#six flags great escape why do you do this to me

[galactic-mayhem]

the last operating intamin bobsled closed september of last year and intamin removed the model from the website

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 10

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Though this is where the c.ai help ended because I was breaking the bot's pea pickin' mind. 😆

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER TOO!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine.

Ten. 十

You don’t know where you get the courage to growl at this fierce man who has you in his grasp. But goddammit if he doesn’t just laugh at you–and sling you over his shoulder, carrying you like a caveman to his lair.

You do the requisite pounding on his broad back, the kicking of the feet. You swear it only makes him enjoy it more, as he tosses you down. You brace and let out a yelp, expecting hard floor below. You’re shocked, when you sink into soft mattress instead.

Which maybe isn’t great either. 

You try to scramble away, but his big hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you back, and then he is crawling over you, settling all that solid, masculine–delicious–weight on top of you. You feel him smile against your mouth, your hands pinned above your head. “Am I going to have to restrain you, to do what I want to you?” he asks casually, kissing the sensitive skin of the bend of your neck. “Or are you going to behave?”

You freeze beneath him at hearing the word restrain. As in what? Handcuffs? Ropes? Oh no. Somehow, that would be worse than everything else that’s happened tonight, and you fight not to hyperventilate beneath him, closing your eyes and grinding your teeth, even though all you really want to do is thrash like a trapped animal. 

That’s not going to work with this man. He’s too…everything. Smart. Strong. Cruel. Connected. You’re not going to beat him with brawn and you’d be a fool to count on luck. He watches you interestedly from inches away, as all this plays through your brain. You swear, he can read it like a news ticker scrolling above your head. He knows you so well.  

You hardly recognize your voice, when you ask quietly, “Will you promise…not to hurt me?”

You close your eyes again as he strokes your hair. “No,” he answers, and a spear of fear shoots down your spine. “But I don’t want to hurt you, y/n. I want your submission.”

“I don’t…understand the difference,” you admit, the fresh welling of tears spilling from the corners of your eyes. 

“Hmm.” He wipes away the moisture on your cheeks, bringing it to his lips. “I’m not wife-beating trailer trash, y/n. You’re not going to submit to me because of my fists. That would be too easy.” 

A shaky breath escapes you, as you think about how he’s used his superior strength to bully you so far. If he’s feeling self-righteous…it’s a thin fucking line. “I’m…not?”

“No.” He kisses you, lullingly gentle, cloyingly sweet. You are on even higher alert now than when he’d grabbed you earlier. “You’re going to submit, because it’s what you’ve really wanted all along. And I’m going to show you.” 

Your eyes bug wide.

“I don’t–no! That’s not fair!”

That is when his kiss upon your shoulder turns into a sharp nip. You yelp, and he is on his elbows over you, your face bracketed in his big hands. “You have a very bad habit of trying to lie to me, little one. We’re going to have to work on that.”

“I just…I don’t understand!”

“What is there to understand?” His thumbs stroke your temples, gentle once more. This man gives you whiplash.

“Why…” You try to look away, but he won’t let you.

“If you can’t look into my eyes and say it, then I’ll think you’re lying,” he scolds you. “It’s basic human behavior 101.”

With a growl you glare up at him. For some reason he finds this delightful, flashing teeth. You’re sure he knows, with a gimlet stare like his, how hard it is for mere mortals to meet head on. His standards are unfair. It’s like making a deal with a demigod–or a demon–who already knows he holds all the cards.

“Why me?” you manage to grind out. “You could have anyone.”

“I could buy anyone,” he agrees. He softens slightly, looking down at you. “But you don’t care about my money, do you? You want something else from me.” He smirks, and you are mortified all over again, a flush of heat blooming up your neck. “I read all about it.”

“Ugh.”

He chuckles, enjoying himself far too much at your expense.

When he lowers to kiss you, you consider biting him for about 2.3 seconds.

“Do it,” he dares you, his words a dagger clothed in velvet. “See what happens.” He says it almost eagerly, as though he’d welcome the leave to be terrible again. You have to remember that about him. He dangles tenderness before you like bait, not genuine sentiment. You’re playing a game, and the rules can change on this man’s whim.

He says he doesn’t want to hurt you–you’re not sure that’s true, and it certainly doesn’t mean he won’t. You can trust him as far as you can throw him, and judging by his delectable dead weight on top of you…that’s not far.

You close your eyes, feeling helpless again. And stupid. And…still turned on, if you’re being completely honest with yourself. You don’t know how you’re aroused when you should be disgusted, screaming, crying, fighting–it would win you nothing. He’s going to have his way, so you can fight it…or you can enjoy it for now, and bide your time, because he has to slip up at some point, right?

Right?

He feels the change in you, when you start softening to the onslaught of his lips, his hands on your body tracing every dip and curve. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, and you swear his praise lights up something in your brain like a red hot wire.

This isn’t it, you promise yourself. You are in a war with this man. And maybe you lost the first battle, and swiftly the second too, but not the whole war. You are not conquered yet. You are not conquered yet. 

With this new resolve you reach for the buttons of his shirt. They are small, and stubborn, and you let out a frustrated growl that makes Donaka smirk down at you. “Don’t rip it. This shirt cost more than a month's salary for you.”

“Well, you’re always bragging about how much money you have,” you fire back, jerking the two halves. You’re proud of yourself when there’s a tearing sound and the button goes flying. Fair’s fair. Donaka grins like a wolf, then suddenly you are flipped on your belly, your ass in the air and your panties wrenched down your thighs. 

Smack.

You scream, his big hand on your backside stinging like a swarm of angry bees, and instinctively you squirm to get away from him. But he holds you down with an unforgiving grip in your hair, pushing your face down into the mattress.

Then you hear the jangle of his belt buckle again, and the warning hiss of leather sliding free of loops. “No, no,” you beg, struggling, to zero avail. His grip is unbreakable, like this man is made of iron.

“That depends on you. Are you going to damage my property again?”

“No,” you whimper into the bedclothes, hating how small you sound. 

“That’s what I thought.”

He drops the belt beside you on the bed like a reminder, before caressing your tender bottom ever so lightly, soothing the sting. How…does that actually feel good?

He makes a sound of appreciation, pulling you against the hard bulge in his crotch with hands on your hips. He spreads your thighs wider, leaving you utterly open and vulnerable to him. You hate to say it, but you are too unnerved to fight him, so conscious of that leather strap sitting beside you like an open threat.

“Stay there,” he directs, and you do as you’re told, listening to the whisper of fabric behind you as you presume he’s undressing. 

It’s a very awkward position, and your thighs begin to tremble. You are utterly exposed like this, splayed wide open. Yet you do not dare complain, suspecting you have used up your free passes with this man for the evening. He is just waiting for an excuse.

“You are exquisite,” he sighs from behind you. “I could stare at this view all night.”

An equal mixture of uneasy warmth and mortification fills you, displayed like this for him, so utterly open with nowhere to hide. Then you wonder if he’s threatening to keep you like this for hours more as a punishment. Yet before you can even begin to think of what to say to him, he has crouched beside the bed, and his mouth is on you. 

“Oh,” is the only intelligible word that leaves your lips. Everything that comes after is mere guttural nonsense, as his tongue teases your clit, sliding against your nether lips, and you see stars. All else forgotten, you become a slave to pursuing this pleasure, your fingers like claws in the sheets, canting your hips to give him better access to anything he wants. He moans against you, a deep sound that reverberates into your womb.

You whine like the needy little thing you have become when he withdraws, wiping his mouth on the butt cheek he struck not minutes before, kissing you with a tenderness that is nearly as beguiling as his tongue in your slit.

“Shhhh, sweet girl. I’ve got what you need, if you promise to be good for me.” You feel him kneel behind you, the warmth of his hand on your spine, the intoxicating kiss of his tip to your entrance. You’re not proud–but you want it. God, in that moment you want him more than air to breathe. You betray yourself, with the tilt of your hips, with the keening that escapes from your traitor of a throat.

“Mmm,” he practically purrs from behind you. “Do you promise, y/n?” He uses his tip to tease your slick folds, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. 

This is just a battle.

You make a sound of affirmative, a kittenish mewl because real language escapes you. 

“Use your words, bunny.”

Not the war.

“Yes.” It's all you can manage, and he takes mercy on you, betraying his eagerness too. Slowly he fills you, stretching your flesh inch by blessed inch until you can take no more. He could give you more. He could hurt you, badly, like this. Yet he’s so careful with you that you could weep, the slow glide of his body inside yours the stuff heaven is made of. 

It's funny. Despite the terrible things he did to you earlier, if you squint, it almost feels like he cares about you. The logical part of you knows it’s all a mind fuck. It has to be. But that part of you…is drowning in an inky sea of your other desires. Things you’re usually good at denying, because they’ve never caused you anything but trouble… Maybe that was a mistake on your part, because now you’re here with this dangerous man, and you’re so pent up that you can’t say no. 

That feeling of bliss intensifies when he reaches between your legs, slowly circling your clit as he pumps inside you. You involuntarily clench upon him, winning a low groan.  He drapes his long body over yours, kissing your spine, his hand encircling the front of your throat. 

“Tell me this isn’t better than just writing about it,” he demands, his low words against your ear sending a shiver through you. 

The simple answer, of course, is yes. The rest, however, is far too complex.

You make a sound that’s neither yes or no, and his grip on you tightens. Still not enough to hurt you…but he could, and you feel that so very acutely in that moment. The fact of the matter is you didn’t consent to any of this, even if you are enjoying it. He wants your complacency, and you wonder if it has to do with conscience, or claiming his victory. 

The latter, you tell yourself. The minute you start to believe he has a heart will be the end of you. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. He does not love you, you stupid girl. He never has, and never will. 

“Well? Tell the truth.” 

“It’s better,” you answer simply, because you don’t have the capacity to tell him the rest out loud right now, and making him happy is the only way you will ever get a chance to escape him. You are going to have to be calculating, and ruthless, and neither of those things come easily to you. 

“That’s my good girl.”

It shouldn’t feel so good, to hear him say that, while he’s balls deep inside you. It shouldn’t make your treacherous cunt flutter upon his relentless cock like you mean to swallow him up, a velvety red orgasm building between your legs again. 

It’s not surrender, you tell yourself as the warm rush fills you, makes you feel like your bones are filled with glittering gold, your spine bowing so hard you fear it might crack. It’s just…a tactical play. You’ve been haunted by curiosity about this man since the moment you laid eyes on him. In the morning, you’ll make your next move. For now…you might as well enjoy it as best you can. 

The games have only just begun.   

[pixyys]

thou shalt not be sad!

making corny jokes and pick up lines for them

ft. the flags + chuuya + verlaine + adam

warnings. possible storm bringer spoilers; fluff/humor + hurt/comfort

notes. romantic/ platonic; huuuuge thank you to @silverbladexyz for these wonderful pick up lines ♡; reposting bc oh god, tumblr was in a silly mood

art by @/shan_zeze (twt)

❝you have a little bit of some loose screws in your head. everyone knows this well enough. but seriously, every person in your vicinity are just so depressed and gloomy! surely, that's nothing some some good ol' one liners can't solve. ❞

LIPPMANN

Our little story starts during a time when The Flags have the pleasure of gathering together. Everyone has been busy with their businesses for quite a while. But they finally get the time to relax and act like normal young men without the burdens and horrors of their line of work.

Of course, you are there too! For.. whatever reason you have. No one minds nor questions your presence, so you sit there, simply observing; grinning with a dumbstruck smile at how everyone is happy and enjoying their time.

Especially lippmann. You saw his recent movie, the one that blew up on the internet, yeah. He's been flying all over the world for premiers and promotions. Even now, he just got back from one of his world tours.

"Lippmann," you make your way towards the end of the billiard table. "How was Europe?"

"Europe?" he recovers from his hunched position, the billiard cue still in his hand. "It was quite nice. Do you want me to take you when I go on another tour in the future?"

Whoa. Traveling Europe with 'the' Lippmann?

"Yes please," the response comes a bit too eager than you intended. "But won't it be a hassle? Was there any quarantine during your latest travel?"

"Well, for safety measures-"

"-Because you can't spell quarantine without U R A Q T."

The room falls silent as those words leave your mouth, save for the ticking of the clock and someone's pool ball falling on the floor.

"Ah.. well," Lippmann laughs nervously. For a flit moment, burying yourself six feet under sounds like a very tempting escape. But the thought dissipates as the charming actor chuckles, with a very lilting voice and a cute-looking smile that could've made you keel over right there and then.

"I suppose there will still be momentary quarantines since the virus is still around," he continues. "After all, you can't spell virus without U and I."

Well.

"Oh hell no! Not this again!"

Something cracks with a horrible crunch, probably Chuuya breaking his billiard cue. Not sure didn't care. You're too busy gaping at the actor slash mafioso like some dying fish. Either way, this dying fish got that world tour free pass! yeah!

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PIANO MAN

Looking back, you have no idea how you managed to crawl out from that pit of embarrassment and continue life as usual. Maybe your sense of dignity just dried out. Maybe you're the kind of person who just rolls with everything. You pulled through, either way.

As it goes, your existence and role in The Flags is a peculiar one, as peculiar as your personality. A wildcard, if you will. Again, maybe that's why you find yourself helping Piano Man with those 'supernotes' of his.

"Say, Piano Man, do you play the piano?" you ask, mind drifting wistfully as you watch him send away some of his underlings. Some others are still waiting for their next order, standing by within the vicinity—you included.

"I don't," he regards your curious question.

"I think you'll be a great pianist."

Piano Man offers a raise on his brow, "On what ground?" he said.

"I mean, better yet, you can be Bae-thoven."

To put it in the most less-heartbreaking sense, his response is both something you definitely expected but nevertheless didn't prepare for. The silence that follows is reminiscent of that time you landed a free Europe tour pass with Lippmann, so is the forced laugh that grows from Piano Man's mouth.

Another, painfully awkward silence that comes after it, however; you can't help but reel from it.

"Piano Man, please. That's the worst possible response," you half-whispered.

"Ah, apologies. I suppose.. thank you?"

THAT IS THE WORST POSSIBLE RESPONSE.

The room is dead silent, and it doesn't look like it's because Piano Man's underlings are too afraid to laugh in his presence. No, at this rate, your sense of dignity will really dry out, dissipating out of existence. That is until you saw a glimpse of Piano Man's subtle smug face.

Ah, right. It is Piano Man you're up against.

[name]: i showed you my best pickup line pls respond

piano man: no <3

In bitter shame of such pitiful defeat, you toned down your puns ever since. But one time, when you cross paths with your arch nemesis once again, Piano Man strikes up a conversation.

"About that thing about not being able to play the piano, [Name]. I think I'll start learning it."

"Really?" you turn to him.

But what did he do? he, in turn, closes the distance, leaning his face to your ears, "How about you give me some piano lessons?" he whispers, and you can almost, almost feel his breath lingering on your earlobe.

"We can play all night and make sweet music." you can feel his smile.

You ascended; jaws dropped, eyes popped out, cheeks hot. You didn't remember if you passed out or dropped dead.

Really, it's best to only pick battles you can win.

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ICEMAN

"Iceman is it? You seem like a cool guy. I hope we can get along."

Iceman knew you're a walking embodiment of a headache the moment you exchange names and shake each other's hands.

He still wonders why he still puts up with your shenanigans. Or why he still agreed on helping you do combat practice and friendly spars. All the while trying to not accidentally stab or decapitate you, probably.

He watches you pat down your light bruises, making use of the momentary rest. Objectively speaking, you are no weak opponent. Sure, he can likely kill you in your sleep. But at least not without some struggle in your part.

"This place is pretty neat for sparring, like a very comfy practice room," you comment, still holding the shoulder that might have a nasty bruise- or a sprain? He hopes not. Iceman wonders if he threw you too hard just now.

"Oh! Speaking of," you suddenly turn to him, "Are you a practice room? Because I want you and I hope you're not taken."

Yeah, No. he really should've thrown you harder.

Iceman, once again, questions why he puts up with you. You both are not even musicians and you manage to force that line into this context, and for what?

"..Iceman?"

He remains passive.

"Uh, please laugh?..At least?"

You made it a mental note to not mess with Iceman again. Poor guy. He still helps you patch up those sparing bruises though, so you should be good👍

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

DOC

"Sorry, can you help me? I think something's wrong with my eyes."

Being sent to the battlefront is tough. Guns and fists and knives don't exactly line up with an unscathed body. But you're tougher! And you have your reliable good friend, Doc. Iceman's training retinue polished you like a coarse diamond grinder, so Doc didn't have to do much than patch up minor cuts and scratches.

Doc decides to hold back further questions at your remark. Instead, choosing to appraise your face- the eye you claim to be 'wrong'. There's a subtle crease on his brow as his hands frame your cheek, trying to observe visible damage on your eye.

Of course. Even the most skilled doctor won't find anything. your eyes are fine.

"I think I just can't take them off you." you wink.

Doc tilts his head, then blinks.

Cute! Yet, the silence is starting to trigger the PTSD you got from Piano Man and Iceman. You hope it won't be the same case for this 'Doctor-Man.'

He finally nods, as if making up a decision. "Does it feel numb? Or painful?"

"No, I mean-"

"Maybe something is wrong with your extraocular muscles. I can open them up and-"

"You know what? Don't worry about it," you cut him off, rushing to swat away the current topic. "I think it just healed! That's amazing! I knew you're the best doctor one could ever ask for!"

Yeah.. better be careful next time. Getting your eyes dissected and cut open must not be fun.

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ALBATROSS

You're not saying you have a favorite in The Flags, but you're saying you have a favorite in The Flags, and that might or might not be Albatross. (It's definitely Albatross).

He is your true partner in crime, aiding you in your eternal quest to annoy every single living existence (especially Chuuya, but don't tell him that). Albatross isn't very keen on puns or pickup lines, but he picks up the habit as soon as you start greeting him with those daily doses of corniness.

"Morning!" you send the energetic wheelman a lighthearted smile, waving as you pass by the hallways of the headquarters.

"Oh, mornin' [Name]-"

"-Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

By normal standards, a perfectly normal person normally does not start their morning with a badly-placed and badly-formed, relatively corny pickup line. But abiding by the normal standards isn't exactly how you roll, and neither does Albatross. That moment marked the day The Flags must put up with a brand new headache.

"I'm confused… I thought happiness started with an H, but mine seems to start with U."

"Life without you is like a broken pencil... totally pointless."

"Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile."

"Are you a loan? 'Cause you've got my interest-"

"Alright. i believe that's enough, you two."

It takes Piano Man a lot to get him to lose his patience, and apparently, you've done abundant. Don't worry about Chuuya, the little precious bundle of rage is long gone. He knows better than to risk exhausting his voice or accidentally ransacking the whole hideout (lmao).

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

You are suffering from success. Or winning from failure? These jokes and pickup lines became something of a second nature to your tongue. You can't even remember what you said to this robot- er, supercomputer agent Adam Frankenstein.

"Oh. This is what humans call as puns, also known as paronomasia, a form of wordplay that exploits multiple meanings of a term, or of similar-sounding words, for an intended humorous effect."

"Yeah-"

"But yours wasn't funny."

>:0

"W-well," you cough, recovering yourself. "Funny isn't the only intended effect. It was a punny pick-up line."

Adam nods.

"A pick-up line or chat-up line is a conversation opener with the intent of engaging a person for romance or dating. Are you trying to woo me?"

:0

"W-wwwhat?"

So, a literal robot just pulled an uno reverse card on you. Yet still, that's a good question. Are you really trying to woo him?

"I- I thought you'll start making one of those android jokes." you make an unsteady smile.

"My android jokes? Of course. They are not made with the intention of expressing romantic expression, so I can make one for you if you wish so."

Well. This tin man just indirectly reject your yet-to-exist confession.

"Either way, I am flattered by your attempts. However, I'm afraid that it will be impossible. You are a human and I am an autonomous humanoid supercomputer, the first to be used for law enforcement use-"

Yep. the tin man just directly rejected your yet-to-exist confession. Adam woke up and chose violence. At this point, you're better off going home and curling up in your blanket with some sad love song playlist. You think Chuuya winced and made a very pitiful expression for you. But you choose to mark that off as your imagination.

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAUL VERLAINE

For a reason you can't fathom, you somehow end up in Verlaine's, Chuuya's, and Adam's theater of bloodshed.

Right here, right now, you're a vanguard of the battlefront. You shouldn't be thinking 'this'. Your chest hurts so bad from dodging Verlaine's attacks, your limbs are aching from bruises and cuts, your head is spinning with adrenaline, and this French man is trying to kill you and kidnap your ginger friend.

But darn, he's fine- You slap yourself.

"You good?" Chuuya rasps, struggling to make his step as he flanks your side.

"No, but-" another flying car flings towards your direction, and muscle memory forces you both to flee from your position, escaping death by a grasp.

Well.

This man is merciless, and *cough* attractive. Had he not currently trying to throw cars at you, you'd take him to some nice cafe and start serenading him with, uh, 'sweet' words.

Might as well.

"Whoa sir, you have some killer moves!" you roar heartily, uncaring by the way chuuya is eyeing you like an incredulous mother daring her child to do something stupid. "I'd simply die to have you." you wink.

"[NAME], WHAT THE HELL?!"

In that split second, your words seem to catch Verlaine in a trance. Adam's fancy iron man laser beam almost grazes the French man's shoulder..somehow.

Hey, that worked! :D

[name] : chuuya, i think he's french.

chuuya : no shi-

[name] : i think eiffel for him.

chuuya:

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

This is it. The curtain calls, and it's time to face the final boss; it's time to unleash the ultimate torment to this poor boy.

"Ooh! Don't you look dapper? I always liked your fashion sense. You look good in that suit."

Chuuya doesn't immediately answer, opting to silently trace the paved sidewalk you both are treading on. By all means, both of you have no trouble with resources that a personal car, or even a whole limousine won't be impossible. It's just that the moon shines beautifully that night, so you drag your grumpy friend for a breath of fresh air.

"But you know what you'll look better in?" you chuckle, following his steps. "My arms."

Nothing. Mo reaction. No swatting your finger guns, no annoyed and incessant curses. Chuuya treats you like a nonexistent ghost, until he halts and simply stares at you with an inexplicable expression.

"Chuuya?" you falter, "Did- I go too far? Or did it finally get you? my jokes..?"

Oh, it did get him. No, you got him.

He shifts closer to you, like he finally loses it and is about to choke you to death. But this feels different. There is no malice or raw anger in his movements. They feel.. heavy, tired. Wordlessly, he leans his weight on your body, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

His breath is warm against your collarbone; the slight shudder from his long exhale stripped the corny jokes off your tongue.

"Oh, Chuuya.." you mirror him, putting your arms around him in a reassuring embrace. He is now here, in where you both want him to be: Your arms.

Some things come, and some things simply go. But some other things just don't change. Chuuya is grateful he can still hear your annoying jokes and lines, and that you are still by his side.

[apatchedupdoll]

Some doodles of the boys and stuff for the story Oh, Where Have You Been Brother? and the doodles got sum things you can guess might be for the next chapter.

I also have had thoughts of another story. A short little story that was inspired by darth-sonny mostly. But here's a little story!

"Mawy had a liddle lamb. Ids fl-fleeke was-"

"Fleece..."

"Fl-fleece. Ids fleece was whide as snow."

"White..."

"Wh-white?"

"Yea, you should really work on your t's."

Casey nodded before sticking his tongue out while staring at his book. "Why words hard?"

"Why 'are' words hard?" The creature spoke, going silent and waiting.

"Why a-are words hard?" Casey repeated.

"You're basically a whelp. Your kind has to learn a weak way." The Kraangified turtle grumbled.

Casey stared at the creature for a moment. It was grotesque, having flesh and eyes covering parts of its body. It was only recently that the turtlish form appeared.

"Look, whelp. Why are you still here?"

The boy tilted his head. "Huh...?"

There was an annoyed groan from the Kraangified turtle. "Why are you reading to me? Shouldn't you be doing whelp things in other places?"

Casey shuffled a bit before hiding his face with the book. The book was comically large for the six-year-old. "Uhm... I don'd know. Rafa saiys you is his brother... whid means you is unkle." Casey struggled through his words before slowly looking up from behind the book.

The turtle's face had come up with a look of disgust. "Sure. Used to be maybe. I will kill you the moment escape so, I don't think I am anymore."

Casey looked down at the book, deep down he knew it was true. The creature had tried to trick him into letting it out before, the result being his uncles scolding him and having to explain why it was so dangerous.

"But... id lonely here. Dark too."

There was a long silence from the creature. Casey looked up wondering if the creature had crawled back into hiding. Yet, it was still sitting there with the same bored expression on its face.

The turtle's mouth moved to speak but closed just as fast as it opened, then finally it was able to speak, "What's next in the book?"

Casey smiled before looking patting the page. His voice now starting with a chirp, "And eberywhere thad Mary wend-"

"went..."

"Eberywhere thad Mary went? The lamb was shur do go."

"To go... you're not doing your t's right."

"dee?"

"... just repeat after me..."

Casey sat watching the sunset. There was a smile across his face as he watched the resistance raise their flag. A hand would pat him on the shoulder as the owner sat beside him.

"So Case, how's the feeling of winning the biggest fight of your life?" The gruff voice came from the snapper.

Casey looked up at his uncle before looking back at the celebrating crowd. "It feels great."

"Don't celebrate too soon folks. We still need to exterminate the last remnants of the Kraang. We haven't won the war." Donnie's emotionless voice spoke just behind the two before a much older voice chimed in,

"Come on Donnie. We just won the biggest battle in the war. It's just rolling the boulder down the hill now." Mikey sat on the other side of Casey, a smile smeared across his face.

"Not unless Prime escapes. Which reminds me. We need to go check the box again."

"Can I come with you guys this time?" Casey quickly spoke before the others could respond, "I'm 16 now, I know I'll be okay. I want to be sure too!"

The turtles glanced looks at each other before the smaller turtles looked toward Raph.

"Sorry kiddo. I don't think-"

"You guys were 14 when you went out of the sewers! I can do this!"

The snapper sighed before shaking his head slowly. "It's too dangerous. That place is the heart of the Kraang, and if it's free we can't have you there. We need you to warn people if Donnie's signal goes off."

Casey was heartbroken before his face contorted to a glare. "You guys always do this! I fought Kraang by myself! I carried Donnie back to the base when I was 14! I held back-"

"Casey! I said no." The snapper looked sternly at the small boy. It made Casey drop his shoulders he couldn't come up with anything else to say. Once Rafa said no, it was no. "Just wait till you're older."

"Sure." Casey got up, pulling away from his uncles as he wandered off. This shouldn't get him down. He just finished the battle, he just won the battle. The war was almost won. He should go celebrate.

Casey hopped in a green jeep, swinging on the bar above the door to get in effortlessly. He leaned back and smiled at the purple turtle who rolled his eyes. "Show off."

The man snickered at his uncle's response. A much older turtle was helped into the jeep by a giant snapper. "Thanks, Raph."

"You sure you can come Mikey? We don't want you to break a hip." The giant snapper sounded concern, although already getting into the back as if knowing the answer.

"I'm fine. Remember what Donnie said?"

"I said you could take the serum in ten days. Not that you should come along on the 30-day trip!" The purple turtle would hiss loudly. A chuckle was only received which in turn got an eye roll.

Casey got comfortable as the jeep revved up. He looked out at the desolate landscape, it wasn't a horrible sight. It was being consumed by green grasses that had managed to sprout after so long. Now that he thought about it, he was about 23 when the plants started to come back. He never imagined such a green that could exist outside of his uncles. It only took two years for so much green to reclaim what was once lost.

The jeep began the journey, going so far that the green would eventually disappear. It would take a lot longer than two years to repair the world completely. They drove so long that Casey's eyes slowly started to drift closed.

Casey's eyes flung open as the screech of the kraang rang through his ears. Was it a dream? No. Donnie was screaming, Raph was hollering.

"Drive faster!"

"Can't drive faster than this dip-shit!"

"Language!"

"Not the time Raph!"

Casey's eyes flew as he tried to find the threat. He poked his head up from the jeep's top and was barely able to see the pack of hound kraangs behind them. Shit. Despite the kraang being repressed, there were still skirmishes of the creatures around. He looked down into his pockets and soon into the jeep's hidden spots to find something, anything to throw!

"Let me just-"

"Sit down Mikey! Remember what I said!? You strain yourself before the serum and you could die!" Donnie's voice was laced with venom, he didn't mean it to hurt but Casey knew it was the only way to keep Mikey from using the last of his life.

"Do we have anything to throw at them!?" Casey finally shouted.

"We have... we have... Oh! Look in th-" Donnie was cut off by a slam. The side of the jeep being slammed into by a huge creature. A huge kraang. Something Casey was told was once a cow. Something very much not hostile compared to this creature. The jeep was flipped and everything went black.

His eyes fluttered open to a blue sky. His lips were dry and his body ached. Everything hurt. After a few moments he finally pulled himself up and took in his surroundings. He was in a camp. His uncles must have built it. Casey tried to pull himself up before gritting with pain in his leg. He looked down seeing his leg black and blue. Was it broken? No, he was luck for that.

A shuffle caught Casey's attention. He reached for his hockey stick but found nothing. Fuck he needed a weapon. He reached for anything that could work, wood from the old campfire. It was better than nothing. He gripped the little piece of wood he had as he waited for what was to come. A wash of relief went over him as someone covered in garbs stumbled out into the open. They looked over to Casey and tilted their head. Casey hid the wood more behind himself as the person got closer. They were completely wrapped up, every inch of skin hidden from view.

"Are you okay...?" A raspy voice lurched from them. "Do you still have pain?"

Casey blinked for a moment. Okay, maybe this wasn't a threat.

Lang opened their eyes as something felt off. Their darkness was always the same, yet not now. Not in this very moment. They weren't sure why, but it just felt off. They'd never known anything but this darkness, so how could it be different? Then the sudden shift. Their body slammed against one of the darkness' boundaries. Suddenly a slam of something causes the darkness to shiver. There was something new. A new feeling than nothing. It didn't feel good.

Lang lay against their darkness and held onto it tight. They didn't want to let it go. They didn't want to let go of what they only knew. That's where they lay for a long time, then there was something new. They felt a new feeling on their leg. Their eyes slowly opened to see something new. They stared at this new thing, their body being happy to have this feeling against it. After a long time, Lang was able to leave the darkness. It hurt, but the new things felt nice and made something make them feel something they liked. They blinked their eyes from the pain, but their skin felt warm, their nose twitched and suddenly, they felt pain in their core. Something wet coming from their maw. Hunger.

Lang didn't even know what they'd done. Ripping apart something that made their tongue hate, yet their core love. They blinked before tilting their head at the thing before them. They'd never seen anything like it. What was it? What was around them? Lang would explore their new existence. Curious of everything, yet ready to go back to the darkness when it was just too much. The only thing Lang knew was that they were Lang, and the darkness was safe. But still, what was outside the darkness?

That's all! Sorry this is a late post, even by a few hours. I just wanted to make this all. I was very excited by the rush of inspiration. Very very happy. Hope y'all have a good day!

[janeofcakes]

Persistence 2: Chapter 2

Hello, everyone! Hope you had a great week and are in the mood for more Johnlock. Without further ado...

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

His head swimming with memories, John desperately grappled for purchase. He fought this internal struggle only seconds before a single word of disbelief escaped his lips.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He watched, his eyes searching, as the cloaked man turned his cool gaze to a framed photo of John and Sherlock resting on the mantle next to the skull. A small smirk touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to look at John again.

“I can see why you might think that, but no,” the intruder said in a silky baritone.

John’s mind snapped back into focus as soon as the words registered. He trained the Sig, which had begun to flag, on the stranger’s head again. The former soldier shifted slightly on his feet to adopt a military stance that readied him for any event. John could now easily leap forward to attack, to the side for cover, or backwards to avoid a blow. His feet planted and ready, John’s shoulders eased a touch and his eyes narrowed. 

“Who the fuck are you?” John demanded in a dangerous tone. His posture was steady and a touch menacing. Even a good six inches shorter than his adversary, as he was, John was clearly a force to be reckoned with.

“My name is Dr. Stephen Strange,” the man replied, his demeanor calm and eyes still cool. He had not raised his hands, but did keep them still and in full view. This was a man used to dealing with hostiles. John looked at him with the calculating eyes of a captain.

“You’re American,” John growled. No one could miss that accent. “What do you want?”

“What I want is more a matter of need,” Strange said cryptically in a very casual tone, “and it requires some explanation.”

“Fine. Talk,” John squeezed his finger against the trigger slightly in anticipation of an objection or sudden movement. Instead, Strange cast his eyes upward and drew in a fortifying breath while he considered his options. 

“Why don’t we sit down?” Strange suggested when he met John’s eyes. The corner of his mouth curled and there was an amused glint in his eyes that did not so much mock as look pleased. John tilted his head slightly in curiosity. “It’s going to take a while.”

“How did you get in?” John answered darkly, raising his voice. He had no interest in making this man comfortable.

“If you’re worried about your landlady, she’s fine,” Strange told him patiently. “I didn’t disturb her flat or wake her with noise.”

“You’d better be telling the truth or I’ll drop you right now,” John promised, tightening the grip on his gun. Strange fixed him with a level gaze.

“You can trust me, John,” he said plainly, not a trace of deception on his face. 

John’s chin jerked up with a huff of a laugh, letting the man know exactly what he thought of that assurance. Apprehension fueled by anger and suspicion came over John’s features. His muscles tense at the ready, John pressed his lips together and flared his nostrils as he studied the man before him.

“How do you know my name?” John’s tone was low and tight. He wanted to advance on Strange, but instincts won out and kept him in place. He needed answers, not a fight. John believed Strange hadn’t harmed Mrs. Hudson, but he knew far too much about the both of them and John wanted to know why.

“It was on the nameplate,” Strange shrugged.

“Bullshit,” John barked. He did take a step forward then. A short one that would be just enough to tell the intruder there was no mercy for lies or tricks. “How did you get in here?”

“I just…” Strange appeared completely unruffled and he wasn’t challenging John either. The corners of his mouth turned up again when he continued: “walked right in.”

John settled his head back on his shoulders, taking in the man’s knowing expression and sharp eyes. Strange knew what he was doing without a doubt, and had faced down adversaries many times before. He was intelligent, every word a calculation.

“Check the windows, if you like,” the man said before John could speak. “You’ll find them locked. The doors too. No signs of forced entry.”

“Right, because you’re some kind of magician,” John supplied sarcastically.

“A sorcerer, actually. This isn’t Hogwarts,” Strange replied conversationally. “I’m a master of the mystic arts.”

John watched the man for a moment, assessing his mental state. He didn’t appear to be insane or unbalanced. While his choice of wardrobe was odd, it was not disheveled or dirty. He certainly wasn’t manic, or even close. His hands were steady, he stood tall and still, and his eyes did not even so much as twitch. No, this Stephen Strange was not a danger in that way. What he honestly looked like was a man on his way to Comicon. So why was he at 221B instead of the nearest convention center? John narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you here?” the former soldier asked coolly.

“To talk about your husband,” the cloaked man replied in a serious tone. John’s grip on the Sig tightened.

“He’s dead,” John said flatly, a note of irritation in his voice.

“I said about him, not to him,” Strange answered, the first hint of impatience inching its way into his words. John blinked slowly. He could almost hear the distinctive baritones of the two men melding together to finish with a resounding ‘Do keep up, John’.

John did not reply, not trusting himself to keep hold of his simmering fury. He just looked at the taller man pointedly and cocked a brow. He expected Strange to give him that amused quirk of his lips in response, but the man remained deadly serious when he spoke. 

“He was not meant to die on that roof,” Strange told John gravely.

“No shit,” John snapped. “No one thinks it’s their time when it comes.”

He cut himself off before he could say it was more true of Sherlock than anyone else. He had no place saying anything of the sort. Had it been Irene Adler’s time to die? Or Mary’s, or Harry? John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before catching himself and snapping them back open. What the hell was that, Watson? Never let your guard down or let your enemy see a weakness.

Oddly, Strange had not taken advantage of the momentary lapse. He stood no closer to John and wore the same stern expression on his angular face, as if allowing a moment for his words to sink in. The silence hung in the air between them. Strange was the first to speak. His words were measured and careful because he knew exactly what John’s reaction would be.

“I need to bring him back,” the man said slowly, “and I need your help.”

“Get out,” John growled, instantly taking a step forward that promised the threat he didn’t speak.

“John…” Strange began, but John didn’t give him a chance.

“Get out,” John’s voice rose with his temper and he advanced menacingly. Strange matched his movements, backing away, and finally raised his hands defensively.

“It has to be done,” Strange was saying. “The future of the universe depends on it.”

John thrust forward, pushing at Strange with his forearms and slamming him hard against the wall. The army doctor placed one arm over the man’s throat and pressed the Sig to the side of his cheek with the other. Their faces were close, even with the height differential and John’s fierce glare bore into Strange’s silvery-blue eyes.

“If I see you again,” John snarled, low and gravelly, “I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

John moved to yank Strange off the wall and force him out of the flat, but was suddenly across the room instead. John’s body settled into his green armchair as though he had just sat after a long day at the surgery. John looked around, startled. Strange sat before him on Sherlock’s chair. The man’s elbows were propped on the armrests, his fingers steepled in front of the amulet resting on his chest. He wore a thoughtful expression, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

John’s hands clenched on his own armrests and every muscle in his body jumped with shock. The Sig was no longer in his left hand. John leapt out of the chair only to suddenly sit again in the blink of an eye. Only John hadn’t actually sat down, not consciously anyway. He was just there again, as though he had never risen.

He looked at Strange with wide eyes, sharp with shock and confusion. A second later, John was on his feet of his own accord and then sitting just as abruptly. He did this twice more. He tried to lunge at Strange the first time and leapt to the side the second. All the while, the other man remained still and watched John’s attempts at escape.

Once John was seated for the fifth time, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. Nothing had changed, save Strange. He was still quietly observing in Sherlock’s chair, but now held a mug of coffee in his hands. When the hell had he done that? John blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell was going on. Strange sipped his coffee without comment, but there was a pleased glint in his eyes.

John shifted back into his chair, his gaze darting around the room for any clues that could explain why he couldn’t seem to leave the chair. Finding nothing, he settled on Strange. His cupid’s bow lips were curled into a small smile, one corner curved slightly more than the other. John frowned, his brow wrinkling, and Strange looked very pleased indeed.

“Much faster than any of the others, even Thor, and he caught on surprisingly quickly, all things considered,” the cloaked man said in a friendly tone. 

John glanced at Strange’s mug, still wondering where it had come from. Then he saw it: a thin, jagged crack snaking its way down the top half of the mug and stopping somewhere around its middle. Sherlock had done it during an experiment that had nearly blown up the microwave. Strange had gotten the mug and its contents from the kitchen. John’s own kitchen and yet, he had not seen him do it. Hadn’t even seen him so much as turn toward the kitchen door.

John glanced at the wall clock he had hung in place of the animal skull Sherlock was once so fond of. No significant time had passed. Strange couldn’t have drugged him. He didn’t feel any of the telltale side effects either. Mystified, John looked at the mug.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Strange remarked, pulling John’s gaze up to his face. “Would you like some?”

John couldn’t hide a gasp of surprise when a mug of steaming coffee appeared inexplicably in his left hand. Strange hadn’t moved. He hadn’t even blinked and there was a mug of hot coffee in John’s hand. 

John dropped the mug and jumped out of his seat.

“What the…” he was in the chair again as he said, “fuck!”

“Sorry,” Strange said with calm amusement, “I should have put it on the table.”

John’s eyes flew to the small table next to his chair. It held all of the usual items; a lamp, pencil holder with two pencils and three pens, another book John was currently reading and the same mug of steaming coffee. John slowly turned his eyes to Strange, who smiled back knowingly. John’s gaze shot to the floor where the mug had landed seconds before. The spilled liquid was not there. The floor wasn’t even damp.

John stared at Strange apprehensively and swallowed audibly. What had he called himself? A man of mystic arts? Magic? It was impossible and yet… Goddamn it. John was obviously losing his fucking mind.

“What is all this?” John asked slowly. “Am I imagining… Have I…?”

“It’s real, John. I assure you,” Strange told him sincerely. “You aren’t insane and I haven’t drugged you.”

“Assuming I believe that,” John began. Strange waited patiently. John wasn’t even sure how to finish the sentence. None of this could possibly be happening. Not to the rational mind, and John was growing more convinced that his mind was sound, in spite of it all.

So where did that leave him? His own investigation, he supposed. Like Sherlock, he needed to gather information in order to find the truth, no matter how improbable. This was pretty damn improbable too. John licked his lips.

“So, you use…magic?” John tested the waters, barely able to believe he was asking the question.

“We call it the mystic arts, but yes, magic. If that concept is easier to grasp,” Strange replied as if they were talking about the weather or something.

“How? Why?” John struggled to make sense of a wizard visiting his flat. “You said you were a doctor.”

“I was a doctor before I began my study of the arts,” Strange supplied, “and mastered them.”

John stared at him blankly.

“Now I protect the universe from those who would seek to alter it for their own gain and intercede when necessary,” the man explained. “In this case, your husband.”

“He jumped,” John choked out the words. “He did it himself. No one was trying to change the universe.”

“Partially true,” Strange answered with a shallow nod. “The man who compelled him didn’t have his sights set on subverting the future, but did nonetheless and it must be put right.”

“What man?” John shook his head in confusion, trying to understand what Strange was saying.

Strange studied him for a moment and then placed his mug on the small table next to his own chair. They were a matching set that John and Sherlock had picked out after they were married. It was their first purchase as husbands, in fact. The only difference between the two tables was one being slightly shorter than the other. John had placed the taller one next to Sherlock’s chair when they were delivered, but Sherlock shook his head and switched them. He had smiled and declared the arrangement perfect. John’s cheeks had flushed and he grinned, the parallel not lost on him.

“John,” Strange’s voice pulled him from the memory and he focused on the man’s face, already feeling the weight of his next words, “Sherlock didn’t jump because he wanted to. He was forced to by Sebastian Moran.”

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

Moran? That bastard! Hang on until next week, friends, when Stephen reveals his plan.

[cathythestupid]

Found this old thoosie reply meme in my drafts, so i’m gonna redo it with all my current coaster opinions.

1. What is your coaster count?

193 coasters!!! kinda neat

2. What are your top 10 coasters?

never been good with ranking coasters, but off the top of my head:

Steel Vengeance

Storm Chaser

Skyrush

Phantom’s Revenge

Maverick

Cornball Express

Wicked Cyclone

Twisted Colossus

Phoenix (Knoebels)

Afterburn [this will always remain at the number 10 spot for emotional reasons, afterburn was there for me when no 1 else was in 2019]

3. An overrated coaster?

The year I’ve spent not being a thoosie means i have no pulse on what people discourse over. Fury 325 was disappointing for me, but also I rode it in November when I worked at Carowinds, so like, I have room in my heart to believe it does fuck in warmer weather. Similar deal with Lightning Rod.

4. An underrated coaster?

Idk, Raging Bull? again, no idea what people discourse over.

5. A coaster that gets way too much hate?

My answer in 2017 was Cedar Creek Mine Ride lol. It’s a jank ride with no terrain usage outside of the drop over the lagoon, but i’ve got some good memories with it. Also I didn’t find the restraints on Superman: The Ride at SFNE that bad, but idk, maybe i’m just built different. They’re not ideal tho.

6. Your thoughts on B&M Hypers?

When they hit, they hit. The powerful yet graceful airtime they deliver is simply euphoric. I like the speed hill on Candymonium, hope the hill on mako is just as good whenever I make it down to Florida lol

7. Your thoughts on Intamin Mega-Lites?

They look, pretty good. Coaster designs have becomes much wilder since, so I don’t have an urgent desire to ride one. But I would probably still find it quite fun!

8. Your thoughts on Maurer Spinning coasters?

The standard layout is alright. I think the gerstlauer spinners are better, but some of the custom maurer layouts look interesting.

9. Your thoughts on Schwarzkopf?

If only they were the more successful coaster manufacturer of their era... they knew how to shape track better than their contemporaries, and some of their design quirks are really cool, like the super postive heavy loops.

10. Your thoughts on Zierer?

I’ve been on a couple Tivolis, they’re fine. Impulse at Knoebels is an alright eurofighter knock-off, thank god they replaced the trains though, the originals from Zierer sucked.

11. Your thoughts on Gravitykraft?

They know how to make rides with good fuckin’ airtime. I love Boardwalk Bullet and Ravine Flyer II.

12. Your thoughts on Gerstlauer?

They have improved since their earlier days making janky coasters, but I definitely get why people might not vibe with their inversion-heavy layouts. I hope I get to go on some of their wackier rides in Europe someday

13. Name 8 parks you want to visit in your home country

Busch Gardens Tampa

Busch Gardens Williamsburg

Canobie Lake Park

Six Flags Over Texas

Six Flags Fiesta Texas

Silverwood

California’s Great America

Six Flags Over Georgia

14. Name 8 parks outside of the your home country that you want to visit

Canada’s Wonderland

Hansa Park

Europa Park

Phantasialand

Alton Towers

Gröna Lund

Liseberg

Tokyo DisneySea

15. Name three coasters you want to ride in these countries:

France: OzIris, Alpina Blitz, Toutatis

Italy: iSpeed, Katun, Storm

Germany: F.L.Y., Taron, Karnan

Netherlands: Untamed, Baron 1898, Troy

Belgium:  Kondaa, Ride To Happiness, Anubis: The Ride

Japan: Steel Dragon 2000, Hakugei, Slope Shooter

Canada: Leviathan, Mindbender, Dragon Mountain

Country of your choice (Spain): Shambhala, Gotham City Escape, Muntanya Russa (Tibidabo)

16: How would you fix a coaster that you don’t like? (No Removal or RMC-ing)

Do an actually good retrack of Wildcat @ Lake Compounce! I don’t understand why it is the way it is (as funny as the jackhammering is to me)!

17:  Your thoughts on Piraten (https://rcdb.com/4038.htm)

It’s a Mega-lite. see mega-lite question

18. Your thoughts on Takabisha (https://rcdb.com/9795.htm)

I’d like to go on it, it seems like a neat ride. I don’t totally fuck with Gerst, but I’m not completely uninterested in their various coasters.

19. Your thoughts on Olympia Looping (https://rcdb.com/13819.htm)

I need that weirdly shaped loop in my life. Have yet to go on a traveling Schwarz

20. Your thoughts on Monster (https://rcdb.com/12896.htm)

I need that weirdly shaped loop in my life. Despite not being as much of a thoosie anymore, I still really want to go to Adventureland in Iowa for the sake of writing a lesbian roadtrip novel.

21. Your thoughts on Nefekesen (https://rcdb.com/10831.htm)

this copypasta has some of the weirdest questions, I swear to god. I heard it’s a really short ride, so maybe it’s like Maxx Force? But I don’t think I’ll ever ride it.

22. Your thoughts on Verbolten (https://rcdb.com/9463.htm)

Funny German woman say things. the show building looks kinda eh, but i’ll probably still enjoy it.

23. Your thoughts on Abismo (https://rcdb.com/3185.htm)

The concept of an extended Maurer Sky Loop is cool, but I can live without experiencing it. Leaving the thoosie community due to thoosie trauma really make you reevaluate how much you need to ride coasters.

24. Your thoughts on Hydra (https://rcdb.com/2528.htm)

I had a pretty good ride on it in the front the one time I was at Dorney. The jojo roll is fun, and there’s also a couple good airtime moments. I think I like Bizarro better though? It’s tough bc B&M Floorless coasters are kinda eh in general.

25. Favorite coaster to ride at night?

Steel Vengeance! ride runs so fast through the first half at night the airtime is painful! and i’m into that.

26. Favorite coaster theme?

Hagrid bike, probably. Following the construction of it through bioreconstruct on Twitter was a fun time in my life, and all the architecture and scenery looks pretty good.

27. Favorite coaster logo?

The Millennium Force swooshy “M“. So slay. (i was not able to upload the file to tumblr for some reason)

[troubatrain]

four times matthew was a fuckboy + one time he wasn’t

a/n: a repost from my old blog!

I.

You didn’t hate Matthew Tkachuk. Hate is a strong word and you were too polite to hate anyone. But you definitely weren’t keen on the new company your friend had been keeping since she started seeing Matthew’s teammate, Noah. You were just different. You liked safety and rules, and Matthew put most of his energy into breaking every rule possible. He was a rat, and he didn’t give a damn who knew. You were a romantic, and you’d watch Matthew take a different girl home frequently, and you could only imagine what he was like on the road. He was a straight up fuckboy, and you’d just prefer to be as far away from him as possible. Besides the strong differences between each other, you really didn’t hate him - until, maybe, right now.

“I would never date Y/N,” Matthew scoffs at your best friend, Hannah, “She’s got a stick up her ass, all the time.” “I don’t have a stick up my ass Matthew,” You bark back, “You’re just a shitty person, and I don’t want to date you either.”

“Why? Am I not your type?” Matthew snarks back, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“No Matthew, egotistical professional athletes who don’t know anything besides hit and skate aren’t my type,” You say, “Hold an intellectual conversation with anyone and I’ll be impressed.”

“You know what, forget I mentioned it,” Hannah tries to interfere, but the way Matthew’s blue eyes were narrowed at you, his nostrils flaring out just a little bit meant it was too late and you were well on your way to spending the rest of the night arguing with Matthew.

“I don’t need to hold bullshit intellectual conversations to get laid Y/N,” Matthew grumbles, “I’m sure that’s only what terrible guys you probably date do.”

“I don’t date terrible guys,” You defend, but deep down, he was actually right about that. You were nearing the end of six months of being single since your last relationship ended and dating wasn’t going - well.

“Oh, I forgot, you probably only date boring guys,” Matthew huffs, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find someone who isn’t boring.”

Matthew stomps away, looking back to give you one more smirk that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t stand his smug smile, or the fact that he constantly gave you grief for being a good person. Or the time he accused  you of thinking you were better than everyone because you were smarter than them. 

“I can’t believe there was a point in my life where I thought you guys could be friends,” Noah says, shaking his head at the verbal battle you and Matthew just had, “I thought I could set you guys up - to date.”

“Why do you all think that?” You ask, looking at your friend and her boyfriend with actual concern.

“I don’t know, you’re sweet and nice and he’s not,” Noah shrugs, “It’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, like imagine if you were the one to tame him,” Hannah says, wrapping her arm around her boyfriend's bicep while he pressed a kiss to her head - a reminder that you didn’t have that. Your eyes move to Matthew at the bar, while a girl was under his arm in less than five minutes.

“I don’t think anyone’s taming that monster,” You say, pointing to the man in question.

II.

When the weekend finally came around, you found yourself in the same situation you were in the week before. Matthew gave you daggers across the table while Noah and Hannah tried to convince the two of you to put your differences aside and be friends. Except, you didn’t want to be friends with Matthew, because you knew exactly how he treated his “friends”. In the past week alone, you’d watched him while he escaped a morning after with someone who happened to live in your building. You had the worst morning of your life when you stepped on the elevator only to meet with the face of the devil himself. You halted, stepping into the elevator and shaking your head at Matthew - asking him if he was leaving or your worst nightmare of him moving into your building was happening. He told you he was escaping from a booty call, his words not yours, and then joked about moving in just to bother you. You started bickering in the elevator, and then it made you late for work. That snowballed into missing an important meeting and you were cursing Matthew internally for the rest of the day.

“I just don’t understand why you both keep pushing this,” you shout, gesturing between Matthew and yourself, “We are not friends.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” Matthew agrees, for the first time since you’d been introduced to each other.

“Why is that the only thing you’ve ever agreed on?” Hannah asks, looking sincerely concerned at the two of you.

“Because his opinions on everything else are terrible,” You say, walking over to the bar to go get yourself a drink. You can feel a large presence behind you and you turn around to be met with Matthew’s smug smile again, “You can’t just leave me alone.”

“I’m getting another drink, not everything is about you,” Matthew remarks, flagging down the bartender far easier than you could have. He orders you both a drink, and you decide to just take it - too tired to argue. While you were waiting you scanned the bar, only to spot your ex boyfriend across the bar.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing Matthew’s attention.

“God what did I do now?” Matthew groans, and then he follows your eyes, “Do you know that guy?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s my ex,” You say, dropping your drink, “Can you tell Hannah I left.”

“Wait no-,” Matthew says, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to him, “I’m going to leave after this, I’ll take an Uber with you.”

“Are you going to drop me off then go hook up with whoever lives in my building?” You ask, crossing your arms and looking at him.

“I’m going to get you home safely and whether or not I leave the building is none of your business,” Matthew argues back, his eyes flickering up to look behind you and a protective arm snakes around your waist.

“Is that Y/N?” You hear your ex’s familiar voice, and suddenly Matthew’s arm made more sense.

“Oh, Alex, hi,” You say, trying to ignore the burning sensation you felt under Matthew’s touch, but your anxiety about seeing your ex disappeared almost immediately, like with Matthew there nothing could hurt you.

“How are you?” Alex asks, “Is this your boyfriend? I didn’t think you’d move on after me.”

“Yeah,” Matthew cuts you off before you could deny it, “We were just heading out, you know we’ve got plans for the night.”

Matthew gave Alex a wink and a look that said not to fuck with him and grabbed your hand, pulling you out the bar. A part of you was pissed, like he’d just told your ex boyfriend that not only were you dating you were leaving your night out early to fuck. But a part you didn’t care about it, Alex was the worst, and even in that second he reminded you why you broke up in the first place, because he never stopped talking down to you.

“I can’t believe you dated someone who talks to you like that,” Matthew says, pulling out his phone to call an Uber, “Your taste in men is terrible.”

“Well he thinks I’m dating you, so my taste is terrible,” You say, sliding into the car once Matthew opens the door for you.

Matthew slides into the other side of the car, getting your Uber driving and asking him how his night is before turning to you, “Do you really think I’m that awful?”

Okay, yes, it was sweet that he protected you. Yes, it felt nice to have his arm around your waist. Yes, it was great to have your ex think you’re currently seeing a member of the Flames. Yes, it was nice that he’s taking you home. And yes, the way he spoke to the Uber driver when you got in was actually more polite than you assumed he was to strangers. But, none of that meant he was a decent human being - at least not to you.

“I mean you’ve never given me a reason to think otherwise,” You say, shrugging.

“I’ll give you a reason,” You heard him mutter, but his face said he didn’t want to talk about it, so you let it go until you rode up the elevator to your floor in silence.

“Hey Matthew,” You say, voice small, “Thanks for getting me home, and for before, I owe you one.”

“I don’t think you want to be indebted to me,” Matthew says, his signature smirk gracing his face.

“One favor, nothing sexual,” You wave your finger at him while the elevator closes, sending him to whoever he was meeting on a floor above you.

III. 

You were swearing off men. That was it. You were sitting in a restaurant in the city, in a dress that made you look straight up hot, across from someone who made Matthew look like a saint. Paul was a friend of one of your coworkers, who raved about her friend who was intelligent and kind. Intelligent, yes definitely. But kind? At the moment that seemed far fetched. He’d spent the entire dinner talking about himself, and when you finally got to talk about yourself, he was just condescending and rude. You’d suffered through dinner, declining his invitation home. You heard his hollers about much of a tease and how uptight you were. You walked home, on a mission to get home and pretend this date never happened. Then you’d pass a bar you’d been to with Hannah a few times and decide to stop in - in need of a well deserved drink.

“There’s no way you should be here alone, dressed like that,” You can hear a familiar voice behind you and you turn around to meet Matthew’s face who was currently checking out your ass while you leaned against the bar. 

“You’re not in charge of me,” You bark back, sipping on the drink you’d gotten, “What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to meet Noah out for a drink, but he canceled on me when I walked in,” Matthew says, “Why are you here?”

“I was on a date,” You frown.

You really, really, really, didn’t want to admit to Matthew that you’d had a bad date. You were pretty sure he got laid more than anyone you knew and there was no way he wasn’t going to make fun of you for having a terrible date.

“Was it that bad?” Matthew asks, “Or are your standards just way too high?”

“There’s nothing wrong with having standards for yourself, you should try it sometime,” You defend, “But, he spent the entire date talking about himself.”

You bite your lip, looking at Matthew in front of you. Sometimes, when the light caught him just right and he wasn’t being a total douche you could be reminded why he was such a fuckboy in the first place, he was cute as hell. You hated how attracted you were to him sometimes, especially after the way he had protected you from Alex the other night. He didn’t know why you didn’t want to see him, but he was there regardless.

“You should stay,” You declare, biting your lip and looking at Matthew.

You swore there was a twinkle in his eye, he grabbed himself a drink and hopped onto a barstool while you sat next to him. It started with small talk, you confessing that you were sure Hannah made Noah stay in because she told you he wasn’t spending enough time with her. To which Matthew said that was the exact reason he didn’t do relationships. Then you moved to bickering about how you loved the idea of love and the fact that Matthew turned himself off to it actually made you sad.

“You just need to see it from my perspective,” Matthew tries to explain, “No one sees past all of this NHL bullshit anyways, so, I’m just taking advantage of it. Admit it, you thought I was a dick when before you met me?”

“You are a dick,” You joke, “But yes, I may have passed judgement, that doesn’t mean everyone else thinks that.”

“Trust me, they do,” Matthew takes a sip of his beer, “Girls, fans, even my family sometimes, they just can’t see past the whole rat thing.”

You bite your tongue from telling him that if he stopped playing like a rat, people probably wouldn’t say that. Mainly because he was playing in the NHL and I’m sure your opinion on his play didn’t matter much. But also because whatever he was telling you sounded like something he didn’t talk about very much, it intrigued you. You don’t talk much about it further, a couple of people who were fans coming over and insisting you took shots with them. A few rounds of drinks later, you were drunk and Matthew’s hand had found a permanent place on your lower back.

“Ready to go?” Matthew asks, a chill running up your spine when he whispered in your ear.

Maybe you were lonely. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. Maybe you’d found the one part vulnerable part of Matthew and it made you soft. But something possessed to look him in the eyes and demand he took you home. And after asking you four times if you were sure, you were on your way to Matthew’s apartment with him, his lips on yours.

IV.

You slipped out of Matthew’s apartment after that night long before he woke up. Your walk of shame took you back to your apartment and that was that. You’d only seen Matthew once since, and while you were sitting next to Hannah in the stands at the Saddledome, he’d sent you over a wink and you thanked your lucky stars that Hannah wasn’t paying attention. You knew Matthew wasn’t going to let your moment of weakness be forgotten, you just hoped he didn’t embarrass you. You shook your head at the thought, which had been taking up your brain for most of the week. Your thoughts were broken by a heavy knock on the door, and you opened to reveal the person who’d been taking up most of your thoughts.

“What are you doing here?”  You ask, but you knew the answer was whichever one of his girlfriends, and you meant it to be plural, lived in your building.

“I was on my way to see someone but I thought I’d stop by,” Matthew smirks at you, “I have a favor to cash in.”

“I told you nothing sexual,” You counter back, despite the fact that you’d been under just a few nights ago.

“As much as I want to relive the events of the other night,” Matthew says, looking your body up and down, “I need an actual favor.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I need you to be my date to this event the Flames are doing,” Matthew sighs, as if he really didn’t want to ask.

“I’m sure there’s a line of girls who want to do that,” You say, wondering why Matthew needs you to go.

“I need to bring someone I can trust not to embarass me,” Matthew grumbles, “You’re smart, and you can hold a conversation with a bunch of our front office guys.”

“You want me to go and make you good?” You ask, trying to get exactly what he was asking you to do.

“Yes,” Matthew says, “I need you to make me look good. Can you do it?”

You should have said no. You should have said no. But, you said yes. You knew it was a bad idea, but the bright smile that graced Matthew’s face when you said yes almost made you forget that he was headed up to a booty call when he left your apartment. Something you realized he could only get away with.

--

Matthew wasn’t a bad date. He’d gotten to your apartment on time. Fed you with way too many compliments while his hand was rested on your thigh on the ride to the hotel ballroom the gala was at. Now, his hand had found its place on your back, while you wooed his coach into thinking Matthew was a decent human being. Really you should have paid overtime for how good you were doing. You’d met the entire Flames front office, charming each of them into thinking their player wasn’t sleeping around when he most definitely was.

You finally pull away from the conversation, latching on Hannah once she was finally in reach.

“You’re working like doubletime,” Hannah jokes, “How’d he convince you to do this?”

“He didn’t tell you what happened?” You ask, assuming his big mouth spilled the beans to Noah, at the very least.

“He never said anything,” Noah shrugs.

“I ran into my ex, and he pretended to be my boyfriend so he’d go away,” You admit, “Then he took me home and I told him I owe him one.”

“See? I knew he wasn’t all bad,” Hannah muses. You thought about what Matthew had said that night you slept together, about how people had presumptions about him he could never change so it didn’t matter. You’d actually thought about it frequently since, and it really made your heart ache for him. It bothered him, it had to.

“He’s not all bad,” You admit, outloud, really just so you could convince Hannah not to pass judgement on him without telling her what he’d told you.

“Hey, we can head out if you want?” Matthew asks, coming behind you. You nod, excited to be going home at a decent hour after a long week of work.

You were silent for the entire car ride home, your eyes constantly on Matthew for the entire ride.

“Would you stop staring at me?” Matthew asks, his eyes not leaving the road, but somehow his hand found your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“Do you think you’re a bad person?” You ask, it was something you couldn’t stop thinking about. You didn’t understand Matthew, you didn’t think anyone actually did, but you wanted to figure him out so badly.

“Is this about what I said the other night? It wasn’t that deep Y/N,” Matthew sighs, “I’m not that deep.”

“Do you think that or have you been told that?” You ask, and you knew you were getting somewhere because you could feel his hand tense up.

“Are you always this annoying?” Matthew deflects.

“No,” You sigh, “It’s just, Hannah said something about you not being all bad and it bothered me.”

“A little criticism isn’t going to hurt me,” Matthew says, throwing his car into park so he could walk you to your door, “I’m not really a good guy either.”

You pout, leaning against the elevator. You were close to getting him to just open to you. His walls were tall and they were definitely thick but you might have been slowly chipping away at him.

“Thank you for doing this tonight, it meant a lot to me,” Matthew says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck while you stood in your doorway. A part you wanted to pull him inside by his collar and have your way with him, but you knew once was one thing but twice was going to be another. You bite your lip, debating it for a second, “Thinking about inviting me inside.”

“How did you-?” You start to ask before Matthew immediately cuts you off.

“You’re practically eye-fucking me,” Matthew jokes, “You won’t invite me inside though, because you know if you sleep with me twice you won’t be able to stop.”

You jaw drops, because he was right, “That’s hardly true.”

“I can read you Y/N, you’re like an open book,” Matthew smirks, “For the record, I don’t know if I’d be able to shake you either if we did this again.”

With that sentiment Matthew was headed down the hallway, turning just one more time before he hit the elevator button.

“Matthew?” You call out, “Are you going up or down?”

The question was burning. You just wanted to know why he was frequenting your building. Whoever was up there and why she could get Matthew to keep coming back. You were a little jealous, that he’d rejected you to go see her.

“That’s none of your business,” Matthew muses, giving you a wink and stepping into the elevator.

You were annoyed, and you thought about walking back outside to see if Matthew’s car was still there. That would make you a crazy person so you laid in bed while it ate you alive. That was, until you’d received a text from Matthew of his bedroom, and a sly comment about how you might have recognized his place. While it was smug and irritating, it did make you happy that he was home and he was alone.

plus one

You felt like an idiot. You stood at the bar next to Hannah, listening to her rant and rave about something Noah did while you watched Matthew flirt with some girl by the bar. You didn’t know why you thought maybe he could turn over a new leaf. That maybe you were getting somewhere with him. But, everything went out the window the second your eyes were on him. You decided he was dead to you, he had to be. You excuse yourself from Hannah, giving Matthew one more look before stomping out of the bar. You could hear his shouts behind you while you walked down the street, your apartment too far to walk but if you stopped you’d be forced to speak to him.

“Y/N! Where are you even going?” Matthew finally catches up to you, and you curse your shorter legs for stopping you from outrunning him.

“Away from you,” You say, “You can go back to your little friend, that’s your life Matthew, I get that now.”

“Come back to my place, I need to talk to you,” Matthew pleads, and you knew you were only a block away from his place. You sigh, nodding and following him down the street.

Matthew’s apartment felt different than it did the night you’d slept together. You were tossing off your clothes in a drunken haze and you never realized how empty his place felt. It was cold, and in some serious need a curtain and throw pillow. It was a metaphor for the current state of it’s resident. 

“Okay talk,” You cross your arms, “Explain to me how you do this to every girl, make them think there’s a part of you that’s decent to only be an asshole to them in the end.”

“I’ve never told anyone what I told you,” Matthew confesses, “I thought, maybe, you’d be into me. Then I realized if you were, I was only going to hurt you. You don’t deserve that, so if I push you away, you’ll be happy.”

“Clearly, I’m not happy,” You say, pointing to the frown that was very present on your face, “Listen, I like you, I don’t know why or how you crawled into my life but I want to be with you - the real you. I want that vulnerable man that told me he thought everyone judged him. I want you to prove to me you are that man.”

“I can do that,” Matthew nods, his hands resting on your cheeks. He captures your lips in his for the most tender kiss you’d been given. It was full of love, and full of feeling.

“I want you to prove it,” You say when you finally pull away, your forehead resting on his.

[starryeyedrookie]

The Newlywed Game: Friends Edition

A/N: Would you look at that! Two long posts in a day! Who am I?!😂 Anyway, sorry this took me a week to do. I finally had more time today so I was able to catch up. Thanks for the questions @jamespotterthefirst @takeharryandgo @crazy-loca-blog @coffeeheartaddict!

Questions for the friends

1. How did you first find out about their relationship? Were you surprised?

Sienna: I found out after they came back from the Miami conference and Evelyn told me everything that had happened and I promised not to tell anyone.

Naveen: I would say that I suspected something was up with them around that same time as well. When they were taking care of me, Ethan would keep glancing at her in a way that I had never seen him look at anyone.

Harper: Yes! I saw those glances as well.

Ethan: It suddenly feels like I’ve been examined under a microscope.

Jackie: Well, we all are doctors. For me, it was the night of the day that we went to the country club and I told Evelyn to text Ramsey. {rolls eyes} The girl went over to his place that night and didn’t come home until the next morning.

Elijah: That’s when I knew too.

Bryce: Man, I feel sorry that I didn’t get to see any of this. Jackie just messaged me.

2.How was the rumour mill at Edenbrook once they went public? Did you have to defend their honour?

Harper: Well, I don’t think anyone was surprised, honestly. They aren’t the best at being subtle.

Evelyn: Haha! Between the two of us, I think Ethan is worse.

Kyra: Can’t argue with that. Remember “paperwork?”

3. What was your first impression of Ethan? Did he fit into the friend group right away?

Kyra: Well, I had my first impression a while before the rest of the group did, but I thought he was hot as fuck.

Sienna: I thought he was quite imposing. The first time I met him is when he was yelling at Evelyn!

Bryce: Well I thought he was in great shape for an old guy.

Jackie: I wouldn’t say that he fit in instantly. Maybe he had to get used to the idea that one person could have so many friends.

Elijah: What about the time he did shots with us?

Jackie: Please. Do you know how long it took for Evelyn to convince him to lighten up?

4. What’s the most adorable thing they do as a couple?

Sienna: Sometimes at the hospital when they pass each other, I see them exchanging little notes. It’s so cute!

Jackie: Gross.

Sienna: Oh! Or when they dance together in the living room.

Raf: Sienna really is the softie of the group.

5. Which of their dates would you have liked to crash?

Raf: On Sundays, from morning to night, they do try out different hole-in-the-wall restaurants in and outside the city. I’d love to join them on that.

Kyra: Same. That one’s my favourite too.

Bryce: I’d either want to do an escape room with them, or go to Six Flags. I love rollercoasters.

Evelyn: So do I. Ethan isn’t a huge fan though. We don’t really go often because it’s a little far, but we should make a group trip next time!

Ethan: I just don’t see the purpose of rollercoasters. They’re just noise pollution. Why would you purposely put your life at risk going up over 200 feet off the ground, to come hurling down at over 70 miles an hour.

Evelyn: You sound like my mom.

6. Did you ever witness a walk of shame (or anything of the sort?)

Jackie: Hell yes! The morning Evelyn tried to sneak Ethan out of her room!

Elijah: I remember that. I asked him if he wanted to come back for my John Carpenter movie marathon.

7. What was your reaction when you found out Evelyn was moving out to move in with Ethan?

Jackie: Well I said that it’s about damn time! If you stay over at his place so many nights during the week, you might as well live with the man!

Sienna: It was a little bittersweet. Of course I was happy for my best friend, but I was a little sad that my baking buddy was leaving.

8. Who won the prediction pool about when Ethan would pop the question?

Everyone: Sienna!

Bryce: C’mon! That’s only because she cheated!

Ethan: To clarify, I had Sienna’s help with designing the ring.

Naveen: I will proudly say that I came the closest without having any information given to me.

Bryce: Naveen, I’m sure Ethan dropped hints to you.

Evelyn: {laughing} Just accept that you lost, Bryce.

9. Were you in the wedding party? What was your favourite part about the wedding?

Kyra: I was a bridesmaid, but my favourite part was the food.

Evelyn: Sienna, my sister Ally, Jackie, Aurora who couldn’t make it today, and Kyra were my bridesmaids.

Sienna: My favourite part was the first dance. It was so whimsical.

Ethan: I’m glad that was your favourite part. Eve made me practice it for months.

Harper: My favourite part was the lantern release. At the end of the reception, we all got a lantern to decorate, light, and release. I have a picture.

Evelyn: Don’t worry. They’re biodegradable.

For everyone, including Ethan and Evelyn.

Fuck/ Marry/ Kill

Ethan: Can I choose Evelyn for all except the last?

Bree: Don’t you think it would be more fun to play the game like a normal person?

Ethan: {grumbles something that can’t be understood}

Naveen: Since this is a young person’s game, I’ll sit this one out.

Harper: Me too.

Bryce: Are we only allowed to choose from the people here? Because Aurora and Tobias aren’t.

Ethan: Just the people here. Thank goodness Carrick isn’t here. He’d have a field day with this.

Bryce: Okay. Fuck Evelyn, marry Sienna, kill Jackie.

Jackie: Fuck you meathead. I’d kill Bryce, fuck Kyra, and marry Evelyn.

Kyra: Fuck Bryce, marry Sienna, kill Jackie.

Elijah: Fuck Kyra, marry Sienna, kill Bryce.

Sienna: Marry Raf, fuck Bryce, kill Jackie.

Raf: Marry Evelyn, fuck Sienna, kill Jackie.

Jackie: Why is everyone killing me?!

Ethan: Marry Evelyn, obviously. Kill Bryce and fuck myself.

Jackie: You had to choose three different people in the room, Ramsey.

Ethan: I’m in the room, aren’t I?

Evelyn: Well, I’m last. I’d marry Ethan, fuck Raf, and kill Jackie.

Jackie: Oh for fuck’s sake.

{everyone starts laughing}

Evelyn: Thanks do having us all today, Bree! We had so much fun!

Taglist: @mercury84choices @quixoticdreamer16 @a-crepusculo @josiesopenheart @headoverheelsforramsey @mm2305 @adiehardfan @schnitzelbutterfingers @potionsprefect @natureblooms24 @genevievemd @writer-ish @jamespotterthefirst @sophxwithers @liaromancewriter

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed❤️

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap

A/N  I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”.  By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head.  I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper.  Modern AU.  Silly fluff.  Claire POV.  First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw.  I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike.  Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit.  Shitshitshit.  Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist.  I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again.  More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes.  Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells.  I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp.  Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze.  I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat.  I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing.  The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services.  Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking.  How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon.  What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really?  Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp.  We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four.  Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen.  Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard.  I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era.  A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering.  Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep.  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies.  I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen.  Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar.  Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine.  He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.  Sorry.  Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake.  A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it.  There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service.  I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans.  I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off.  I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest.  I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs.  Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main.  An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert.  There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look.  “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes?   It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much.  Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken.  Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work.  There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye.  Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties.  I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was.  My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon.  I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank.  He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family.  I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine.  But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin.  “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform.  Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser?  How did you get into the catering business?”  It wasn’t polite conversation.  I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.”  At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam.  She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work.  We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business.  Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love.  I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents.  Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block.  His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side.  What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests?  I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner.  Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.  

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie.  By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set.  I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me.  I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed.  Jamie tipped his head sideways in question.  “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services.  That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...”  I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize.  Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately.   The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe.  With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.  

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling.  We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

[pixyys]

thou shalt not be sad!

making corny jokes and pick up lines for them

ft. the flags + chuuya + verlaine + adam

notes. romantic/ platonic; possible storm bringer spoilers; huuge thanks to @silverbladexyz for these wonderful pick up lines ♡

art by @/shan_zeze (twt)

❝you have a little bit of some loose screws in your head. everyone knows this well enough. but seriously, every person in your vicinity are just so depressed and gloomy! surely, that's nothing some some good ol' one liners can't solve. ❞

LIPPMANN

our little story starts during a time when the flags have the pleasure of gathering together. everyone has been busy with their businesses for quite a while. but they finally get the time to relax and act like normal young men without the burdens and horrors of their line of work.

of course, you are there too! for.. whatever reason you have. no one minds nor questions your presence, so you sit there, simply observing; grinning with a dumbstruck smile at how everyone is happy and enjoying their time.

especially lippmann. you saw his recent movie, the one that blew up on the internet, yeah. he's been flying all over the world for premiers and promotions. even now, he just got back from one of his tours.

"lippmann," you make your way towards the end of the billiard table. "how was europe?"

"europe?" he recovers from his hunched position, the billiard cue still in his hand. "it was quite nice. do you want me to take you when i go on another tour in the future?"

whoa. traveling europe with the lippmann?

"yes please," the response come a bit too eager than you intended. "but won't it be a hassle? was there any quarantine during your latest travel?"

"well, for safety measures-"

"because you can't spell quarantine without U R A Q T."

the room falls silent as those words leave your mouth, save for the ticking of the clock and someone's pool ball falling on the floor.

"ah.. well," lippmann laughs nervously. for a flit moment, burying yourself six feet under sounds like a very tempting escape. but the thought dissipates as the charming actor chuckles, with a very lilting voice and a cute-looking smile that could've made you keel over right there and then.

well, it's lippmann for you.

"i suppose there will still be momentary quarantines since the virus is still around," he continues," after all, you can't spell virus without U and I."

damn.

"oh hell no! not this again!"

something cracks with a horrible crunch, probably chuuya breaking his billiard cue. not sure didn't care. you're too busy gaping at the actor slash mafioso like some dying fish. either way, this dying fish got that world tour free pass! yeah!

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PIANO MAN

looking back, you have no idea how you managed to crawl out from that pit of embarrassment and continue life as usual. maybe your sense of dignity just.. dried out. or you're the kind of person who just rolls with everything. you do you, champ.

your existence and role in the flags is a peculiar one, as peculiar as your personality. a wildcard, if you will. maybe that's why you find yourself helping piano man with those "supernotes" of his. 

"say, piano man, do you play the piano?" you ask, mind drifting wistfully as you watch him send away some of his underlings. some others are still waiting for their next order, standing by within the vicinity—you included.

"i don't," he regards your curious question.

"i think you'll be a great pianist."

piano man offers a raise on his brow, "on what ground?" he said.

"i mean, better yet, you can be bae-thoven."

to put it in the most less-heartbreaking sense, his response is both something you definitely expect but nevertheless didn't prepare for. the silence that follows was reminiscent of that time you landed a free tour pass with lippmann, so as the forced laugh that grows from piano man's mouth.

another, painfully awkward silence that comes after it, however; you can't help but reel from it.

"piano man, please, that's the worst possible response," you half-whispered.

"ah, apologies," he simpers, "i suppose.. thank you?"

THAT IS THE WORST POSSIBLE RESPONSE.

the room is dead silent, and it doesn't look like it's because piano man's underlings are too afraid to laugh because of him. no, at this rate, your sense of dignity will really dry out, dissipating out of existence. that is until you saw a glimpse of piano man's subtle smug face.

ah, right. you forgot it was piano man you're up against.

[name]: i showed you my best pickup line pls respond

piano man: no &lt;3

in bitter shame of such pitiful defeat, you toned down your puns ever since. but one time, when you cross paths with your arch nemesis once again, piano man strikes up a conversation.

"about that thing about not being able to play the piano, [name]. i think i'll start learning it."

"oh really?" you turn to him. 

but what did he do? he, in turn, closes the distance, leaning his face to your ears, "how about you give me some piano lessons?" he whispers, and you can almost, almost feel his lips lingering on your earlobe. 

"we can play all night and make sweet music." you can feel his smile.

you ascended. jaws dropped, eyes popped out, cheeks blushed. you didn't remember if you passed out or dropped dead.

really, it's best to only pick battles you can win.

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ICEMAN

"iceman is it? you seem like a cool guy. i hope we can get along."

iceman knew you're a walking embodiment of a headache the moment you exchange names and shake each other's hands.

he still wonders why he still puts up with your shenanigans. or why he still agreed on helping you do combat practice and friendly spars. all the while trying to not accidentally stab or decapitate you, probably.

he watches you pat down your light bruises, making use of the momentary rest. objectively speaking, you are no weak opponent. sure, he can most likely kill you in your sleep. but at least not without some struggle in your part.

"this place is pretty neat for sparring. like a very comfy practice room," you comment, still holding the shoulder that might have a nasty bruise- or a sprain? he hopes not. iceman wonders if he threw you too hard just now.

"oh! speaking of," you suddenly turn to him, "are you a practice room? because i want you and i hope you're not taken."

mm, no. he really should've thrown you harder.

iceman, once again, questions why he puts up with you. both of you aren't even musicians and you manage to force that line into this context, and for what?

"..iceman?"

he remains passive.

"uh, please laugh?..at least?"

you made it a mental note to not mess with iceman again. poor guy. he still helps you patch up those sparing bruises though, so you should be good👍

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

DOC

"sorry, can you help me? i think something's wrong with my eyes."

being sent to the battlefront is tough. guns and fists and knives don't exactly line up with an unscathed body. but you're tougher! and you have your reliable good friend, doc. iceman's training retinue polished you like a coarse diamond grinder, so doc didn't have to do much than patch up minor cuts and scratches.

doc decides to hold back his questions at your remark. instead, choosing to appraise your face- the eye you claim to be 'wrong'. there's a subtle crease on his brow as his hands frame your cheek, trying to observe visible damage on your eye.

of course. even the most skilled doctor wouldn't find anything. your eyes are fine.

"i think, i just can't take them off you." you wink.

doc tilts his head, then blinks.

ha! cute! yet, the silence is starting to get you ptsd from piano man and iceman. you hope it won't be the same case for this doctor man.

he finally nods, as if making up a decision. "does it feel numb? or is it painful?"

"no, i mean-"

"maybe something is wrong with your extraocular muscles. i can open it up and-"

"you know what, don't worry about it," you cut him off, rushing to swat away the current topic. "i think it just healed! that's amazing! i knew you're the best doctor one could ever ask for!"

haha yeah.. better be careful next time. getting your eyes dissected and cut open must not be fun.

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ALBATROSS

you're not saying you have a favorite in the flags, but you're saying you have a favorite in the flags, and that might or might not be albatross. (it's definitely albatross).

he is your true partner in crime, aiding you in your eternal quest to annoy every single living existence (especially chuuya, but don't tell him that). albatross isn't very keen on puns or pickup lines, but he picks up the habit as soon as you start greeting him with those daily doses of corniness.

"morning!" you send the energetic wheelman a lighthearted smile, waving as you pass by the hallways of the headquarters. 

"oh, mornin' [name]-"

"do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?" 

by normal standards, a person normally does not start their morning with a badly-placed and badly-formed, relatively corny pickup line. but abiding by normal standards isn't exactly how you roll, and neither does albatross. that moment marked the day the flags must put up with a brand new headache.

"i'm confused… i thought happiness started with an H, but mine seems to start with U."

"life without you is like a broken pencil... totally pointless."

"are you a camera? because every time I look at you, i smile."

"are you a loan? 'cause you've got my interest-"

"alright. i believe that's enough, you two." 

it takes piano man a lot to get him to lose his patience, and apparently, you've done abundant. don't worry about chuuya, the little precious bundle of rage is long gone. he knows better than to risk exhausting his voice or accidentally ransacking the whole hideout (lmao).

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

you are suffering from success. or winning from failure? these jokes and pickup lines became something of a second nature to your tongue. you can't even remember what you said to this robot- er, supercomputer agent adam frankenstein.

"oh. this is what humans call as puns, also known as paronomasia, a form of wordplay that exploits multiple meanings of a term, or of similar-sounding words, for an intended humorous effect."

"yeah-"

"but yours wasn't funny."

>:0

"w-well," you cough, recovering yourself. "funny isn't the only intention for that pun. it's a punny pick-up line."

adam nods.

"a pick-up line or chat-up line is a conversation opener with the intent of engaging a person for romance or dating. are you trying to woo me?"

:0

"w-wwwhat?"

so, a literal robot just pulled an uno reverse card on you. yet still, that's a good question. are you really trying to woo him? 

"i- i thought you'll start making one of those android jokes." you make an unsteady smile.

"my android jokes? of course. they have no slightest intention of expressing romantic expression, so i can make one for you if you wish so."

well. did this tin man just indirectly reject your yet-to-exist confession? 

"either way, I am flattered by your attempts. however, i'm afraid that it will be impossible. you are human and i am an autonomous humanoid supercomputer, the first to be used for law enforcement use, adam frankenstein-"

yep. the tin man just directly rejected your yet-to-exist confession. adam just woke up and chose violence. at this point, you're better off going home and curling up in your blanket with some sad love song playlist. you think chuuya winced and made a very pitiful expression for you. but you choose to mark that off as your imagination.

you're here to flex occasional puns and linguistic adeptness. you didn't come here to get yourself absolutely decimated. when life gives you lemons, well, try to not cry too hard..?

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAUL VERLAINE

for a reason you can't fathom, you somehow end up in verlaine's, chuuya's, and adam's theater of bloodshed.

right here, right now, you're a vanguard on the battlefront. you shouldn't be thinking this. your chest hurts so bad from dodging verlaine's attacks, your limbs are aching from bruises and cuts, your head is spinning with adrenaline, and this french man right here is trying to kill you and kidnap your ginger friend.

but darn, he's fine- you slap yourself.

"you good?" chuuya rasps, struggling to make his step as he flanks your side.

"no, but-" verlaine flings another flying car at you, and muscle memory forces you both to flee from your position, escaping death by a grasp.

well.

this man is merciless, and *cough* attractive. had he not currently trying to throw cars at you, you'd take him to some nice cafe and start serenading him with, uh, sweet words. 

huh. might as well.

"damn sir, you have some killer moves!" you roar heartily, uncaring by the way chuuya is eyeing you like an incredulous mother daring her child to do something stupid. "i'd simply die to have you." you wink.

"[NAME], WHAT THE HELL?!"

in that split second, your words seem to catch verlaine in a trance. adam's fancy iron man laser beam almost grazes the french man's shoulder..somehow.

hey, that worked! :D 

[name] : chuuya, i think he's french.

chuuya : no shit-

[name] : i think eiffel for him.

chuuya:

‎

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

NAKAHARA CHUUYA

this is it. the curtain calls, and it's time to face the final boss. it's time to unleash the ultimate torment to this poor boy.

"woah, don't you look dapper? i always liked your fashion sense. it looks nice on you."

chuuya doesn't immediately answer, opting to silently trace the paved sidewalk you both are treading on. by all means, both of you have no trouble with resources that a personal car, or even a whole limousine won't be impossible. it's just that the moon shines beautifully that night, so you drag your grumpy friend for a breath of fresh air.

"but you know what you'll look better in?" you chuckle, following his steps. "my arms."

nothing. no reaction. no swatting your finger guns, no annoyed and incessant curses. chuuya treats you like a nonexistent ghost, until he halts and simply stares at you with an inexplicable expression.

"chuuya?" you falter, "did- did i go too far?- or did it finally get you? my jokes..?"

oh, it did get him. you got him.

he shifts closer to you, like he finally loses it and is about to choke you to death. but this feels different. there is no malice or raw anger in his movements. they feel.. heavy, tired. wordlessly, he leans his weight on your body, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

his breath is warm against your shoulder; the slight shudder from his long exhale stripped the corny jokes off your tongue.

"oh, chuuya.." you mirror him, putting your arms around him in a reassuring embrace. he is now here, in where you both want him to be: your arms.

some things come, and some things simply go. but some other things just don't change. chuuya is grateful that he can still hear your annoying jokes and lines, and that you are still by his side.

endnotes. man i wish I hadn't hit tumblr's 10 images cap. sorry adam, verlaine, and chuuya </3

(... sorry not sorry chuuya-)

[lawyering-and-running]

Chapter 4 - Don't Shoot The Messenger

Series Masterlist

♡ Pretty proud of this one beauties. Don't forget I'm open to suggestions and/or requests xx ♡

Nicole had been sat by the fire for a while, one of the women had passed her a bowl of warm stew and a flask of water. Yet despite feeling more comfortable than she had in months she couldn’t relax. The idea of not knowing what was happening back in Small Heath was nearly too much. That was her town too, why should she not protect it just because she had something different between her legs. She was just as capable as some of the men. Mind made up, she put down her bowl and stretched out her legs. She quickly thanked the women for their kindness before setting off.

Quickly she ran back towards small heath climbing up onto the rooftops until she found her favourite, on top of one of the warehouses with great views of the canals. She raised a flag on top of the building, lighting a fire beside it. A beacon to signal to her people that she needed a meeting. Shelby’s had their family meetings; the runners had their own. She did not have to wait long before the others started the respond. Shadowy figures dropped down on to the roof until all seven of them were gathered.

“We all know what’s happening in those streets below us, and what’s going to happen. This is our home, we know it better than anyone, so we’re going to protect it.” The group was made up of two other girls and four boys, all lean from years of too little food and too much activity. All in dark grey clothing and covered in a fine layer of dirt, they really did look like shadows come alive. When it comes to fight or flight instincts the usual for the group was of course flight. They were used to being ignored, eyes peering into the dark privy to the city’s secrets because nobody realised they were listening in. Nameless, faceless, and voiceless.

But now. As this group stood before her, she realised that maybe they all had an equally strong fight response. Nobody moved to leave, nobody looked scared. “All right then Nik, what’s the plan?” asked Kaz, one of the boys. “I say we use what we’re good at. That we take down Kimber’s men before they even know we’re there. That we keep an eye on things when the other Peakies are unable to do so.” The others nodded their heads in agreement reaching into pockets for hidden switchblades and razors. “Let’s show them what we’ve got” Nina, one of the girls, cheered raising her fist in the air.

Nicole moved towards the edge of the building, looking down at where she could see the men gathering. ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” she said. The group repeated back ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” they wouldn’t quite consider each other family, none of them really knew the concept, but they did have an understanding that they were all one and the same and that they were in this together. With everything said and done the group moved across rooftops, spreading out before slithering down into dark corners, lying in wait.

A hush descended over the group of men as Nicole watched the Shelby brothers from her alleyway, hidden behind a stack of crates. Suddenly Tommy’s voice rang out “It doesn't have to be like this, Kimber.” Kimber’s nasty voice replied “Too late for all that. You've bit off more than you can chew, you little toerag. And now I'm going to take over this shithole.” Nicole quietly fumed, it was no London, but it was their little corner of the world, no way was this outsider going to come in here and disrespect her home. She reigned herself in, it wasn’t her place, wasn’t even her personality really. She stayed hidden watching the conversation take place.

“Now now Kimber, that isn't very polite. I expected something more from a man of your grand standing.” Tommy mocked. “Listen here you little shit, I am going to kill all of you. Every last one of you fuckin Peakies. Then I am going to burn this place to the ground, maybe build myself another racetrack instead. Whilst you lot all rot in hell.” Steam was practically pouring out of Kimber’s ears. His face had gone an odd shade of red, his moustache twitching. It would have probably made for a funny picture if it were not for the seriousness of the situation. Although Nicole swore she could see that glint of amusement in Tommy’s cold blue eyes from where she was perched.

Tommy remained unbothered by the mounting tension in front of him, he shrugged “So that’s how it’s going to be.” Suddenly all hell broke loose. Both sides running for each other, opponents nearly indistinguishable. The loud bangs of gunfire rang through the streets as screams filled the air. Already a hazy mist of blood was settling over them. Nicole saw a Peaky struggling against one of Kimber’s, she crept up behind him and quick as lightning she stabbed him in the neck. She’d rehidden herself by the time the body slumped to the floor, the Peaky looking around for who had saved him.

She continued to dart out where possible to help others in difficult positions, trying as hard as she could to ensure that none of her people lost their lives today. That none of the women of Small Heath would be turned into Widows by the day’s events. She recognised her other runners doing the same, a flash of black, a glint of a blade as they wove through the fighting.

In all of the chaos Nicole had lost track of where the Shelby brothers were. Too focused on what was directly in front of her to think of anything else. She had just unarmed a Kimber for a Peaky to finish off when she saw Kimber raising his gun up to Tommy just a couple of steps away. No one else seemed to have noticed that their fearsome leader was quickly running out of options, his own gun nowhere in sight. Flat cap no match at a distance to a loaded gun. No other thought in mind she jumped for Kimber’s outstretched hand.

Time seemed to slow as she became airborne. As if she were trapped in a bubble, the sounds around her became muffled, tunnel vision focused solely on the weapon. Hands knocking the gun away time sped back up, as noise rushed back in. Angry shouts. She thought she heard a “What the fuck are you doing here?” but that was not important.

She tumbled to the ground with Kimber’s heavy body. The two rolling around trying to gain an upper hand. She lost her blade in the shuffle and had not accounted for Kimber having a backup weapon. Her mistake. Her tired body was no match for his larger frame as he lodged the knife into her shoulder. Yelling obscenities at her. A white-hot numbness spread through her body; she had not felt anything like this before. A pain far more vivid and sharp than a sprained ankle.

Before Kimber could actually finish her off there was a loud bang, the loudest Nicole had heard that day. The weight of a dead body suddenly pressing in on her. Kimber’s unseeing eyes gazing into her own. There was a warm wetness trickling over her, but very little seemed to really be registering in her mind. Her limbs becoming heavy from blood loss and perhaps shock. The heavy body was shoved off of her. The man she had saved appearing above her. “Why would you do something like that, ey?” Tommy asked. His body kneeling next to hers to try and stem the blood flow. All that escaped Nicole was a moan of pain.

A hysterical thought bubbled into her mind, why the hell did she care so much about a gangster. She had only spoken a couple of words to him. Maybe her luck had finally run out, drowned in her own stupidity. Clearly those blue eyes had more of an effect on her than she thought. She laughed out loud, lest she cry out from the pain otherwise. Her eyes shut as the blue-eyed face hovered above her, lips moving but nothing registering in her ringing ears. Then nothing.

Upon seeing Kimber fall the remaining few of his men had quickly tucked tail and run away. The cause no longer worth dying for. The Peakies cheered. “You don’t mess with the PEAKY FUCKIN BLINDERS!” Arthur shouted to even louder cheers. Turning to see Tommy’s crouched form the other two brothers ran over to help. “Is that the girl from before? What’s she doing here?” John questioned. “I don’t bloody know John. She just appeared and saved my life like some fuckin guardian angel. Help me carry her into the Garrison, we need to stitch up the wound.” The men lifted up her limp body as six pairs of eyes watched from the shadows, ready to help but feeling useless all the same. I quite murmur rippled through the group, but a whisper ”May we die in the shadows as we were born” Nicole’s life was in the hands of the Shelby’s now.

They burst through the doors of the pub shoving aside glasses as they laid her body on the table. Tommy ripped her shirt sleeve, heavy and slippery from the blood. Suddenly Polly was by their side as well “Someone get me some whiskey” she commanded whilst taking out a sewing kit. Arthur thrust the bottle at Tommy. He poured half the bottle over the wound grateful that the poor girl was already unconscious for this before pouring the rest of Polly’s waiting hands and needle. His work done he slumped back as Arthur passed him a new bottle of whiskey, this one meant for drinking. He took a couple of gulps as he slowly came down from the adrenaline. The fight, nearly losing his own life, being saved, and then this girl who he for some unexplainable reason cared for nearly dying. Slowly his shaking hands steadied as the alcohol took effect.

Polly had meanwhile sown up the wound and wrapped it in a cloth to stem any further blood flow. Nicole would be alright now. “What a day” she sighed grabbing the bottle from Tommy and taking a swig. Tommy stood up, carrying Nicole to one of the benches and covering her up with his warm black coat. Moving back towards the bar, he turned to face his family “If you check behind the bar Arthur... you will find a bottle of champagne.” Arthur fetched the bottle as Tommy continued “Today was a good day, we only lost a couple of men. All of Kimber's men were busy here, so we managed to take all of the pitches at the Worcester races.” Arthur popped the cork on the bottle “It couldn't have gone better if we'd planned it.” He poured some into the various glasses “Shelby Brothers Limited are now the third largest legal racetrack operation in the country.” Handing them out to the three other family members and keeping one for himself “Cheers! Only the Sabinis and the Solomons are bigger than us. And all my family is here to celebrate. To Shelby Brothers Limited.” “Shelby!” “Brothers!” “Cheers.” Rang out through the room. “There'll be others.” Polly spoke up in warning. Tommy merely raised his glass and toasted her again “To the others. All of them.” His eyes had settled on Nicole’s sleeping form, to new beginnings he thought to himself.

[themonkeycabal]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Episode 1 SPOILERS

If you need to blacklist, I will be tagging all things as #tfatws and/or #tfatws spoilers

My roommate keeps calling this The Falcon and the Snowman. I'm not entirely sure it's accidental.

I was going to watch at midnight and then fell asleep. Betrayal. I will not forgive this, brain.

Bucky Barnes character development. Sam Wilson character development. Six full episodes of Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. When we watched Civil War, did we think we'd actually be lucky enough to get a buddy idiot cop movie? Let alone six hours of it? #blessed

What are we expecting here? I have no idea, honestly. I think all the clips we've been seeing are from the first couple episodes, so they've hidden any sort of plot from us. We know Baron Zemo's around with his stupid purple ski mask and burning hatred for superheroes and probably specifically for Bucky who he tried (and honestly kind of succeeded, before then ultimately failing dramatically) to set up. And Sharon Carter will turn up at some point. OMG guys, Sharon Carter character development!

I'm just here for the buddy bickering and badassery.

SPOILERS BELOW

New World Order: Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes realize that their futures are anything but normal. *Realize*? lol

Also, it's tagged as "science fiction, action-adventure, buddy" Awww.

Aww, Sam looks sad as he gazes at The Shield.

"How's it feel?" "Like it's someone else's." "It isn't."

That's right, Sam! Listen to that voice. That's yours now, baby.

We're just going to roll right into a mission. Rescuing a Captain Vassant, whose plane fell out of contact shortly after take off, from the ridiculously named group LAF, somewhere over Tunisia. Sam's got to keep LAF from doing bad things and the US Military can't be seen doing anything blah blah blah, violation of treaties, yada yada. And Sam's all "blah blah got it". We're on the same page, Sam and me. Nobody wants to hear it, Briefing Exposition Guy.

We will have a Lt. Torres on the ground following along and offering helpful commentary as they go.

Sam is warned to be subtle as he falls backwards out of the cargo plane in very dramatic fashion and then swoops off on his brightly colored wings. lol

Sam gets to the captain's plane but the pilot is dead and a shady LAF guy is piloting. Oh no. Hey, it's Batroc. Last seen getting his ass kicked by Captain America in "CA: The Winter Soldier". He makes some jokes about their prisoner - presumably Captain Vassant. Awful cocky for a guy with a history of getting stomped on, you know.

Anyway, he's about to get his ass kicked by a Captain America again as Sam breaks into the plane. You might just be using wing shields now, Sam, but you're Captain America in my heart. Also, hey, dumb bad guys, don't open fire with an automatic weapon inside a plane or the ricochets might kill your pilot. And his body will slump forward and put the plane into a steep dive.

Batroc distracts Sam while the bad guys gather up Vassant and jump out of the plane with him. They have wingsuits, but Sam has, you know, wings. And like a jet pack. Don't hit the canyon walls, Sam!

Somehow the bad guys have waiting gunships. Did they expect to jump out of the plane over this canyon? I can only assume. Red Wing takes care of one of the helicopters. Man these guys are a pain in the ass. They wing suit into one of the many many helicopters that just happen to be right in the right spot. They're racing for the Libyan border. Then Sam shows up, they throw Vassant out the copter again — this guy is having the worst day — and glide into another chopper.

Man ANOTHER gunship? The hell? They're causing serious ecological damage to this canyon, what with all the zillionty missiles they're firing at Sam. How strapped is this thing?

LT Torres is trying to keep up, and you know, trying to get Sam to not fly into Libyan territory and cause an international incident or some such. Sam is struck by inspiration and not by a missile. But, the missiles are following Sam and Sam is following Batroc's chopper. Sam zooms through the open doors of the chopper, knocks poor Vassant out of the chopper AGAIN (but then catches him), and LAF blows up their own helicopter. Alas, Batroc escaped.

Sam saves the day and LT Torres is like super excited. Don't break your humvee, Torres.

Torres and Sam stop by a tea shop in Tunis, or somewhere. Sam's trying to fix his tech that got a little shot up and Torres buys the tea. A man comes up and thanks Sam for saving his wife. It's sweet. And then Torres gets up and wanders about a bit with his phone as he exposits about LAF. Is Torres about to become a pin cushion? Only instead of pins it'll be bullets? I'm not feeling good about his continued health. He's too cute and earnest.

Oh, he's looking for some sort of hidden, augmented reality tag on the walls. A red handprint, id'ing some group that calls themselves the Flag Smashers. Bad guys are really scraping the bottom of the evil name barrel. Anyway, they think the world was better during the blip. Nothing says better like mass failure of infrastructure and probably world wide famine. They want a unified world without borders. I have big doubts the world would be a borderless utopia during a blip-like event. Power vacuums invite trouble, seldom unity.

Anyhoo. Sam kind of agrees with me, "every time something gets better for one group, it gets worse for another".

Torres will track the 'online chatter'. But he's also heard some wacky things about Steve Rogers, conspiracy theory stuff, "they think that he's in a secret base on the moon, looking down over us". LOL. What? Is Steve a moon angel now? or Santa Claus? "You didn't like fly him to the moon?" Sam assures him that's all very much silly foolishness. Steve's in Boca working on his tan.

Sam's back in D.C. giving a talk about Steve at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space museum. "And he mastered posing stoically". Hey, I have that picture. Also, RHODEY! Hi Rhodey!

"A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after 5 years away. Sending the world into turmoil." Again. I know this was meant to come out before WandaVision, but timeline-wise this works better.

"We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning." Sam holds up The Shield. "I don't know if there's been a greater symbol." Aww, he's retiring the shield. He hands it off to museum people and they put it in a display case. I think Rhodey has some thoughts about this. I suspect Rhodey maybe doesn't agree.

Sam and Rhodey wander through the Cap exhibit and Sam's talking about how when he left (or got snapped, it's not like you had a choice about that, Sam), his nephews were babies and now they're little men. Awww. Rhodey says Sam should bring them to D.C., he'll teach them how to fly, "the right way". lol.

Rhodey says it's crazy to think nobody will be carrying the shield. Sam points out they went 70 years without, so like …

Rhodey wants to know why Sam didn't take up the mantle. BTW, this is a cool exhibit, marvel peeps. Sam says it feels like it belongs to someone else … Steve. Rhodey says everything's broken. Allies are enemies, things are torn apart. People are looking for somebody to make it better. Having made his pitch, Rhodey leaves Sam to stare mournfully at the shield. I think you're afraid to pick up the shield, Sam. Afraid you won't measure up. But, you can do it. I have faith. Also, Steve was kind of a disaster in his own way. He wasn't perfect, which was the point of Steve as a hero. Pick up the shield, Sam.

A fancy hotel, chatting people in the lobby, up to a mezzanine, a group of very Russian oligarch looking dudes and their security. And lo! A metal arm punches through a wall and the Winter Soldier, looking very Winter Soldiery appears and stabs some dudes in the neck. This has a sepia, dream/nightmareness to it. Oh yeah, it's his old shiny silver arm. Totally a nightmare/very bad memory. "Hail Hydra" and he kills the head Russian guy. The poor dude who was just chatting in the lobby is caught trying to get into his door. He swears he didn't see anything, begs for his life and the Winter Soldier shoots him. Bucky wakes up, breathing heavily. Poor Bucky.

Glad he's in therapy. I'm sure goat herding in Wakanda was good and peaceful and all, but, goats will only get you so far. Also glad we've skipped the "wanted terrorist" part and gone on to traumatized hero.

I get the feeling he's not the best patient. He lies to his therapist straight off. Twice. lol. "You're a civilian now. With your history the government needs to know, you're not gonna … [therapist makes stabby motion]." lol (I love this actress by the way. She's been in everything for ages. She's great). "It's a condition of your pardon. So tell me about your most recent nightmare." "I didn't have a nightmare." She starts writing, Bucky objects and tells her she's being passive-aggressive, but he gives in.  

He has a list of amends to make and three rules to follow. He crossed a name off. There's a Hydra pawn who's a senator, he helped her get into office. "After Hydra disbanded, she continued to use the power I gave her." Hmm. He tracks her car and listens in on her plotting to have a congressman killed.

* Rule number one: Can't do anything illegal.

He's hijacked the Senator's car and is remote controlling it, making it drive all out of control and freaking her out. He says he was collecting intel to give to an aide to convict her. Absolutely only did that. Not one illegal thing about that at all, no ma'am.

"Rule number two?" "Hmm. What was rule number two?" "Nobody gets hurt. It's a big one." "Then why isn't it rule number one?" Oh, Bucky, you're a jackass.

* Rule number two: Nobody gets hurt.

"I didn't hurt anybody. Promise." He totally broke a dude's hand and then punched him in the face, knocking him out. I mean, there's levels of 'hurt' I suppose.

"The whole point of making amends is to fulfill rule number three." "Of course I completed rule number three."

* Rule number three: "I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James 'Bucky' Barnes. And you're part of my efforts to make amends." He says to the corrupt senator he's just been terrifying. And then he walks away as a tac team pulls up. lol.

What I'm getting from this therapy session is that Bucky is a big fat fibber.

Also he's got a little black book full of names. Including, I see, H. Zemo. That's not going to go as smoothly as taking down a shady government fatcat, I think.

"So you did it all right, but it didn't help with the nightmares?" "Well, like I said, I didn't have any." Fibber.

People wanna help you Bucky and you can trust them. "I trust people," he mutters grumpily. She asks for his phone and he hands it over. Look, lady! Trust! Probably government mandated trust, but still!

"You don't have ten phone numbers on this thing." … I don't have ten phone numbers on my phone. :( "Oh, and you've been ignoring texts from Sam." Well …

"I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad." lol. Tough love from the therapist. I'm feeling a little judged myself, though. "You're alone." ALRIGHT DON'T RUB IT IN!

"You're a hundred years old. You have no history. No family—" "Are you lashing out at me, doc? Because that's really unprofessional." I love you Bucky, but you are a disaster patient.

Bucky relents. "I'm trying. This is new for me. I didn't have a moment to deal with anything. I had a little calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years." Get this man a goat farm!

"So now that you've stopped fighting, what do you want?" "Peace." A goat farm. "That is utter bullshit." lol "You're a terrible shrink." "I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies and I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone, that is the quietest, most personal hell." Get some friends, Bucky. "I know you've been through a lot. But, you've got your mind back. You're being pardoned. These are good things. You're free." "To do what?"

On the streets of Brooklyn. Bucky breaks up an argument between neighbors about trashcans. Hey, Bucky has a friend! Yori Nakajima who's probably like 80+. Did you babysit him back in the day, Buck? har har. They were going to meet for lunch, but some punk named Unique was putting his trash into Mr. Nakajima's trash can and just derailed the whole day. The horror. No joke, though, people get so nutted up about that. It's weird to me. Of course, I did also have a neighbor who never put out his trash for pickup and just snuck out at night before trash day and distributed his garbage into in other people's bins. Cheapass.

"Hey man, I'm Unique. Like Monique but it's got a 'u' in there for uniqueness." Yeah, you should have let Yori smack him, Buck.

Well now Yori is just not in the mood for lunch. Bucky tries to persuade him, but one grumpy old man out grumps the other. "But Izzy. We always go to Izzy on Wednesday. What if I buy?" "Fine. But no talking." lol. BFFs!

Yori is looking at the obituaries. "Look, nobody made it past 90 this week." Bucky tsks "So young, such a shame."

Bucky kind of smiles at the girl behind the counter at the sushi joint, Yori tells him he should ask her out. Bucky makes a "are you nuts, shut up" face. That doesn't stop Yori. "He would like to take you out on a date. Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle." You're a wild man, Yori!

She's down by it, though, and she and Yori hammer out the details while Bucky's like uh, okay, so wow, that's happening. "There's a dance to these things. You can't … you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943."

Yori sees something and suddenly gets sad. His son loves red bean mochi. His son was a consultant, working abroad and he was killed. Oh. Oh Bucky, why you gotta … Yori's son was the innocent witness he killed at the hotel in his nightmare/memory. "I will never know what really happened to him." Brutal.

Delacroix, Louisana

Sam's on his way home. Wilson Family Seafood. Aww. His nephews are helping mom with the catch. "Blue for the snapper, orange for the white fish," Sam calls out. The boys run over to him. They do look like fine gentlemen. It's weird, Sam, I get it. I recently realized my oldest nephew will be 13 in May and it's like "no, he's only in kindergarten, what are you talking about?"

His sister greets him then tells him he's looking all sneaky. Sam deflects. Their boat has seen better days. The Paul & Darlene. Aww. Is that his parents names? "Baby being held together by duct tape and prayers." Just needs to float long enough for his sister to sell it. But Sam's all, uh I thought we were going to *discuss* that. Uh oh, family drama. "We did, and then you were off fighting Dr Space Cape or whatever (lol), while I was holding it together for five long years." Ouch.

Sam is not down by this selling the boat thing. His sister doesn't seem to think they're in a position to hold on to it. Also, she'd really like to not hash this out on the pier with like twenty other people around, Sam.

They get into more of an argument on the boat. The family biz is not doing well financially. Sarah won't let Sam help for some reason, and he makes some comment about the house and loans and she punches him in the chest. lol "I forgot how hard you hit."

Sam insists they can turn it around, consolidate loans. And she's all, been there done that, I've come to terms with this. He's a persistent little jerk. This is such a perfectly sibling argument. Notably he has moved himself out of punching range.

Aww, she wants to believe he can save the boat, but she has DOUBTS.

Back in Brooklyn. Bucky attempts his date. He turns up at the end of the sushi girl's shift and gives her flowers. "Well, if that's not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone's ever done."

They chat while she tidies. He tried online dating oh lol. It didn't take. She tells him "You sound like my dad. Wait how old are you?" "Hundred and six." Oh yeah, what a funny joke. Next she wants to know why he's wearing gloves. "I have … um … poor circulation." He grimaces at himself and glances out the window. Smooth as silk, Bucky. Smoooooth.

"Let's play a game." Now, I'm thinking like some weird dating word/get-to-know-each-other game or something. I don't know. But, nope, she means Battleship. lol. I like her.

The drinking game version of battleship. Bucky sucks at it. "You sure can drink." "Yeah, well." Super assassin, unfair advantage.

We're just going to rub in this whole The Winter Soldier killed Yori's son thing, as she says it's nice that he's spending time with the old man. Since he was all messed up after his son was murdered and how it was extra hard because he didn't know what happened. I'm not sure this is healthy, Bucky.

"There's no word for someone whose kids die." Okay, ouch, lady, jeez. Bucky looks like he wants to puke. Or crawl into a deep dark hole. Or something. "Because it's the worst thing that can happen." Bucky nopes right out the front door. So, maybe they should have played pinochle instead.

Bucky goes to Yori. Are you really going to tell this man you murdered his son when you were a brain-washed Hydra assassin? Yori asks how the date was, and Bucky sees a shrine to the man's son in the apartment. Poor Bucky. He makes some excuse about owing Yori for lunch and leaves. Yori's name is in his book of amends. :(

Back in Louisiana. Sam and the kids are packing up meals. His sister maybe wants to sell meals in addition to fish. Sam says they've got to get going to their appointment at the bank. She's says it's in an hour. Sam must be just the worst brother to live with "There's no such thing as on time. You're either early or late. Pick one." Man, no wonder he gets punched.

Switzerland

Lt Torres is walking down a street with an unusually large number of people just sort of milling around in the middle of the street looking at their phones. He's got his kind of hidden, recording. He stops a guy and asks if he knows what they're supposed to be doing. Oh it's the flag munchers, or whatever. There's a weird phony bird whistle and then people gather around a person handing out masks with red handprints on them. His decoy bad guy phone chirps and gives the order to run. A guy jumps out of a nearby building with two huge duffle bags (of money it seems) and walks off while the previously milling people become a seemingly panicked mob, distracting police and whatnot.

Torres tries to arrest the jumper guy, who appears to have some super strength as he kicks a policeman halfway across the street. Torres, you're cute, but not super bright. Torres gets body slammed and then stomped. He survives again, however, defying the odds.

At the bank. The account manager keeps giving Sam the side-eye as he goes through their paperwork. "Do I know you from somewhere." Sam's all modest, "I don't know. Do you?" And then he makes a little wing flappy move with his hands. lol. What a nerd. "Falcon!" Then he takes a selfie with Sam. Sarah is very done with all this. She tries to get them back on track. Account guy wants to know how Avengers make a living. Probably not looking good for your loan, Sam.

"Is there some kind of fund for heroes? Or did Stark pay you when he was around? My condolences, by the way."

Yeah, financially this is looking bad, my dude. "You have no income over the last five years." Well, but, he was blipped. I mean …

Alas, shot down for the loan.

Sam and Sarah argue on the street. Ah, Sam ran off to the Air Force and didn't deal with what was going on at home. Oh my, this is getting ugly. Speaking as someone who got disowned on account of a family business, let me just say, they're not easy. Nuh-uh.

"Half the boat's mine and so is the house. We're not selling our family's legacy." "You gonna do me like what when you know I'm right?"

I get it might be awkward to ask, but I bet you could have asked Pepper for a loan, Sam, and she would have given it to you gladly. Come on, man.

Later. Sam's working on the boat's engine, and it's not cooperating. In the cabin he looks at the family pictures on all the walls. He's having a rough day. About as rough as Torres who texts him to find a secure line and call him along with a selfie of his bruised and battered face. #important (lol, really?)

Sam watches the footage Torres caught and they chat about how Torres was supposed to be doing that stuff online and not getting his face kicked in in Switzerland.

Sarah interrupts and turns on the TV. Some guy is giving a speech about how everybody needs a hero. "We need someone who can inspire us again. Someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero." hmm, no comment. Except, you should have taken up the shield, Sam. Now it's Sam's turn to look like he's going to puke. What did I say about power vacuums? Somebody will fill them, whether you want them to or not. 

This new guy looks like a goober. There, I said it.

credits

So … lots of setup. And very clear on the two guys trying to figure out where they fit in this world post blip and big wars. Both of them trying to fix broken families.

Plus a goober in a Cap suit.

So far so good. 

[starry-sky-stuff]

Sorting the Grisha Trilogy

For this sorting I’ll be using the superb sorting system created by @sortinghatchats. A brief breakdown, there are Primaries, the why, and Secondaries, the how. For a more in depth explanation check out @sortinghatchats or @wisteria-lodge. Here’s a link to a great and succinct explanation. 

Disclaimer: Spoiler warnings apply both for the Grisha Trilogy, the Six of Crows Duology and the Nikolai Duology. 

This turned into a very long post so I cut for length.

Alina Starkov has a very loud Lion Secondary that she increasingly grows into as the series progresses. Alina has literally no chill ever, about anything. She’s always ready to throw down. In Siege & Storm, she’s quite ready to tear the Crown Prince a new one for his suggestion that they lower the draft age. All the while Nikolai watches in exasperation because they very much need to keep the generals and royals on side. But Alina can never be anything other than what she is. he is genuinely disturbed by Nikolai’s ability to switch personas because it is so antithetical to her entire personality. Alina is the same kind of Lion Secondary that Katniss Everdeen from the Hunger Games is — someone who inspires an army and is ultimately used as a symbol and martyr by others for their own gains.

For her Primary I would also say Lion. Alina has very firm beliefs and they all come from within. She’s also got that lone wolf outlook that Lion Primary’s often struggle with. Repeatedly, she pushes people away and is intent on doing things alone. There’s also elements of the unhealthy Glory Hound Lion Primary, in that, as much as Alina is motivated by doing good, she’s also motivated by gaining power. Greed and power are such integral parts of her storyline. A Snake would claim they were gaining power to protect their loved ones, a Badger just people in general or maybe Ravka as a whole. But Alina gains power so she can defeat the Darkling and save the world. When she kills Mal, as much as it is to save the world, a part of it is also to gain power, for which she pays a price by losing said power. The very core issue in her relationship with Mal is the conflict between a Loyalist and an Idealist. For Mal, his main priority is Alina. For Alina, her priority is defeating the Darkling. 

Loyal and dutiful Mal Oretsev is an incredibly obvious Snake Primary. His entire motivation is centred on Alina. Everything he does is for her. He volunteers to hunt the stag for her, he deserts the army for her, he stays in the capital to protect her even though he hates it. “You’re my flag, you’re my nation” is a very Snake flavoured declaration of love. Mal is not in this fight because he wants to save Ravka or defeat the Darkling. He was completely okay with him and Alina escaping to Novyi Zem at the end of the first book and leaving Ravka to its fate. He commits to the fight when Alina does, and her cause becomes his cause. 

For his secondary, charming, likeable, Mal is a Badger. One of the first things we learn about Mal is that he can fit in anywhere and has no trouble making friends. Although he has a bit of a Lion Secondary Performance, at his core his a team player. He enjoyed the army because it was a community, and he’s at his lowest in the second book because he has no friends and no community. Part of why he’s much healthier in the last book is that he has a community again and a position within that community. In the White Chapel he can train and teach, and once they leave he has his own little team again. He falls into the leader role in the last book, not because he inspires loyalty the way Lion Secondary Alina does, but because he caretakes and looks after people. When they’re underground, and he constantly goes back to check on everybody and talk to them to make sure they keep up, that’s a Badger Secondary looking after his community. It’s probably not at all surprising that Mal has what @the-phoenix-heart has dubbed the love interest sorting. His priority is Alina, and he shows his love by following her and joining her quest, and in the end, sacrificing himself for her. Mal wasn’t going to die to save Ravka. He was sacrificing himself to save Alina. 

Nikolai Lantsov, whose entire motivation in the original trilogy is to gain the throne of Ravka to save Ravka, strikes me as more of a Loyalist than an Idealist. Either he’s a Badger whose community is Ravka, or a Snake who just has a very wide circle. Considering there’s no evidence of him dehumanising people, I would lean towards Snake. We later learn that part of why he wants to fix Ravka is a promise he made to a childhood friend who died in his arms, which strikes me as a very Snake motivation. An Idealist would be more motivated by the cause of helping Ravka, and a Badger would focus on Ravkans being in need of good leadership. I think much of his character arc in Nikolai Duology makes sense through the lens of a Snake Primary moving his priorities, as Ravka as a whole becomes less important and Zoya becomes more important. His primary was very difficult for me to accurately gauge because I think he actively hides it behind his secondary performance. Once we’re in his head, his motivations are very focused on the individuals he cares about. I think he and Zoya also bond over this Snake Primary that was let down by their parents and so transferred their loyalty onto Ravka as a whole. 

Initially, I thought he had a Snake Secondary. After all, Alina’s description of him being similar to a Matryoshka doll, always putting on different personas, is quintessential Snake Secondary. But when you actually look at how Nikolai solves problems, it isn’t with his charm or guile. Yes, he saves Alina by pretending to be Sturmhond, but they get into Ravka because he came up with a flying ship. In the last book, he saves the group because he just happened to have a secret military base he’d developed for a rainy day. In the Nikolai Duology, he literally came up with a plan for someone else to masquerade as him just in case he ever went missing. He solves his problems by pulling out some old tool or plan he’d previously developed on the off chance he’d need it. Total Bird Secondary. Now, Nikolai has a very good Snake Secondary model. It was something he developed in children to deal with his emotionally neglectful parents, by becoming whatever he had to be to get attention. But at his core, he’s an inventor, it’s what he enjoys doing, it’s what he does for fun, and it’s how he solves his problems. 

The Darkling, who views ozatskaya and even other Grisha as beneath him is a Dark Badger Primary. To the Darkling, only the Grisha are human, and even then he still thinks of him and Alina as above other Grisha. When parts of the Second Army turn on him he dehumanises them in turn. There’s an argument for an unhealthy Lion Primary, who believes wholeheartedly that all the terrible things he does are justified and he’s the only one who can save Ravka. But building the Second Army and Little Palace as a place the Grisha could belong seems to me like a Badger Primary looking to build his community. It’s also explains why he can kill all these people and feel no guilt whatsoever because to him they’re not really people. In the Rule of Wolves he even explicitly says that he whilst he values human life in general he does not value human lives specifically. 

The building of the Second Army is proof of his Badger Secondary. A skilled manipulator, he nevertheless uses genuine emotion and pieces of himself in the manipulation that I don’t think a Snake Secondary would find necessary. If you believe he did develop genuine feelings for Alina, then that would probably be a Badger Secondary who fell for his own performance. A Snake Secondary would probably have pretended to want a relationship with Alina without developing any feelings. His primary and secondary work together to explain why he was so affected by the Grisha turning against him. That’s his community, the community he built up from the ground, and when they turn on him he punishes them for their perceived disloyalty. 

Zoya Nazyalensky is a Snake Primary whose circle includes the Second Army and eventually the whole of Ravka. There’s an argument that she’s a Badger Primary who might’ve been a little burned, and she does treat ozatskaya as lesser than Grisha, but I don’t see the evidence of dehumanisation. Her reason for turning against the Darkling is that he killed her aunt, her only family and to her mind the only person who loved her. A Badger Primary might’ve been more motivated by him massacring Novokribirsk as opposed to a particular loss. Also, her feelings of failure are specific to her feeling that she failed her people — failing to stop the Darkling from killing her aunt, failing to protect the Second Army, failing to stop Nina from being captured. Throughout the original trilogy she’s burned. She’s lost her only person and so latches on to what is hers — the Second Army, Ravka, the Little Palace. She protects these things because they’re hers not because of any ideal. In the Nikolai Duology she unburns and opens herself up to admitting more people to her circle (or admitting that they’re actually in her circle and she does care about them). 

Zoya’s secondary was harder for me to pick. She’s definitely an improvisational secondary. We never see her making plans or being worried about being prepared, she just goes into dangerous situations and things work out for her. Snake Secondary in neutral state is possible. For the most part, she’s not particularly chargey for most of the original trilogy and could be a Snake that just doesn’t care. But she treats Nikolai’s Snake Secondary Model with awe and is, I think, too genuinely impressed by it to be a Snake Secondary herself. Lion Secondary makes more sense given that she’s a natural leader who inspires others more than makes herself likeable. The ending of Rule of Wolves also makes me lean towards Lion, since it’s her running headfirst to save Nina without any plan of attack and she doesn’t try to work her away around the situation like a Snake. She just runs straight into danger. 

Genya Safin, who wants nothing more than to belong, is a Badger Primary searching for a community. It’s why she stays loyal to the Darkling even after he destroys Novokribirsk, because he gave her a community and sense of belonging, and she believes these things are reliant on her loyalty and service to him. For her secondary, probably Badger too. Like the Darkling, she falls into the trap of believing her own manipulations and actually becomes friends with Alina. Also, the fact she spent years working on her tailoring skills seems like a Badger to me. 

David Kostyck, the quintessential inventor, has a glaring Bird Secondary. He’s the one who comes up with inventions, like the discs and the portable light, and is more comfortable in his lab than in the field. As for his primary, I think he might also be a Bird. He’s not a loyalist. If he was a Snake Primary then he probably wouldn’t have turned on the Darkling after Novokribirsk because Genya was still with him. He could be a Badger Primary who turned because of the massacre. But I think he’s a Bird Primary. He desires knowledge, not for the sake of power but purely because he wants to understand things. He strikes me as having a very decided morality. Merzost is bad because that’s a core Grisha teaching that he has adopted in his own system. 

Tolya and Tamar are harder to sort because they get less screen time. Tolya’s probably  double Lion, considering his concern with being honourable and his qualms with morally dubious actions. Also, his faith seems to me to be very felt and that is more Lion Primary. Considering his main role is as the muscle, definitely Lion Secondary. Tamar, who is totally okay with the morally dubious actions her brother abhors and, as of the Nikolai Duology, is in charge of spying is probably a Snake Secondary. Her motivations are less clear. Could be that she’s a Snake Primary who based her loyalties first of Alina then on Nikolai. She seems to be more attached to individuals than to any cause or country. 

In summary: 

Alina: Lion Primary/Lion Secondary

Mal: Snake Primary/Badger Secondary, Lion Secondary Performance

Nikolai: Snake Primary/Bird Secondary, Snake Secondary Model

The Darkling: Badger Primary/Badger Secondary, Snake Secondary Model

Zoya: Snake Primary/Lion Secondary

Genya: Badger Primary/Badger Secondary

David: Bird Primary/Bird Secondary

Tolya: Lion Secondary/Lion Secondary

Tamar: Snake Primary/Snake Secondary

[the-littlefangirl]

TFATWS episode 1 rewatch commentary

The first scene was so beautiful. I loved that we didn't start directly with the fight sequence. It feels way closer to the quiet beginning of CATWS and I love it so much.

The title is also SO NEAT, music's on point too but hey it’s Henry Jackman the one thing I’m sure it’s going to be great overall is the score.

The choreography is AMAZING, really well shot. Sam shielding himself with only one wing was MA-JES-TIC.

“WHAT'S UP” EXACTLY SAM EXACTLY

I did feel so uncomfortable in regards to the military aspect of it. Not that I was expecting anything else, but both here and in Captain Marvel the military we're good guys < 3 propaganda is so blatant and ugh:/ At least there wasn’t a literal recruitment spot like with CM. 

The yellow filter in the Tunisia scene BYE please stop with the yellow filters 2k21

"I've been working with the Air Force for six months now" So, did Sam even catch a break at all after Endgame? Or did he just throw himself to work like SOMEONE did after being iced for 70 years. Hmmm? Sam????

"Essentially, these people, they want a world that's unified without borders" OH NO! HOW AWFUL, how evil of these bad guys smh

Joaquin: SO about Steve

Sam: :)))))) nope

"Moon stuff" SAAAM

#1 cry with Sam's speech, full on chills.. Fuck. Me. His voice about to break before saying thank you bYE.

Shady politician: "It was the right decision" (FUCKKKKK YOUUU)

Rhodey: *press any key to doubt *

I need someone to analyze the different curation of the two exhibits pretty please

NOT THE PHOTO POST-AZZANO JFC. That photo is my weakness, Bucky sweetie (also I find hilarious that usually when there are articles about Stucky and/or #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend they aaaalways use that photo LMAO)

In case someone wants to read the transcription of the texts about Bucky: "In 1944, while on a mission to thwart a Hydra weapon transport in the Alps, Barnes was thrown from a train and believed to have been killed in action. It wasn't until 2014, over seventy years later, that it was revealed that Barnes was alive, having been found by Hydra operatives. Captain America himself (i can't read) the effort to bring Barnes in only to later aid in a escape from custody having been convinced of his innocence. Steve's loyalty to his old friend, coupled with his refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords, led to the dissolution of the Avengers and drove the Captain into hiding with other like-minded Avengers including Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Sam Wilson. The current whereabouts of Barnes remains unknown, habing been labeled a fugitive following his escape from custody."

"current wherabout unknown" but not the government, interesting. Also, pretty good summary of CACW from the public's perspective, although one of the things I always wanted to see explored was the public's reaction of the fallout of them going into hiding after Civil War (which I'm hoping we'll get to see a little bit of in Black Widow).

Interesting point about the 70 years without having Captain America. Clearly the sacrifice play wasn't enough this time to fuel the nationalism so they went with a squeaky clean John Walker instead.

Sam saying the shield belongs to Steve I'm going to cry now excuse me. Sam. Sam sweetie.

The No. 1 Captain America comic in the display ugH fuck yes

See this is how you do a cameo that has actual meaning. Thank god for Malcolm Spellman being a competent writer. That scene was so well written.

HAVE YOU PRAISED ANTHONY MACKIE'S PERFORMANCE TODAY?? Holy shit that last shot fucked me up.

I'm loving the use of the wide shots, especially in the flashback. The camera movements are in synch with The Soldier's state of mind and mission focus, so good.

EVERYONE STAND UP FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM aka The Winter Soldier theme composed by Henry Jackman.

Without a doubt the most brutal TWS fight scene there has been, People involved in Punisher and John Wick are involved in this and it SHOWS. 

For the record, still stands that the only time we've seen him chocking someone with his right hand instead of the metal arm remains the Maria Stark assasination. I know it's probably because of blocking and the way the shot was composed but the implications are still bone chilling. God.

Uhhmmmm I'm very ambivalent about the "Hail Hydra". On one hand, it was 100% fanservice and the internet is probably going to go insane over it, and the dead way Sebastian Stan delivered the line. Good shit. Buuut what I love about CATWS is the way Bucky never, ever ever, mouths Hydra rethoric, and even when Pierce tries to gaslight him with it, it's just an empty effort. The Winter Soldier isn't doing anything because of ideological loyalty to Hydra, even if it's product of brainwashing, it's just sheer dehumanization. They don’t need him to say the words because he’s just An Asset. There are people who have put it more eloquently but yeah, I rather go with the fanon interpretation of that aspect.

The music growing louder with the shot of the keys. GOD.

I'm fine this is fine.

#2 cry with the therapy scene of fucking course.

The government monitoring Bucky is noooot going to end well lmao.

"We need to know that you're not gonna * slowmo stabbing motions *

Bucky: * nodding along slowly * 

I laughed out loud.

"It's passive agressive" I love him.

The way this scene just sucker punched me in the face, made me weep and then had me cracking up. Amazing.

Therapist: You can't do anything illegal

Bucky: yup yup check checkity check. What IS considered illegal tho?

*aggresive tablet finger pressing *

"Then why isn't it rule number one?" Bucky your Steve is showing.

I love the close up shot. I'll keep saying it. It's so good.

"I'm James Bucky Barnes" yeah you are🥺

That smile is nightmare fuel LMFAO I love it.

Uhm the way I'm kinning Bucky it's not funny anymore damn

That whole “are you lashing out at me” rambling is really reminiscent of the bar scene in CATFA and how he lashed out at Steve after Peggy left. Uhm yeah fuck.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" "Peace"

"That is UTTER BULLSHIT" "You're a terrible shrink"

yeah ugly crying to ugly laughing speedrun for me

"You're free" "To do what?" jesus. That entire scene. #3 and #4 and #5 cries for moi.

Ugh that Brooklyn shot. Someone needs to do a gifset compairing it to the one in CATFA asap.

"It's like Monique but it's got a "U" in there for uniqueness" "That's absurd" LMAO

"You can't keep fighting with your neighbors" uHM * redacted redacted i'm shifting into 1940s mode abort abort *

"Nobody passed 90" "So young. Such a shame" FGADHGA

🥺🥺 yes flex those flirting skills good for you

"It's a dance to this things. You can't… you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943. Feels like." #6 cry I completely broke down into tears with that.

This Yori storyline is going to punch me in the face with a metal fist. Great!

The TWS theme when he looks at Yori fuuuuuck.

GREAT LET'S GO TO LOUISIANA THAT WAS GETTING HEAVY.

Those shots of Sam in the car. Immaculate. Showstoping. Yes.

Marvel, what if instead of promoting the military industrial complex you put a lot of publicity about cars?

"Uncle Sam!" LMAO subtle.

Everyone trying to have the wings lmao same.

I've only had Sarah for a day but etc. Brooklyn 99 meme

Good mirroring about Steve and Sam family's legacy. Good shit. Goooood shit.

Sam is trying so hard ouch my heart. I can't imagine how painful the scene with them reuniting must have been. He 100% still feels a lot of guilt about being gone for those 5 years (and even longer before that).

"Maybe it is time for us to move on" uuuuuuuuuuh

"To the rescue" "Always" 🥺🥺 i love them so much already

That shot outside the restaurant is so beautiful. Can't wait to see the night scenes in Madripoor tbh.

"I tried the whole online dating thing. It's pretty crazy". Uhm well that is something that Bucky Barnes has now said. In canon. Damn.

"It's a lot" "You sound like my dad" LMAO

Every Bucky fanfic trope speedrun with this scene

"Wow you really can drink" OH you have no idea

Just realized we don't even know her name, well.

"You have any siblings?" "I have a sister" THE WAY I SCREECHED. We're definitely getting Becca

Well that escalated quickly. The important thing is to try?

I can't deal with this BUCKY SWEETIE #8 cry right there fuck

The wardrobe department is KILLING IT, there's such a difference between the outfits of the shows vs how ugly and generic it usually is.

"ThEre is NO such thiNg as on time. You're either EARLY or LATE . picK One" lmao the way he delivered that line

At first I thought the flag smashers had thrown two cars out of a window LMAO

"I don't know how jurisdiction works here, but I'mma have to place you under arrest" uhm yikes. The way they changed Joaquín Torres backstory to just random army nice guy #1 is not sitting well with me, what can I say.

Sam's wings motions I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR

Fuuuuck this guy.

"Funny how thing's always thighten around us" "Look, I'm on your side. After all, he's a hero". This script is C R I S P as hell, great fucking job.

"I don't care, I'm not gonna quit" "What are you trying to prove? And who you trying to prove it to" SHIT HSIT SHIT!!! UGH amazing. Look it's not necessary to say the show's questions out loud but how they flow between the conversations is still very satisfactory without feeling in your face about it. Inner conflicts have been set up fucking perfectly everyone * claps *

Ugh here we fucking go.  I knew this was how the episode was going to end but my stomach still dropped like a rollercoster. God.

The score is on point. Damn. Damn.

God, Sam.🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

The captain america franchise's visuals in the credits are always so amazing.

Also, does anybody know why Mackie isn't first in the billing?  Uhm what's that about?

ANYWAY CONCLUSION THAT EPISODE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD LIKE HOLY SHIT. I love them so much. The balance between the personal conflicts and the political aspect (although the military aspect is still very much yikes) was on point and it was overall a joy to watch.

[curlynerd]

@spnwomenweek Day 7: Free Space because I'm bad at deadlines and missed AU day.

Harvelle’s Sweet Treats - Home of delicious cupcakes, cookies bigger than your head, and the prettiest baker Charlie has ever seen. Now if only she could ask her out without making a total fool of herself.

1.8K word count, copious amounts of Jo and Charlie fluff

Read on AO3

Five days. That was long enough, right? Five days between visits to a bakery was a totally normal, non-stalker-ish, “oh hey I just really like cupcakes, ya know?” amount of time to wait to go there again.

Right?

Yes. Definitely.

Hell, after five days, the cute girl behind the counter had probably long forgotten Charlie. It was a popular bakery, after all.

Yeah, she’d definitely forgotten Charlie by now.

Well...that was depressing.

Charlie huffed and readjusted her backpack on her shoulders. Whatever. She’d just make Bakery Girl remember her! They’d had a great conversation. A totally memorable chat.

About cupcakes.

In a store that sold cupcakes.

Okay, probably not so memorable.

She stifled a groan. Dammit Charlie! This wasn’t hard! She knew how to flirt! She flirted all the time!

...Not with girls this cute though. Not girls with beautiful blonde waves to make even Galadriel jealous. Not girls who smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and sugar.

Charlie shifted from one foot to another as she waited at the crosswalk. Her time to chicken out was rapidly dwindling. Harvelle’s Sweet Treats was just on the other side of the road. But, hey, nothing wrong with being a chicken. Six days between visits was better than five, right? Even less weird?

The crosswalk sign changed.

Charlie groaned out loud and earned herself a concerned look from a businessman walking alongside her. She forced a smile and started jogging the rest of the way to escape his judgement. Unfortunately that left her staring at the door to Harvelle’s much sooner than intended.

She took a deep breath. “You got this, Bradbury. Woman up! Just don’t think about how she smells like cupcakes and you’ll be fine.”

At that moment the blonde woman behind the counter noticed her lurking outside the door and grinned at her, gesturing for her to come inside.

Charlie’s eyes went wide as saucers. “I don’t got this,” she squeaked.

But it was too late now. Bakery Girl had spotted her. If she ran away now…

No, she couldn’t consider that.

Charlie squared her shoulders. She felt like Link staring down the entrance to Ganondorf’s castle, only without any of the sages to back her up. If only she had an ocarina on hand to teleport her out of here if things went awry... No. Focus! Charlie shook herself out of her thoughts and entered the store.

“Mornin’!” Bakery Girl’s smile was cheerful and casual. “You know what you want?” She leaned against the counter on her forearm, which caused her gorgeous hair to cascade over her shoulder and frame her face.

And just like that, Charlie’s carefully planned script flew straight out of her head. “Um.” She blinked. Once. Twice. Think, Bradbury! Think! Do not answer “you,” okay? That’s just weird. Think of literally any other answer!

Bakery Girl chuckled at Charlie’s dumbstruck stare. “We sell coffee, if you’re still waking up,” she said with a wink, which only drove Charlie even closer to a full-fledged hardware meltdown.

“Coffee! Mm-hmm!” Charlie squeaked with an over-enthusiastic nod. “Yes! I will take one coffee and one...er, cupcake,” she added, determined to get back on script before she blurted out something stupid and completely ruined any chance she might have with Bakery Girl.

“Coffee and cupcake. Interesting breakfast.” Bakery Girl raised an eyebrow as she tucked her hair behind her ear. God, why did she have to keep smiling like that? Charlie was going to have a heart attack!

Charlie nodded again before mentally smacking herself for looking too much like a bobblehead toy. “Well that’s me. Interesting.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, not interesting. Not, like, full of myself. A-And not weird interesting either!” she added hastily. “I mean, okay, yeah, I’m kinda weird. Pretty weird. Comes with the whole...nerd territory. But hey, ha ha, at least I shaved my neckbeard this morning, right?”

Bakery Girl listened to Charlie’s increasingly unhinged rambling with a bemused grin on her face. She shook her head. “Yeah, definitely weird,” she agreed with a laugh, but somehow it didn’t sound like an insult. She pushed off from the counter and rung up Charlie’s order.

Charlie forced herself to take a deep breath. Okay, so operation “Woo The Hot Bakery Girl” was definitely going off the rails, but it wasn’t unsalvageable! She just needed to regroup. Charlie smiled her brightest, sweetest “don’t think I’m a total loser, please” smile as she paid for her food. Bakery Girl grinned back, and any flirtatious comeback Charlie had was lost in thoughts of cinnamon-brown eyes and absolutely adorable apple-round cheeks.

“You got a name, Miss Interesting?”

Charlie blinked and shook off her daze. Bakery Girl was holding a pen up against a coffee cup. “Um.” Charlie looked around the otherwise empty store. “It’s not like you’re gonna mix up my order.”

Bakery Girl pursed her lips and fought down a new smile. “Humor me.” She honest to god winked, and Charlie honest to god let out a tiny, mortifying squeak.

“Charlie!” she blurted out, hot on that noise’s tail. Maybe she was fast enough to cover it. God, she hoped she was fast enough to cover it. “Bradbury. Charlie Bradbury. Though why would I tell you my last name? You don’t need my last name. That’s ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.” To Charlie’s horror, she couldn’t bring herself to shut up no matter how hard she tried. “You obviously don’t need to know my last name, but um, yep. There it is. Bradbury. Like Ray Bradbury? That. And--”

“You know what flavor cupcake you want?” Bakery Girl cut in, and Charlie was so grateful she almost hopped the counter and kissed her then and there.

“Um…” Once again, Charlie’s carefully planned out script was trapped behind the mesmerizing distraction of Bakery Girl’s smile. No, wait! She remembered! “What do you recommend?” She batted her eyelashes a little and shrugged one shoulder. Yes, this was perfect. Whatever was offered would oh so conveniently be one of Charlie’s favorite flavors. Of course, all cupcake flavors were her favorite, because they were cupcakes. Not a lie. Just an exaggeration.

Bakery Girl glanced down at her display case. “Red velvet,” she said with the hint of a smirk. Her eyes seemed to linger on Charlie’s hair, but surely Charlie was imagining that. Definitely imagining that.

Charlie bit her lip. “Sure! Let’s go with that,” she said in a rush, while internally she screamed about her carefully planned cupcake flavor ruse. Bakery Girl nodded and set about getting Charlie’s order ready. Charlie breathed in deeply, disappointment building with each passing second. This was a bust. This was clearly not going anywhere. Charlie was way too flustered to pull out her usual stops. So far all she’d managed to do is look and act like a socially awkward nerd. Which...well...Pot. Kettle. Black.

Maybe if she came back in another five days, things would go better that time. Or six days. Or sixty.

As Charlie put her wallet away, her eyes landed on the pen cup. There was a cute one with an oversized cartoon cupcake on the end, large enough that it partly obscured the little rainbow flag stuck in there too.

Deep down, Charlie knew that could mean anything. Maybe the owner was gay. Or one of the other employees. Maybe the store did a lot of gay wedding cakes. Hell, it was San Francisco. Pride flags were just good business sense. Charlie had to admit her gaydar could get a little frazzled when confronted by stunningly attractive women. Or maybe she was just exceptionally optimistic.

She decided to pounce on the opportunity anyway. This was her last shot.

She pointed to the little flag and flashed a grin that she prayed wasn’t too awkward. “Hey cool. Samesies.” Dear goddess Selûne, did she really just say samesies? She tried not to cringe.

Bakery Girl laughed. “Yeah, I’m aware,” she said as she brushed her hair behind her ear. And okay, Charlie had to give her that. She gave off that vibe. Also there was a lesbian pride pin on her backpack.

Thinking about it, that might have been the biggest giveaway.

“So…” Charlie began. This was her opening. She knew this was her opening. And if this were anyone less cool, or less hot, or less…all of everything that Bakery Girl had going on, Charlie would be on top of things. She’d have gotten her number and made date plans before she even placed her order.

Instead she rocked back and forth on her heels like a helpless dweeb. Like some sort of awkward middle schooler trying to ask a date to homecoming.

“So…” Bakery Girl agreed, her voice barely containing her laughter. The silence dragged on until it became agony. Charlie thought for certain the pressure to ask her out inflating her chest would burst before she worked up the nerve. But right when Charlie opened her mouth to either speak or let out a pathetic squeak of compressed air, Bakery Girl leaned forward on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Charlie. “So are you gonna ask my name before or after I get your phone number?”

Charlie jerked her head up in surprise. “Phone number?” she squeaked. Her eyes widened. Bakery Girl was asking for her phone number?! SUCCESS! “Um, yeah! Yeah, I…” Charlie grinned from ear to ear. “Name? Your name? Er…” She cleared her throat. “What’s your name anyway? So I can stop calling you Bakery Girl in my head?”

Bakery Girl smirked. “Bakery Girl, huh?” She grabbed the cupcake pen from the cup and held out her hand. Her eyes darted to Charlie’s arm and back to her face as she wiggled her fingers. Charlie hastily held out her hand. “It’s Jo, by the way.” Charlie’s skin tingled where Bakery Girl--Jo! touched her wrist. Jo scrawled out her number on the inside of her arm.

“You know, I coulda just punched it into my phone,” Charlie said, already wondering how weird it would be if she didn’t wash her hand for awhile.

“Yeah, but I like to be old school.” Jo winked at her. Her fingers slid down Charlie’s hand as she released it, and Charlie’s heart skipped a beat.

“Old school, huh?” Charlie grinned. “So like...dinner and a movie, pick me up at eight old school?”

Jo paused a moment to size her up. She bit her lower lip. “Pool,” she said with a cocky smile. “There’s this bar I like where we can play pool.”

Charlie’s shoulders dipped a little. “I don’t know how to play pool.” Could a date fail before it even started? Charlie was beginning to suspect Jo was way cooler than she could ever hope to be.

Jo just shook her head, a knowing twinkle in her pretty brown eyes. “Oh, I figured. I plan to teach you.”

Charlie’s heart leapt into her throat. “Can’t wait.”

[wouldpollyapprove]

Soldier’s Reward

Request: Hi! Hope your having a great day or night. I was wondering if I could have a prompt for tommy prompt 6 and 10 if not that’s fine. Hope your staying safe.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language, suicidal thoughts, war

A/N: I feel that this could be a little bit better but I do really like how the beginning of it turned out.

The night was dark, shadows filling the wholes were life was in the daylight hours. It was by no means a perfect night for a walk. Rival gangs were at each other’s throats and few felt safe on the streets at night, but Y/n didn’t care. She held no care for the world as she walked down the empty streets of Birmingham. A bottle of rum bumped into her thigh as she wondered through town, no destination in sight. 

How could she care about anything when almost all that held her together was gone? And no one cared but her, how sad. She almost laughed at how foolish she was to believe that someone would care about her loss. But Tommy and his brothers, they were to busy fighting with each other and trying to run their business. Polly was too wrapped in the drama that was Ada Shelby. So, Y/n was all alone. She was given false smiles and lies as condolences.

All she wanted was to be told that all was well. That she was strong enough to move past this. But that never came and she knew that now she was nothing but a shell of a person. 

Y/n came to the canal and decided to walk alongside it. There was no better company than the water that barely sloshed against the concrete that held it. 

She put the bottle of rum to her lips and drank down a good portion of the liquid, not caring that it burned her throat. If it helped to rid her mind of pain, she would drink anything. 

“I’ve seen some beautiful flowers grow in my garden fair,” she sang, slurring her words and walked further down the canal. “I’ve spent some wonderful hours lost in their fragrance rare.”

She closed her eyes for a second, beneath her eyes lids, war played out. There were men, laying face down in the mud as the rain came down like gunfire. Screams of vengeance came from those still alive, they refused to let their enemy bask in their pain. 

Eyes open, she held back tears. The past was nothing but the past, she tried to tell herself. But no matter how many times those words rang through her head, the horrors of war did alongside them. 

“But I have found another wondrous beyond compare,” her voice wavered as she walked away from the water. “There’s a rose that grows on no-man’s land.”

Y/n leaned against a crumbling brick building and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With one stuck between her teeth, she lite it and with shaking fingers, placed it between them. If only the war had taken her, maybe then she would be at peace. She laughed at the thought. 

Oh, how she was one of the lucky ones.

She was never meant to see such violence. Y/n was sent to France when she was only 16 so she could take care of her aging grandmother. There she hoped to attended university and make something of herself, but that never happened. War broke out, along with hell. She thought for so long that it would never touch her, that war, as long as she couldn’t see it, wasn’t her problem. 

How wrong she was? 

It came knocking on her doorstep one fine morning and it consumed everything in its wake. She was thrown into the mess, doing her best to keep the French soldiers alive that littered her grandmother’s front yard. And that’s when the yard was uprooted and thrown all about. 

Y/n had heard of what bombs could do, but she’d never seen it nor felt it. It left her ears ringing as she tried to steady herself. The world was tilting at an angle she couldn’t comprehend and she was covered in dirt and blood. Unable to tell whether it was her own blood, she fell to the ground where she was found hours later by the Franch army. 

After that day, she wanted nothing more than to be one of those that was draped with their countries flag and put six feet under. There was nothing that could scrub her memory, no matter what she tried, everything came back. Her parents offered the option of electrotherapy. She grasped onto it like she was a sinking ship and it was the only thing that could save her. 

It did nothing.

She tried drugs, but they didn’t numb, they didn’t stop the bomb or block out the screams. They did nothing but cause her more pain.

Nothing worked.

The only thing that ever helped her through her rough patches and the nightmare that was her brain was her grandmother. The woman had seen it all. She’d lived in a world of violence and poverty, yet she was kind and wanted nothing but the best for those around her. Y/n clung to her like a child, that woman was the only one that made a difference. 

And now she was gone and Y/n was back in hell. 

An hour or so later, the bottle of rum was empty and Y/n was getting cold. She slowly got to her feet and trudged forward. She turned the corner and walked to wherever the cobblestone street led.

Head in the clouds, Y/n didn’t hear when a man called to her, she simply followed where her feet were traveling to. Well, the man didn’t like being ignored and stalked up to her, chest puffed out like a tough guy. 

“Are you ignoring me, bitch?” he spat at her. 

Y/n turned to him, an alcohol-induced smile on her face. “Everyone’s ignoring you,” she laughed, unaware of the weight of her words.

In an instant, like a bolt of lightning, a silver blad had found itself against the skin of her throat. “You wanna say that again, you whore.”

“You’re not man enough to do anything about it.” Her words bounced with laughter. She hoped he was, hoped that he let her blood spill against the dirty stones. That’s where it belonged. It should have been spilled along time ago, call it survivors guilt, but she didn’t deserve to breathe when others had lost their breath for her. 

The man was about to prove her wrong when a shout came from down the street. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Two men came walking down the street, the blade dropped to the ground and the man who once held it had disappeared down an alley. As the men approached, one hit the other and said, “That’s Tommy’s girl.” The other nodded and when they stepped in front of her, they offered to take her to him, knowing that they would be dead if they didn’t.

Y/n had no say in the matter, she just nodded and followed their every move. She couldn’t make herself do more than that. Thinking for herself would only get her in trouble and she just wanted to sleep. She just wanted to lay her head down and never get up, not if life was going to throw her around.

*~~*~~*

A fight was raging in the kitchen when Y/n entered. Everyone was yelling. Polly was red with rage, Tommy was trying to hold her back before she could hit Arthur. John was the first to notice her as the two Peaky Blinders informed him of where they had found her. He spoke to her, but she didn’t hear a thing he said. Her eyes focused in on the wallpaper as she drowned everything out. 

In her mind, there was no fight. Polly wasn’t like a bull in a china cabinet and Tommy wasn’t the restraints holding her from destruction. Arthur hadn’t caused a fuss and John wasn’t speaking to her like she was a sick child. The world was nothing but an eggshell green wallpaper that was peeling off the wall. 

John gently forced her into a chair at the table and turned to his brother once Polly had composed herself enough. “Two of the boys found Y/n wondering down by the canal. Someone had a knife to her when they got there.”

A fire had ignited itself behind the man’s eyes as he looked down at his girlfriend. She looked lost, she looked hurt. There were dark bags under her eyes that looked like hazed glass. Tommy moved away from his aunt and knelt in front of Y/n and grabbed her hand. “Are you hurt, love?”

She shook her head, “No.” But her eyes never moved from the wallpaper. 

That answer just wasn’t good enough from Tommy and he asked again. “You can tell me, Y/n. Are you hurt?”

That seemed to be all she needed to snap her gaze and look down at him. A small smile adorned his lips at that. It wasn’t much but he felt it was something. 

“Why were you out there?” Polly asked as she could see Tommy wasn’t going to get there anytime soon.

“I went for walk,” she told them. 

At that, Tommy stood and ran a hand down his face. He sighed, anger bubbling, he thought she knew better than do that. “What were you thinking? You know how dangerous this city is at night. If you wanted to go for a walk you could have just called me or Arthur or John. Anyone of us would have gone with you! What, were you trying to get yourself killed?” his voice echoed throughout the room, but it held no effect on Y/n, she simply shrugged. 

“Maybe I was! But it’s not like you lot would have cared much.” Her words stung as everyone didn’t understand what they meant. They all believed themselves to be supportive to her, Tommy believed he was always by her side. “I am nothing but a broken dish and the one thing, the one thing, that was holding me together is gone! And when that happened, none of you did anything, none of you cared!” she yelled, her eyes watered, tears threatened to escape. “I was locked up in my house for days and no one came around, no one knocked, no one called. It was silent. I wanted to scream, I wanted to burst into tears, I wanted to get drunk and kill myself, but all I could do was stare at the wall in silence. So fuck all of you! I wanted to go for a fucking walk, I’m no child so I can walk by myself if I damn well please.”

The room was silent as her words sunk in, Y/n never raised her voice and it broke Tommy’s heart to know that he wasn’t there for her when she needed him. His anger faded once he saw how broken she was, how he’d let her become like that. “It’ll be alright, love. We’re here now, I’m here now.”

At that moment, her tears escaped, sliding to freedom down her cheek. Tommy had his arms around her in an instant, soothing her as best he could. He hated that she had hurt so much and he had been blind to it. That would never happen again.

“I just… I don’t want to see it anymore, Tommy,” she sobbed into his shoulder. 

He rubbed circles on her back, knowing exactly what she was talking about. All those that came back from war were plagued with nightmares, it was the soldier’s reward for walking off the battlefield. Y/n didn’t deserve the same reward. “I know, I know. I’ll help you through it, I swear.”

And, for once in his life, Thomas Shelby was a man of his word.