. You lift a hand to his cheek and stand on your tiptoes, your lips just barely brushing his but it still feels like electricity has touched every inch of you. 

“Wait,” he whispers and you step back letting your hand fall. “I can’t… we can’t… I-“ 

He stutters out and you nod understanding what he’s trying to say without saying it. Without another word, you slip into your hotel and leave Colson standing there. 

What you didn’t know was that Colson wanted you. He’s liked you for ages but he can’t articulate the fact that he doesn’t want to hurt you. He thinks you deserve better and not someone like him. 

The next few hours are spent wandering around your hotel room, praying that you didn’t fuck up your friendship with Colson. Even if you never dated the older boy you always wanted him in your life. He was one of the closest friends you’ve had and so wise when you needed it most. 

Colson spent the next few hours drinking a bit more than he should have. He was mad he didn’t just take the leap with you. He should have just told you he liked you but was nervous. It was you for crying out loud. You understood him like no one else so why was that so damn hard?

So, after one too many, he ends up on your hotel floor hoping to tell you everything he couldn’t a few hours ago. However, the only thing in his way was that in his drunken state, he couldn’t quite remember your room number. 

After what felt like hours of stressing, you decided to flip through the tv channels and get your mind off the situation with Colson. However, just as you’re in the middle of switching channels, you hear a yelling coming from outside. 

You decide to get up and check to see who it is, hurrying over to your hotel room door and swinging it open. You look to your left and see others with their heads sticking out of their hotel room door trying to figure out what’s going on. 

Then you hear what the person is yelling. Your head snaps to the right just as Colson yells your name one more time, the six-foot-four giant drunkenly taking steps down the hallway. 

“Shit!” you curse. You grab your hotel key before running over to Colson and grabbing his arm. 

“Colson!” you snap and the boy turns in the direction of his name. When he sees you, a smile is plastered on his lips and he leans down to hug you. 

“(y/n)!! I love you,” he sings dragging out the you. 

“Okay, come on,” you say slipping his arm around your shoulder and attempting to pull him down the hallway. 

“No! (y/n) I love you! you’re mine okay?” 

“Okay, darling okay,” you nod and take his hand and the older boy lets you, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. 

Your cheeks burn bright red and you apologize to everyone as you drag Colson over to your hotel room. You pull him into your room and when you get inside you turn towards your best friend.

“Colson what the fuck are you doing?” you ask. 

“Professing my love what the fuck does it look like?” he responds and you roll your eyes. 

You start to walk away from him but he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him. One hand lands on your cheek and the other around your waist as he presses his lips to yours. This time lightning is practically flying around the room as your lips mold perfectly against his. 

“I’m serious, I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier,” he says and you smile. 

“Shut up and come here,” you say and pull him in again.

[symonde]

Chapter 12 – You just can’t get away

Pairing: Beckett x mc

Book: The Elementalists

Rating: slightly NSFW

Word Count: +/- 3650

Summary: Joane and Beckett realize there is still a lot of stuff going on between them...

Masterlist “Dark Sun”

Tag-List: @itsbrindleybinch ​ @flyawayboo ​ @alegria1580 ​ @thefarrari ​ @regina-and-happiness ​ @syltti78 ​ @gardeningourmet ​ @feartheendlesssummer @daisy-ashton @sleepingpillcorporation

---

It had been two weeks since he had last seen Joane, and Beckett prayed every night before going to bed that he wouldn’t dream about her naked and moaning.

He woke up every morning, drenched in sweat, his dick erect and aching. Wanting to punish himself he refused to relieve himself the first two days. However he pretty quickly realized that in punishing himself, he punished every single one of his students. He hadn’t been able to concentrate and his thoughts kept on wandering and remembering … after which he needed to stay seated for the rest of the class trying to calm himself enough so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of his students. After 72 hours of practically no sleep and permanent arousal, he even lost control of his magick in class once. One of his students had asked him a question and he hadn’t been able to answer it immediately since he had been thinking about her – again! In a rush of panic, he had broken the screws fixing the board on the wall, and it crashed to the ground. At least it provided an excellent distraction and spared him from admitting he wasn’t able to answer the question he hadn’t heard.

Since then he had established a routine of pleasuring himself at least once a day before heading out. Thinking of her, remembering her soft ass pressed against his hard length, it took him practically no time to finish off in the morning. Even though it was far from satisfying him, it helped focussing his thoughts during his classes. Nevertheless, after two weeks, Becket was exhausted and angry. He couldn’t stop thinking of her, and yet… He had other options after all.

Beckett decided it was time to start dating again. A few women had shown an interest in him, yet he hadn’t acted on it since he wasn’t really interested in any of them. Perhaps it would do him some good? In the next week, he even went on a date with a random pretty girl whose name he couldn’t even remember the morning after. It had been a nice evening. The food had been excellent and she had flirted with him the whole time. He had been bored to death after 10 minutes and declined when she asked him inside after the date, seeing Joane’s face in front of him the first time she had asked him inside after a date – a slight blush colouring her cheeks. Her gaze had been fixed on the floor, biting her lip nervously – she had been the most adorable and beautiful women in the world to him at that moment and he had known in that moment that he was in love with her.

After this he knew he was in even bigger trouble. Yet, it wouldn’t do him any good in prolonging this torture. She hadn’t approached him in two weeks. To Beckett, it was absolutely clear that being back at Penderghast and explaining what had happened 5 years ago hadn’t changed and wouldn’t change Joane’s mind about him. She had decided to cut him out and now he would have to live with her decision as she had been forced to live with his a few years ago. It hurt like hell but he would finish his studies here at Penderghast in the coming year and then look for a new employment offer and a new life – even if it would take him years to get over her. He should probably approach some of the other professors about this soon. Hopefully they would have some connections that could prove useful.

What he needed was some sort of closure, for himself, but also for her. After their argument in the Escape room, he needed to tell her he was sorry about the way their relationship had evolved and tell her his final goodbyes. He thought about confessing the club-encounter but decided ultimately against it. It wouldn’t do any good and he wasn’t sure he could handle another angry outburst. It would be hard enough facing her for the last time… he hoped her last memory of him would be a good one.

It was about 2pm when he decided to head out. He probably would have to wait a few hours before she called it a day, but he wanted to make sure not to miss her. Making this decision had cost him a lot and he wasn’t sure he could make it again tomorrow. Lost in his thoughts he roamed the side building where her office was located. The psychological faculty was a small building with a private access route from the main street. It was the “loneliest” building on campus and a 5 minute walk off the main building. This was caused mainly by the necessity of consulting patients who valued their privacy – understandably.

He found a small bench from where he could overlook the schools front yard and settled down, sipping on his coffee and trying to calm his nerves. Even though he suspected the next few hours would be nerve-wrecking, he found it pretty peaceful out here. Furthermore he found himself slightly hidden from the psychological faculty’s main entry what was probably for the best. He didn’t want half of Penderghast talking – or rather gossiping - about how he had been waiting outside of Joane’s office building like some kind of creepy stalker.  

After about one hour of waiting, Beckett was impatient and surprised about the profound calm of this part of the campus. For the last hour, exactly four people had ventured in or out of the faculty. Perhaps he should wait inside or ask the faculties’ keeper to call him when Joane left? What if she decided to do a nightly writing session? He knew of his own experience that once you were in a writing flow it was hard to stop. 

Debating in his head what to do, Beckett saw a women leave the building and heading to the main parking lot of the faculty. He found her vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place her right away with her hoodie drawn halfway into her face. Suddenly, she looked in his direction and froze in midwalk, her eyes wide and panicked when she recognized him. Katrina? Beckett scarcely recognized his sister. What was she doing here? Had she been seeing Joane? If so why were they meeting here?

When he took a step closer, Katrina seemed to break out of her startled posture and started to run towards her car. “Wait… what? Katrina? Hell …” Beckett followed her to her car. For once he was thankful for the lonely hours in which he had nothing better to do than do some yoga and running to get his mind off his shitty private life. “Kat… why are you running from me?” He caught her right before she could enter her car and drive off. Her shoulders slumped down in resignation “Hey Beck…” She sighed. “I’m sorry but I really don’t want talk right now. Please let me leave… I promise I will tell you sometime what I have been doing here but not today…”

“Katrina please don’t force me to confront Joane about what you two were talking about without my knowledge” Beckett hoped she would reveal who she had been seeing, even though he tried to tried to trick her – hoping he was wrong. He actually didn’t care as long as it had not been Joane. If she really had been talking to Joane something serious must have happened. Even though she had not openly disliked Joane when they had been together, Beckett knew the both of them had not been friends either. They simply were too different.

Katrina didn’t look at all like the sister she once had been. Her now bony figure had once had been the envy of every college girl. And Beckett had never seen her dress so careless, not even when they were at home watching TV. She looked tired and sad. Beckett knew about her divorce from Jack, but he hadn’t thought she would take it that hard and even need psychological aid.

Katrina was obviously annoyed by him, yet suddenly a slight smile appeared on her face. She had seen right through his attempted ruse. “Beck, I appreciate you trying to look out for me with your unconventional brotherly care, but if you want to talk to Joane, just do it.” She easily slipped out of his grasp and got into her car.

Beckett readied himself to get back to his bench when Katrina turned down her window to shoot him a sisterly grin. “You know Beck. Be nice to her, I think she still cares about you… quite a lot. Every time I mentioned your name she got that far away look, even though she tried to hide it. Even after all the nasty stuff our family put her through she still helped me... Don’t fuck it up… again!” After this, she got serious again, “Oh and Beckett, if you want to know what we were talking, ask me not her!” With that comment she drove off, well aware that she had given Beckett a lot to think about.

---

Two hours after Katrina had left her office, Joane still couldn’t believe what she had just told her. Oh my god… oh my god… oh my god… Katrina killed her father… Not that Joane particularly missed the jerk that caused her so much misery in the last few years, but he was Beckett’s dad after all. Did he know? Probably not… Katrina had to make certain that she wasn’t caught so she had probably told no one... Well now Joane knew – of all people. It seemed like she wasn’t able to break free of the Harrington’s family however hard she tried to.

Joane knew she couldn’t tell Beckett since she wasn’t about to break her physician–patient privilege, and yet her first thought had been about how to talk to him about this. He was some kind of permanent uneasy obsession that she just couldn’t get rid off, and she was tired of trying to ignore the obvious. It seemed foolish to think that at any point during the last years she had been over their relationship. She needed to talk to Beckett at some time to straighten their situation, but now surely wasn’t the right time.  She wasn’t confident that she would be able to hide her new found knowledge of his family Katrina’s confessions. Technically Beckett probably wasn’t even allowed to now that she had seen Katrina if she herself hadn’t told him. Joane sighed - How on earth had she managed to get into this situation after her decision to cut off every connection to the Harrington family?

A few hours and two more patients later, Joane decided to call it a day. She scribbled her last observations to her notepad and headed out. The sun was already pretty low in the sky and painted it in a faint orange light. It actually was Joane’s favourite time of the day. The Penderghast main building resembled some kind of old abandoned castle at this time of the day since most of the students were either out at Penn’s square or at the refectory carrying out their dinner plans. Bathing in the last sunrays of the day, she breathed in deeply to get rid of the tension that had built up in her since her meeting with Katrina.

Beckett nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw her leaving the building, yet he could not bring himself to go to her. She faced the last sunlight as if it was a life elixir for her. She looked so beautiful - all calm and composed. He felt as though he had intruded a very personal and private moment. Move it Beckett! It’s not as if you had ever intruded in her private sphere! Taking a step closer he must have made some kind of noise, since she swirled around alarmed. When she recognized him, she relaxed slightly which he noted with satisfaction. Curiously, she looked a little confused, “Beckett? God you scared me!”

“I … sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” Beckett suddenly felt very uneasy. Katrina’s words had left him confused. He had planned on telling Joane his final goodbyes, convinced that she was indifferent towards him. Had he been wrong about her feelings towards him? It wouldn’t be the first time he couldn’t count on his emotional intuition. “I wanted to talk to you… “

Joane looked up at him, waiting for him to continue, but the words just didn’t want to come. After a few uncomfortable seconds he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, I.. I met Katrina on her way out and I know you probably won’t talk to me about whatever she told you,… - but I can’t stop worrying about her now that I have seen her. She doesn’t resemble my sister anymore and I… I do not want to let her down… I want to be there for her. My family is not the easiest one… as I am sure you remember.” He gulped when he saw her looking at him unflinching. Please do say something…

“I am sure you know that I can’t tell you anything what I have discussed with your sister, since she came to see me as a professional and I am bound to secrecy. I don’t know if I would tell you even if it wasn’t for my job… we have not been exactly on good terms lately.” Joane felt slightly bad for Beckett. He looked so lost standing there in front of her. Still, she didn’t let him off easily just because he looked like nervous and lost puppy. “Why were you here to begin with? You didn’t know your sister would come to see me did you? If you didn’t why were you here to see her?”

Beckett felt a flush creep up his face. “I .. I came to talk to you. But now.. I just don’t know what to do anymore…”He decided to go all in. “Jo?  I need to ask you something.  I – I need you to know that I will never approach you again of that is your wish but I just can’t continue like this….”

At Beckett’s words, Joane started to worry. She hadn’t known what to expect when he approached her but it felt like some kind of goodbye. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Her mind wanted to say yes, but her heart screamed in anguish despite all of what had happened, she couldn’t lose him again just now when she finally started to feel herself again. Even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about Beckett being back, at some point she had admitted to herself that she hadn’t been herself all of these years and that she had needed him to come back to find some closure. She looked at him nervously. Was he leaving again? She couldn’t blame him, she hadn’t made his life exactly easy since he had come back… but then again her life hadn’t been easy either…. Somehow she just wasn’t able to imagine her life without him in it.

“Jo, I need you to know that I came back here for you. There hasn’t been one day that I haven’t thought about you. I know that I caused you a lot of pain, and I wish nothing more than for you to be happy again in your life. And…” he tripped over his own voice and had to compose himself before continuing… “If you will be happy without me in your life, I will leave… as soon as I made sure that Katrina is ok… But if you... I mean if there is only a slight chance that you still want me in your life as a friend or … well - … please let me know, because I can’t sleep and I can’t concentrate and I am making a mess of my classes.” Beckett sighed frustrated. He wasn’t able to look at her, too afraid of rejection.  

Joane simply stood there unblinking, her thoughts running wild. What was she supposed to do now? She didn’t want to lose him, but she couldn’t just let him in again could she? He was dangerous. She noted in this very moment that her heart beat faster and she felt herself drawn to him. What if she couldn’t stop caring for him? He had hurt her so deeply and yet…. She longed to have somebody to talk to again, to trust. There they were again, the dangerous thoughts…. Would she ever be able to trust him again? She wanted to but… Shreya!... she needed to talk to her best friend desperately…

Beckett looked at her trying to calm himself. His hands were shaking and his heart was beating so fast he feared it would explode. What if Katrina had been wrong and she wanted him gone? And what if she told him to stay? Beckett wasn’t sure what he feared more, his heart breaking all over again or the sweet torture of a lingering hope that she might consider loving him again someday. “Please Jo… say something…?”

“Is this all you have to tell me?” Joane was surprised at how steady and calm her voice sounded – the exact opposite of what she felt inside. Yet, she needed to know if she could trust him again and she decided that he first test would be to see if he would tell her the truth about their club- experience. She saw his brows furrow in a slight confusion and then a glint of surprise enter his gaze. His eyes darted to hers questioningly. She only looked at him, having already decided to base her decision on however he was behaving now.

Beckett felt his face warming, a burning flush reaching up to his eartips. Did she know...? What if she did and he would admit to it… What if she didn’t know and if he admitted she would only despise him more?... This was bad… He needed to clear his throat a few times before feeling steady enough to continue, deciding it would be best to tell her the truth immediately. If she didn’t know and found out later it would only worsen his situation, oh well… what did he have to lose? “Hrm… I, … ok I know that what I will tell you now will sound a little bit unusual, especially for me. Please believe me that I am sorry… I did what I did the way I did… but in that moment I was kind of jealous and  …” Beckett knew he was rumbling … really really bad. How do you tell the girl you love that you forced yourself upon her without her consent?

When he looked up again, he caught a slight grin on her face that quickly disappeared the moment he looked up. Could it be? Beckett blinked several times and then in one breath forced it all out. “After our argument in the escape room, I tried to get some business stuff of my dad in order and in one of his clubs I saw you enter a room with a man. I followed you. I was jealous and when I discovered you were bound and ready to get sexual pleasure of another man I kind of forgot all my manners… and, ehrm... well  I took his place, forcing him to stay away from you. I tried to give you what you had been seeking and I hope I have accomplished the task. I left immediately after and I assure you I felt really bad after…” When Joane raised an eyebrow in slight scientism he groaned, seeing his mistake… “No, I mean I felt pretty turned on after,… well but I felt also bad, I didn’t want to take advantage of you this ways… well obviously I should have stopped, or rather I shouldn’t have done it but….”

He sighed… “God this sounds really awful…. I am sorry that I touched you without your consent but I still care so much about you and the thought of another man touching you drove me crazy. I have been seeing other girls as well, so I know it is not my place to tell you who is allowed to touch you and I hope you will believe me when I say that I will not do this again…. “, he finished in a very small voice that Joane nearly didn’t understand, looking at the ground again. “…not without your consent, but I really do hope you will allow me to… “

Joane couldn’t repress a smile at first, she felt giddy all of a sudden. He admitted it… and he had been jealous? But then, he said that he had been seeing other girls… she shouldn’t care. It was not as if he had any obligation towards her… and yet… she felt awful imagining him flirting with other girls, touching them the way he had touched her…. You are jealous!.. Oh god.. Joane had trouble breathing. She did care... a lot,… and she surely didn’t want him seeing or caring about other girls. She couldn’t lose him again... Not now. Yet she needed to talk to Shreya first. He had told her the embarrassing truth and it fit with Antony’s story, so he wasn’t lying… he still cares about me!

She took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me Beck… I will need to talk to Shreya now.” She turned and walked back to Penderghast, leaving him standing there miserable and confused. After a few steps though, she turned around, and Beckett breathed in sharply. She smiled up at him, a wicked glow in her eyes. “Just so you know, next time I would like to have my way with you.” She winked at him before jogging off.

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Bebe Stevens

Is she still playing truth or dare in treehouses? Bebe has been accepted! Please submit your blog to the main, and a faceclaim to be featured on the main blog!

out of character info

Name/Alias: Grace

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 23

Join Our Discord: Yes - [REDACTED]

Timezone: GMT

Activity: 8 (at least every other day)

Triggers: N/A

Password: jimmy can fast pass my ass 

Character that you’re applying for: Bebe Stevens

Favourite ships for your character: Bebe/Chemistry!!

in character info

Full name: Barbara “Bebe” Stevens

Birthday: 11th August 2000

Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Female, She/Her, Bisexual

Age and grade: 18

Appearance:

Face of angel, body of a goddess, posture of a queen. That’s what she’s been told will get her far in life, and that’s what Bebe strives for. She’s slim build but – with thanks to frequent gym tips (for the Instagram likes) and rigorous cheerleader training – Bebe is toned, tanned and seriously strong. Her fair falls halfway down her back and, without proper styling, it’s a big nest of yellow frizz. Since hitting puberty, Bebe’s mom has enforced regular trips to the salon to tame her curls and highlight her tips, meaning only those really close to her have seen how much of a disaster it’s natural state is.

She has brown eyes, plump lips, and dresses largely in sportswear – crop tops, sports bras, leggings, shorts, high tops and hoodies. On nights out, she likes to ‘Go Ho’ with tight dresses and her signature red lipstick. Bebe is rarely seen without makeup; since entering High School, she’s grown to dislike her natural face – pale and imperfect, with dark patches under her eyes and freckles on her arms. Fake tan, foundation and fad diets are a necessity, if only to get her mom off her back.

Personality:

Bebe doesn’t let anyone see more than her outward appearance. Since childhood, discouraging comments about pursuing an education and becoming an independent career woman have twisted her dreams and shattered her personal image. She works hard at school, but often struggles more than her classmates and is too stubborn to ask for help. Bebe wants to follow Wendy to an Ivy League School, become a Marine Biologist, and change the world for women in STEM. Constant reality checks from failed exams and her mom’s patriarchal view of the world have made that goal unobtainable, so now she’s relying on Instagram fame, a rich college boy proposing, and being widowed at 35 with diamonds to spare.

Bebe is bold, to the point, and surprisingly witty. However, she often disguises her wit behind ditzy or vain observations and a vapid obsession with whatever’s fashionable at the time. She’s driven, though, and even with the world seeing her a certain way, she’d like to become a bigger, brighter person. At parties, she’s a loud personality; she likes drink, dick, drugs and dancing in any order, and isn’t afraid to announce it. She’s also a natural born leader. People are drawn to her, be that because she’s got great boobs and bad reputation, or because she knows how the world works (a little too much) and isn’t afraid to grab it by the balls.

History:

Deborah Thornton met Harvey Stevens when she was 17 and he was 25. Harvey was everything Deborah wanted: well-dressed, well-spoken, and heir to a successful stationary company. Her dating strategy was relentless; Deborah knew what she wanted, and she was damn well going to get it – but how was she going to keep it? That much was easy: have his baby.

Bebe knows she’s not a child born of love, but of circumstance. Her parents like each other well enough, but there’s no spark, just a dull-witted woman who dresses nicely for her boring, business-minded husband. Luckily, their poor parenting techniques have resulted in Bebe getting almost everything she asks for, and Deborah encourages that want-all attitude with pride. Bebe is the spitting image of her mom at 18: voluptuous body, sweet voice, and unwavering social status. Now all she needs is a husband.

The world has blessed Bebe, but as a ten-year-old, that wasn’t enough. She wanted everything she could get her hands on: all the boys, all the power, and all the shoes. Sure, stealing her dad’s gun and pointing at her best friend wasn’t her proudest moment, especially when it was just to keep her hands on Clyde fucking Donavon, but that decisiveness has remained to this day. She’ll dress slutty if she wants to, snort coke if she wants to, and get down if she wants to. Nonetheless, not even Deborah could have planned for Bebe’s independence. Bebe Stevens wants the world.

Sample paragraph:

There’s a riot going on outside, and Bebe can see most of her class in the middle of it. Knowing that lot, they probably started it. A few look worried, the majority bored (oh, a riot in South Park? Must be, like, a Tuesday) but they all know it’ll die down tomorrow when the next bullshit scenario rears its ugly head.

At least they’re involved, right? Bebe hasn’t been dragged into any non-squad drama for months. Sometimes, the guys will give Wendy a taste of their bizzare-o world, and Wendy will complain and call them assholes, but Bebe has this secret feeling that all those whacko, dangerous shenanigans might be kinda … fun.

Fuck. All she wants is the chance, just once, to take the wheel and get fucking WILD with it. Unfortunately, she has a reputation to uphold, an Instagram to keep active, and no one really trusts her after the whole, like, ‘pointing-a-gun-at-her-best-friend’ business.

Bebe blames some of it on society. That’s what Wendy would say to to cheer her up (and, thanks girl, but a pair of shoes or some ice cream would do a better job of it).

She blames the rest of it on her mom. Her mom, who’s dragged Bebe to yet another salon, because “you won’t marry rich with dry skin and crusty cuticles, honey.” Bebe’s fingers fucking ache after the trials they’ve been put through today, just for a French manicure and a couple gems on the thumbnail.

“Hey, mom,” she ventures, and her mom looks up from her copy of The Boob Job: Use your Tits to get Hitched to address her little girl.

Her mom only cares about two things: potential boyfriends (and how Bebe can use her body to bag them), and any girl-gang gossip that’ll make her feel young again.

“Can I go outside? I think I see Annie out there..”

“And ruin your nails, baby? What if that Clyde boy sees you acting like a common whore? Or Token, he’s rich, right?”

“Then they’ll be more likely to fuck me, right? Come on, mom. I can see robots out there.”

Bebe knows that the idea of her daughter becoming just another white-trash, Tomboy Tina terrifies Deborah to the core. But they’re in South Park, and the alternative options are pretty slim. 

“Fine,” her mom says, “but I want you to get three good selfies and at least one date out of it, you here? Tell them you’re a cheerleader, they like that. And look out for college boys - they’re smart.”

This town is tiny and suffocating, Bebe wants to say, they all know I’m a fuckin cheerleader. But instead she says, “sure mom, whatever, kisses,” and bolts out the door, wondering if she’ll be brave enough, today, to break a nail.

Head canons:

Bebe still has her fluffy white cat, Thumper, who she adores, even if half of his fur has gone and his legs don’t work anymore. Deborah hates the thing, but Harvey still makes sure its fed if Bebe’s away.

Bebe has some lingering drug issues. She rarely goes out now without dropping some MDMA or a line of coke, and she sometimes sneaks out at night to smoke a joint at Stark’s pond. It’s got the point that she thinks it’s a necessity to be the ultimate party girl, and she’s got no plans to stop anytime soon. It’s what Paris Hilton would have wanted.

Bebe has MAD body-image issues and will not let anyone see her without her makeup on. The only exceptions are Wendy and her dad.

Anything else: nope, nada!

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. III (Katlaska) - Sebald

A/N: [4763 words] Sex is sex, the rest is just noise. And Brian would like to plug his ears.

As Paul goes on about his last photoshoot, Brian envisions the varied ways he can dismember Trixie and bury her plastic Barbie limbs across all of Los Angeles.

Paul is, undoubtedly, a gorgeous son of a bitch. Now, Brian isn’t typically attracted to model-types, and would like to think that he is often more drawn to coked-out amateur porn star-types, but when you see a piece of art so perfectly sculpted, you’d be remiss not to appreciate it. And Paul is some fine-ass art. Emphasis on fine ass. He looks like the type of man even Narcissus would have begrudgingly admitted to be beautiful—killer cheekbones tapering down to a strong, stubbled jaw; green eyes sitting coolly beneath the commanding arch of his thick brows; rich, golden skin that makes him look like he’s always trained by reflectors from every angle. And most importantly, Brian notes when Paul excuses himself to the restroom, his ass is sublime. Brian would very much like to touch it. Mold it. Sing “Unchained Melody” to it.

Too fucking bad Paul won’t shut up.

“It’s really hard work, actually,” Paul says, deep voice dripping with that SoCal drawl that used to annoy Brian but has now been Stockholmed into liking, months after moving to LA. Paul has an elbow perched on the back of his chair, and he’s leaning back with practiced ease. People walking by their table in the little sidewalk café openly stare at him, but he is unruffled. Probably used to admiring glances, Brian assumes. Paul takes a drag from his stick before he continues, “I know people have this misconception of models just sitting around and looking pretty, but there’s a lot of work that goes into it. My Calvin Klein shoot in particular was so demanding because their set was literally freezing, and I had to pose in nothing but briefs for hours.”

“Oh wow. How cruel,” Brian says in as sympathetic a tone as he can. He manages to bite back a snort, instead busying himself with putting out his cigarette and dropping the butt into the ashtray. Immediately he lights up another one. It seems a necessity, if he’s expected to carry on with this conversation.

“But that’s not even the hardest part. I was bought into the shoot blind—all I knew was that I was hired to do the campaign, but I knew nothing of the art direction, the photographer, the clothes. Nothing. So I get to the set and we start off doing solo shots, and then an hour later two female models come in, and I’m suddenly told that I’m supposed to pose with them—be all sexy and everything. So okay, that’s fine. A bit of a surprise, but I can handle it as a professional. What I’m not okay with was that I wasn’t told anything, and I didn’t get a say in anything. I was expected to just follow. And that’s how it goes for models. Ordinary people,” he brazenly gestures to the passersby, the withering curl of his lip expertly turning ordinary into an insult, “think it’s a glamorous job, but really we receive so little respect in the industry.”

It’s not like he doesn’t have a point, Brian concedes. His point is just severely unsharpened, and less a point and more a blunt hammer, completely lacking in finesse and forceful in its ways. He goes for a friendlier approach, partly to show that he can commiserate, and partly so that he can contribute to the conversation, which seems to be what dates are for, if rom-coms are to be believed. “I sort of get that, I think. I mean, drag queens are the furthest thing from models, I’m sure—for one because most of us are butt-ass ugly—” he pauses for a second, hoping Paul might laugh. But Brian gets nothing.

“—and, um, also because we have creative control over our art. But being a drag queen on reality TV, you do get a sense that you’re a pawn of some sort. That even though the show is putting your art out there for you, you’re first and foremost cast to sell the show. It’s a strange feeling,” he admits lightly, before smiling and saying, “But it’s not the worst gig in the world. Oh at all.”

“Wait, wait,” Paul blurts, bringing a palm up to stop Brian. He leans back in his chair even more, as if to better look Brian up and down. “You’re a drag queen?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Brian is really going to kill Trixie now. Or he’s going to cut all the strings on her guitar and the lace on her new BobbiePinz wig. “Yeah. Didn’t David tell you?”

“No. He just said you were a really nice guy.”

“Okay. I guess that’s fair. Come to think of it, Trixie didn’t tell me about what you did either. Just that you’re hot.”

“Who’s Trixie?” Paul is more perplexed than ever.

“Sorry, I meant Brian. Not me, David’s boyfriend, Brian Firkus? Milwaukee Brian? He’s a drag queen too. We’re friends.”

“Wait, country Brian? Gay Willie Nelson is a drag queen?”

“She’ll resent that comparison, but yes.”

”Okay, yeah I know him. But wait, you said you were on TV. Were you on the RuPaul show?”

“I was,” Brian affirms. “I take it you don’t watch the show?”

“No, sorry,” he says with a shrug, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I do know about it because I had a roommate who used to watch it, but I moved out and never heard of it again.”

“Wow. Well, congratulations. I didn’t know it was possible for a gay man in Los Angeles to avoid the show, but here you are,” Brian says, halfway between being complimentary and disbelieving.

“I guess most of the friends I run with these days aren’t necessarily gay,” he explains, flicking his cigarette behind him before reaching for his cup of coffee sitting right beside the ashtray. Brian can almost imagine the strains of a horror thriller building up to a crescendo as Paul continues. “I’m not even really gay myself, I think. I do say I’m gay on Grindr and all the apps, but that’s just to make my life easy. So people know what I’m looking for, you feel? But I’m not, like, gay gay, you know? Like into musicals and stuff. No offense.”

The imagined music hits a peak, and a markedly effeminate scream goes off in Brian’s head. For some reason he envisions the scream to be from Justin, clad in that ridiculous pink-and-yellow ski suit with a feather sticking out of his goggles. Truly the gayest thing Brian’s ever seen.

In front of him, Paul is an image of casual disinterest. How Trixie thinks this guy would be worth seeing, Brian doesn’t know. Is this a prank, perhaps? He represses the urge to walk out, or maybe throw coffee on Paul. It seems a bit dramatic. Instead he offers a tight smile and an apology. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were gay.”

“It’s cool, I don’t mind too much,” he says, again unbothered, as if he didn’t just malign all the Harvey Fiersteins and Kurt Hummels of the world. “I don’t really care what people call me, as long as I get laid.”

A pause. There it is, the lead-in they both showed up to the date for. Brian considers his options. He could tell Paul he is an asshole and then leave and find Trixie so he can rant about the date, or he could stay and see this thing through to its inevitable end—and it seems fair to reward himself with that. A well-earned prize for his patience throughout Paul’s blathering about the plight of male underwear models. What would Dr. Arroway do?

Brian’s decision is made when he watches Paul tip his head back to drain the last dregs of his coffee, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a manner that should not be as sensual as it’s managing to come off. Feeling simultaneously reckless and disappointed in himself, he opts to concede to the only sound statement Paul has said in the span of an hour. Cigarette in his mouth, Brian noncommittally utters, “Amen to that.”

When Paul acknowledges his reply with a sly smile, Brian feels the need to whisper an apology into outer space and hope that it makes its way to Jodie Foster.

“I’m supposed to see my trainer by three—maintenance, you know? But I have some time before then, so do you wanna stop by my place for a bit?” Paul asks smoothly, in the practised way of someone who’s employed the same scripted cues before. He makes a show of checking his phone, as if he hasn’t already blocked off some time for a pre-workout fuck. “It’s just two blocks down. You cool?”

“You’re not turned off by me being a nelly faggot?” Brian asks around his cigarette, not unkindly.

“Oh. Um. Well, no,” Paul answers, suddenly uncertain. Brian feels a little thrilled, watching him stammer. “You don’t—you don’t really seem, um, too gay?”

“I hope you know I’m not taking that as a compliment,” he says with a snort, hoping to get the last word in.

When they make it to the apartment, Paul thankfully cuts back on the chatter. It’s no pretty fucking, just quick and graceless, Brian hammering away almost vindictively. Still, Paul’s ass lives up to its promise, and Brian almost feels like it was worth all the trouble of their coffee date.

But he’s still definitely killing Trixie. Maybe after he gloats about how luscious that ass is. 

~~~

The small convenience store on the corner of Paul’s block is thankfully empty. Brian gets himself a pack of Newports, stupidly having let Paul bum his last one off him after Brian already selflessly sucked him off and ate and fucked him out. For all his masculine posturing, Paul turned out to be a pretty lazy princess in bed. He needs to find more generous partners, really. As he waits for the bored young cashier to punch the cigarettes in, he scans the bright, beguiling menu behind the counter and stares dreamily at the image of a soft serve cone. The perfect upward swirl. The height of American culture.

“Wait, can I get a vanilla cone with that?” he hears himself saying before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Of course,” the cashier says, mustering up an unconvincing smile as she rings the item in.

He’s never been one for post-sex ice cream, usually a post-sex smoke kind of guy, on top of being a post-breakfast smoke, post-breakdown smoke, and post-smoke smoke kind of guy. But he indulges himself today, a congratulatory treat for making it through Paul. Not that it was much of a chore, the sex part. But the getting-to-the-sex part? A rough road. To that Brian raises his cone.

The store has one row of seats and a long table facing the street, and he settles in, licking his ice cream absently as he watches people walk by. Los Angeles is generally laid-back, a city of beaches and slow drawls, but Sundays are especially lazy, when passing time seems like pulling taffy. The rest of the week it might be more like chewing gum.

A young couple leisurely pushes a stroller carrying a beribboned Shih Tzu in a puffy princess dress, giving Brian one more reason to be glad of his lack of romantic attachments. Across the street, two twin ladies with fire-engine-red hair hobble into a nail salon hand in hand, looking like the Parent Trap twins sixty years into their future, and looking exactly like the type of people Brian would like to feature in one of his pipe dream documentaries that he thinks about when he’s showering. It’s always either a gritty documentary or a pornographic film with vague allusions to the Russian symbolists. An orgy in the snow. Kneeling down to kiss the ground, the night wraps everything around, my lips are feeling it is close… And then bukakke cum loads vanishing into the snow as bodies huddle together for warmth. He brought the idea up to Avi once, but he just said Brian needed help.

Beside the nail salon, a group of buff guys crowd around the entrance to a gym—Paul one of them, to Brian’s chagrin. He hides uselessly behind his cone, but Paul thankfully doesn’t look around, absorbed in conversation with his friends. His decidedly not-gay friends. Brian would bet his entire Kickstarter fund that they all take it up the ass. They disappear into the gym, leaving him to enjoy his cone in peace, imagining the locker room hand jobs they’re going to discretely gift one another. No homo, just bros looking out for bros. It feels almost obscene to lick away the trail of melting ice cream down to his wrist, but Brian’s broken out of his locker room imaginings when a kid taps the glass in front of him. The kid looks up at his cone with big, excited eyes, tugging at his mother’s shirt to point it out. Preoccupied with a phone to her ear, she just shakes her head and pulls him along. The kid glares back at him, like it’s Brian’s fault somehow that he’s not getting any ice cream. Brian offers the kid a mocking pout before reveling in another cool lick. Little brat.

When he looks back across the street, he sees Justin’s brother, of all people, walking out of the gym. He sits up, piqued, when he sees that Cory is followed by Justin and an unfamiliar woman who’s about half Justin’s height but looks like she could tap him with a single finger and send him toppling over. She and Justin have their arms linked, chatting brightly as they follow Cory across the pedestrian lane. For a second, Brian contemplates running out of the store to call their attention, but Justin beats him to it (quelle surprise!), spotting him from the middle of the street. Justin waves with his long, spidery arm and smiles before gesturing for the woman and Cory to look into the convenience store as well. The woman’s face lights up, pleased recognition spreading across her face. Cory, on the other hand, just squints in his direction before looking away. Maybe that’s how army men greet casual acquaintances, Brian posits.

He waves the remains of his cone as the trio, now led by Justin and the woman after speeding past Cory, make their way into the store.

“Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” Justin greets with a transatlantic affectation as he steps in first, holding the door open for his friend. “What’s up?”

“VH1 stocks are,” Brian fires back. “Logo down.”

“No shop talk on Sundays,” he tuts while going in for a hug. His cheeks are flushed red, presumably from the gym, but his freshly showered skin is cool against Brian’s post-sex heat.

“Don’t. I stink,” Brian warns.

“But when do you not?” Clicking his tongue, Justin ignores the warning and encloses him in a one-armed hug. With his free arm, he gestures to his companion. “Kiara, this is Brian. Brian, this is Kiara, fitness trainer to the stars. And Cory’s girlfriend, for reasons that elude me.”

Kiara laughs and shoves him lightly, and then extends her hand for a shake, until she realizes that his handshaking hand is preoccupied with ice cream. She shrugs and goes in for a quick hug instead. “Nice to meet you! I loved you on the show. That finale speech? Girl, I almost cried.”

“I’ll never escape the Team Katya folks, will I? I’m quitting drag.” Justin juts out his lower lip in a comically large frown.

“Plenty of love to go around,” Kiara says brightly, kissing his cheek, which Justin accepts with a laugh.

“Always so needy,” Brian teases with a smirk. Justin catches his eye and smirks back knowingly.

“Hey Kee, catch,” Cory calls out, walking from the cashier. He flings a bottle of water through the air, and Kiara catches it expertly. It’s fantastic, like a choreographed move. Gold medalists in the Olympics of water bottle catch. With Justin, it’s much less of a sporting event, the bottle safely changing hands between brothers. Probably for the best.

Cory stares at Brian for a solid second. It’s nerve-wracking, like passing through security and waiting for them to pull you aside for a bomb that you know you don’t have but is still afraid of being caught with. Brian lets out a breath when Cory finally turns to Justin and Kiara, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, would you wait a minute,” Justin says, almost like a fussy mother. He turns to Brian with an exasperated look—a can-you-believe-how-rude-my-brother-is look, Brian would like to think. “Brian, you know my brother Cory.”

“Yes. Hi. Cory. Bro’Laska. Big fan. Huge,” Brian says rapidly, hoping to get in Cory’s good graces. He hasn’t seen but two episodes of their web show, but the words come stumbling unbidden out of his mouth. Like puke, but worse. “Really, really fun dynamic. Just hilarious.”

“Cool,” Cory says uncertainly, looking to Justin for help.

Brian’s mouth runs ahead of him, completely unmindful of the one smart voice in his head telling him to shut up, “No, I mean it.”

“Sure,” he grumbles. And then, under his breath, “I didn’t say you didn’t—”

“I really do! I love the show. My mother loves the show. My father loves the show. My sister loves the show. My brother loves the show,” he rambles. “No, wait, sorry, I don’t have a brother.”

“Oh-kay.” Cory can’t even meet his eyes anymore.

“But I wish I had a brother!” Brian offers, before he can stop himself. “Several brothers! So we can all watch Bro’Laska and love it. Together. And be… progressive gay brothers.”

“Right.” Cory regards him with a tired look. “I’m not really gay, dude. But thanks, I guess.”

Brian nods and wishes he hadn’t been blessed with the capacity for speech. It just seems a cruel thing to be burdened with, doesn’t it, when the supposedly benevolent Lord is not as kind as to give you a working brain to govern your tongue. Brian winces apologetically at Cory, who shifts his eyes away. Kiara may as well have a question mark bobbing over her head with the way she’s staring at him. Justin’s lips are contorted in an indecipherable twist, conveying something between schadenfreude, pity, and horror—Brian’s not sure yet. And he doesn’t quite want to know. He just wants to melt along with his ice cream. Which he still has. And which is now leaking all over his hand, down his arm.

“Katya, your—” Kiara gestures kindly, bringing out a handkerchief from her bag and handing it over graciously.

“Oh no, thank you, it’s fine,” he refuses. He’s not going to let her pristine kerchief be victim to his sloppiness. “I’ll, uh, go on ahead and wash this away.” He grabs his backpack with his clean hand and begins walking out. “Great to meet you guys. Have a good day.”

He backs into the door, but it won’t budge. He pushes into it again repeatedly, pressing the full weight of his body like a human battering ram. “Fucking hell. What kind of Superman strength does it require to fucking—”

“Pull,” Justin suggests gently.

Brian pauses his full-body hammering into the door and nods. “Right. Of course.” He bows once in their direction, turns, pulls the door, and stops when he realizes that he has smeared ice cream all over the handle. Shit. He wipes it with his shirt, to little effect. He takes a breath and hopes the cashier gets paid more than minimum wage as he resolves to leave the sticky mess behind in favour of marching out without another glance back.

Was that rude? He doesn’t know. He just wants to never interact with any human being ever again. He finishes the rest of his soggy cone as he walks away. Miserable fucking cone. He shouldn’t have gotten it. Just another American icon, shattered and exposed for the flimsy illusion that it is.

Quickening his pace, he walks in the direction of his yoga class. The thought of yoga isn’t quite enough to stifle his mortification just yet, but it’s a good start.

A hand lands on his shoulder. Justin, he recognizes before turning. Maybe he was expecting it. Justin is holding out a wad of tissues. “Got you some from the store.”

“Thanks,” Brian says. Wiping down his arm, he looks up at him sheepishly. “Sorry for being weird in there. I dunno what happened.”

“Yeah, that was something. But then it’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Justin chuckles. “Are you all right?”

“Totally. Your brother just kind of made me nervous. He can be pretty imposing. He’s so large and gruff and…big brother-y.”

“I’m older than him.”

“What? No way.”

“I am. But he’s a tough old military man, and I’m a flaming faggot blessed with eternal youthful beauty.” Justin shrugs.

“That you are.” Brian nods sagely.

“Anyway, no worries. It’s my fault, if it’s anyone’s at all. I mentioned to him that we’ve been fooling around, so I suppose he’s assuming some sort of protective brother role and being cold on purpose. Sorry about that. He’s usually nicer and chattier. Willam will vouch for him.”

“Oh. You told him?” Brian marvels, “So that’s what meeting the family is like,”

“Sort of. Usually with less ice cream and faulty gaydars.” Justin snorts. “You heading to yoga?”

“Yeah,” Brian confirms, tilting his head in the direction of his classes. “I’m walking. You?”

“Can I walk with? I’ll grab an Uber from your building. Then I’m just going home. Ordering Indian. Watching Feud. Regretting going to the gym,” Justin says, falling in place next to Brian as they stroll through the Sunday heat. “But you’re not getting rid of me until I hear about the date.”

He groans. “Horrible. I called my date gay too. That’s twice today. And guess what, Joanne, he said he wasn’t.”

“What?”

“He’s not gay-gay, just gym gay.”

“Oh god, not one of those.” Justin sounds both sympathetic and personally offended.

“But you know what’s worse? I enjoyed the fuck out of the sex. He’s got, hands down, the firmest ass I’ve ever seen in my entire wretched existence. And I loved every spray-tanned inch of it.”

“Well, that’s a happy ending.” Justin laughs. “Will you go out with him again, then?”

“Hell no. God, I hated the date itself. I don’t know why people do it. Horrible. You’re both trying to impress each other and trying to be polite even when he’s being an ass, and it’s just such a chore, the whole thing.”

“You’re being cynical. Dates can be fun, you just had a bad one.”

“I guess,” he concedes. “I guess meeting your friend’s brothers can also be fun, I just happened to make an ass of myself.”

“Precisely,” he says. “We’ll get you a life coach, girl. You can be saved. Just trust and believe.”

“My first introduction as your fuck buddy of one week, and I’ve already made a bad impression,” he laments. “Whatever will that mean about our future?”

“You won’t get my hand in marriage, but we can always elope,” Justin suggests. He clears his throat, loops one arm around Brian’s, and gestures grandly to the streets of LA with the other. “Where to, my star-crossed lover? The world is ours, though lawful companionship not be.”

Passersby look on at Justin’s theatrics and keep a safe distance away. Brian laughs. “And I’m the embarrassing one.” Despite himself, he affects a Maxish accent and projects loudly, “The world indeed, my dear, is ours. As my heart is yours, and your cock mine forever.”

Justin drops the act and cackles wildly, unmindful of the people sending glances their way. He wipes a fake tear and turns to Brian. “That was beautiful. See, you’re one for romance after all.”

“God, if dating was anything like that, I’d be into it.”

“You’re such a grump. Dating can be fun and comfortable. It just has to do with compatibility. It’s just like sex, really. Sometimes you find someone who can get you off twice, thrice in a night. Sometimes you end up with someone, and neither of you are able to get it up, and you both hate yourselves a little. But you don’t blame the entire practice of sex for bad sexual encounters, do you?”

“I hate how sensible you’re being about this. But I dunno, dating, it’s just so much pressure. And for what? So you get to fuck someone exclusively for a couple of months until your insecurities eventually come out and eat the relationship from within, and the whole thing inevitably dissolves and leaves a trail of misery and bad blood in its wake? Fuck dating then, just skip straight to the fucking.”

“Slow down there.” Justin laughs, holding Brian back and pointing his head across the street. Brian blinks in that general direction, until it clicks that he’s been too preoccupied talking to pay heed to the ‘STOP WALKING’ light.

Justin looks straight ahead for a while, and then he speaks quietly, perhaps addressing Brian, or the streetlight across the way, or himself. “You’re right. Fucking is nice. I think I’m sticking to it right now actually, just to disentangle myself from the whole relationship aspect. Maybe just sleeping around for a while and not being in anything serious will help me be less of a needy, whiny bitch.”

“Oh.” Brian is taken aback. Justin’s no prude, and he’s always been happy to fuck a race chaser, but he’s also garnered a reputation for being a sappy romantic. “That’s an interesting exercise in self-control.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his feet now. “Dunno what my goal is really, just wanted to try it out. No actual dating for some time. None of the fancy dinners and movies and all that. Just sex.”

“Seems excruciating for you, I’ll be honest.”

“Well, sex isn’t a bad thing to be stuck with,” Justin reasons.

“Oh no, not at all. That’s my MO anyway. I support it. Just doesn’t seem like you, is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah? Do you think it’s stupid? Am I kidding myself here?” Justin asks, looking sincerely worried, and Brian feels bad for walking him to that edge, when he’s already made the decision for himself.

“No, no. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to want to get into,” he placates him. “And anyway, if you find that it isn’t for you, you can always go back to dating. That easy.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Justin says, nodding to himself. “I’m trying this, then.”

“Tell you what,” Brian begins, a smile playing on his lips. “Let’s make it fun, so you’re not worrying yourself over this. Because really, the point of sleeping around is that it should be fun, not a lonely way of forcibly deromanticizing yourself.”

“How?”

“Let’s make it a game.”

“A game?”

“Yeah. I’ll match you. For every guy you sleep with, I go out on a date with someone,” he offers, surprisingly not regretting it the moment it leaves his lips. But there is time for regret yet. When the first date with the next Paul commences, most likely. For now, Justin’s face is breaking out into a wicked smile, and that’s reason enough to commit to the game.

“No fucking way.” Justin looks like he’s having way too much fun now. “What if I get into an orgy?”

“I’ll do those speed dating things,” Brian haggles, laughing fondly at the sight of Justin furrowing his brows and seriously weighing the offer.

“Okay. That’s fair,” he decides with a firm nod. “So how do I win this game?”

“Does it have to have a winner? I think you win anyway, since you get to sleep around without the boring rituals of dating.”

“Well… then that’s not such a fun game for you, is it?” he says, frowning.

“Okay, fine. If you drop out of the no-dating life first, I win. If I drop out of the dating life first, you win.”

“Okay.” Justin beams. As the ‘WALK’ light comes on, he cheekily turns to Brian. “May the best woman,” he pauses and walks ahead, and then yells over his shoulder, “win!”

Brian laughs and wonders just what he has gotten himself into.

[whole-dip]

Haunted Mansion

Okay so let's see if I can pull this off. I wanted to do a big analysis/breakdown of a Disney ride to help people better appreciate the art of themed entertainment, as well as help people see a little bit of what my experience is like as I'm riding. I figured I'd go with a fairly popular one, one that a lot of people have experienced, so I chose The Haunted Mansion. I'm gonna be doing the Orlando version because that's the one I've been on.

Okay so we begin in Liberty Square. You're standing in front of the front gate. You see the mansion up upon the hill, the path towards it winds through the front garden/graveyard to the entrance. The sign, at eye level, ominously tells you what's inside. There's a couple different things going on here. First and foremost, you're seeing a spooky mansion up on a hill. Classic example of forced perspective, building something so that when you look at it the proportions give the illusion of a different size. If you think about it, everything you do on the ride could never fit in the building you see before you, but the forced perspective is enough in your mind for you to accept it. As you walk through the line the perspective will slowly shift to make it all make sense to you. The more important thing here is that the mansion looms over everything in Liberty Square. You can see it from almost every part of the land, and that makes it fearsome. That makes kids say either "That big scary house is staring me down and I don't want to go" or "I'm gonna go in that big scary house and conquer whatever is inside" It's a big centerpiece of which the entire rest of the land is built around, the focal point.

Next, you start walking in the line. You're in the graveyard. Funny tombs surround you, and as of a few years ago there are now interactive graves. This is referred to as Scene One. It puts you in the mood, it starts setting the tone. We see a mix of darkness from the graves, but upon further inspection we see that it's all quite funny. This is the tone the rest of the ride will have, spooky whole, funny close up. There's also interactive elements, a ghostly eulogist, a musical crypt, a moving bookcase. This is part of Disney's more recent initiative of having interactive elements in ride queues. This one is one of the more popular examples of good implementation. All of the interactive elements are fairly minimal, main reason being that you need to be moving, not playing with toys.

Now, the doors are opened by a maid/butler and you're welcomed into the foyer. The portrait of the ghost host slowly turns to a skeleton as the voice welcomes you in. The doors close behind you. This is first and foremost, more scene setting. You're being told where you are, what you're doing, how it's gonna happen, etc. It's giving context. But also, you're being corralled unto a group, being more active, and feeling like you're not in line any more, even though you are. You're then welcomed to the stretching room. In Disneyland this serves an actual purpose as an elevator, here it's just for fun. Again, driving home that theme of spooky but fun.

Finally, you enter the load area where you'll be getting on your doom buggy. The doom buggy is an example of what's called an omnimover. The original idea for the ride was that you'd walk through it but the problem was that no one would want to keep moving. The omnimover was developed to allow guests to slowly move through a ride, be turned 360 degrees, but still be in a vehicle controlled by the attraction so that ride times weren't affected.

You quickly move through a small stairwell and then you're on to the hallway with paintings. Your buggy turns and faces you to the paintings, lightning flashing behind you as you hear thunder and the somewhat ominous paintings flash more viciously for just a moment. This scene really captures what the Haunted Mansion is all about. There's a couple of technical effects that are being used, somewhat sparingly if you think about it, to create the sense of "did those paintings just change, or was it my imagination?" that permeates the ride. Here, it's simple UV light being flashed on an otherwise normal paintings. Note the ghost ship, a reference to the original theme of the ride that would have focused more on a nautical home.

Next, the marble busts in the library. Personally, I've always found this room to be a tad boring. The busts are merely concave carvings that look as though they're following you, a common illusion. What's cool though is that this is the "worst" it gets, which is still pretty cool. The ghost host really lays it on thick with the puns here which normally I'd like but here it gets to be maybe a bit too much.

After that we see a piano, seeming to play itself, but a ghostly shadow below playing it on the floor. I think this is incredible because if you think about it for like, two seconds you know exactly how to do this, but it's just so perfectly done that to me I lose myself. I have to remind myself to look for the technical details when I'm riding because if not I'll forget and just see a ghost playing piano. That mastery over simple and straightforward illusions is one of the things that makes Haunted Mansion so perfect.

The infinite stairwell. This room has been changed a ton of times, and it might change again one day. I like that this room helps add to the impending madness of the ride that the story is supposed to be about. A lot of people forget that the Haunted Mansions is supposed to be the story of you questioning if the ghosts are real or if you're just crazy. I think a lot of the story on this ride isn't perfectly done, but this room filled with impossible architecture really helps sell it.

Now, the endless hallway, with a floating candelabra at the end. This room features a ghostly chill that I don't think really works honestly. I never got the sense of that going on, rather it just felt like a weirdly cold spot. The endless hallway is fantastic though, and a scene I think about often. It's such a sparse room if you think about it, but it works so well. It's one of the show scenes that I actually don't really know how they did it.

The opening coffin is the closest thing we've seen to an audio animatronic (AA) that we've seen thus far, and it's great. The way the green light glows from inside, the roughness of the hatch as it's being pushed open, fantastic. I've always loved it, especially as a smaller scene.

Next, another hallway, this time with less effects. We see the sinister purple and black wallpaper that's classic, such a small detail that's commonly known now, but I wonder what it was like for people to slowly notices the menacing eyes in before the internet. The portraits are fun, but repeat a bit too often for me. We end with a monstrous clock, striking thirteen, and the shadow of a massive hand passing over it. To me, this strikes the perfect balance of silly and spooky. Sure, it may be frankly ridiculous, but it's still completely menacing and out to get you.

Now, an incredible scene. Madame Leota's seance. Everyone's doom buggy slowly turns so that we're always in the a big circle, just like any other seance calling forth ghosts. You can look to the other buggies and see them, but of course Leota steals the show. She's a projection on top of the face inside the ball, giving here a ghoulish look, and if you pay attention, the instruments she calls out are floating around the room. I really love the sound design here, as she calls each instrument there's a pause, then a slow but deliberate response. This scene could've easily been far more over top and loud but there's a restraint here that could only come from the history of imagineering that came before it.

The ballroom. Maybe the most iconic scene, or at least one of them, this room is perhaps the most technically complex on the ride. We see the ghostly forms slowly appear before us, all doing their own thing. It's very much a party with some interacting with each other, some on their own. This is pepper's ghost, an old parlor trick commonly used with live actor but here it's done with AA figures. If you notice, you're at a very particular height, not low to the ground, but not on the roof. That's because you're actually about halfway up the room, with ghost AAs above you and below you. Because o the pepper's ghost effect all the figures you see are also on your side of the room, but cleverly the reflections appear as ghosts before you. Pretty cool, huh?

We move to the attic, the domain of the bride, Constance. We see the wedding portraits as the men slowly lose their heads, each one has Constance gaining another pearl necklace. At the end of the room is Constance herself, hatchet in hand. Theme park rides were pretty much invented by film people so they often are developed using film language. Something that has to be accounted for is getting the audience to look where you want them to. If you think about it, this ride is set up kinda like a tracking shot. Slowly you enter the room, meandering through it and ultimately ending on a focal point, in this case, the bride. Scenes like this, with so much cinematic quality while still not being a movie, this is what got me to fall in love with theme parks.

We now begin our descent into the cemetery outside. While many talk about the lore here, that of Constance allegedly killing you and throwing you out the window, there's a far more practical reason for this. At this point, you're on the second floor but you need to be on the first floor. The only way to do that is to lean you backwards for your descent, otherwise you'd be super uncomfortable. The lore is a really good example of adapting story to the physical necessity of the ride.

We're now full in the swingin' wake at the cemetery. The music is fully playing, the ghosts are all out fully having a party, and we're truly surrounded on all sides by show. Our eyes dart around seeing so much and it's sensory overload in the best way. There isn't much to say here in terms of design principles, it is what it is, an all out party. Something I love is the jumping heads behind some of the tombstones. They almost scold you for trying to look too closely, a fun little jump.

Finally, we see the hitchhiking ghosts as a sort of last gag, the projection of the ghosts in our own buggy as a last Wow! and then Constance once more on a mantle as a last scare. A perfect little bow on each aspect of the ride. We unload and exit through a spooky, but well lit, hallway and back outside. The exit quickly pulls us out of the spooky darkness and back into the level of the theming in Liberty Square we had before we entered the queue.

So there you have it, a full breakdown of Haunted Mansion. While I could go on and on about little secrets and the development history and whatnot, I wanted to just do an analysis of what it's like to ride it. All the trivia comes after that initial ride through that leaves you breathless and full of joy.