#they did dark ace DIRTY with his beard

[lexaknoxville]

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 - ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴋɴᴏxᴠɪʟʟᴇ

“𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘪’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶” - 𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘯

description. | in which the boys go to film on a ranch, and knoxville can’t seem to keep his eyes off the girl in the cowboy boots.

warnings. | foul language. crude humor? idk man normal jackass shit.

notes. | if you enjoy pls like and reblog!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! MASTERLIST!!

Hot couldn’t even describe it.

Summers in the south were vicious. Some days the heat was enough to shelter you inside, not even the constant efforts of the ac units were enough to cool people down. Today was almost one of those days. Had it been just the tiniest bit hotter and not a single person would be out here running around.

Lucky for you though, your boss, Jim, decided that it wasn’t all that bad. So against several complaints, you and all your coworkers got sent in today. Jim made the argument that yall had “Special Visitors” coming in today, and he couldn’t afford not having a full staff.

You’re not exactly sure what you expected out of the visitors, but you definitely weren’t expecting to pull up to an entire film crew sitting up by the stables.

“God this is gonna be fun”

You were able to avoid the filming going on outside all the way until your lunch break, which was unusual considering Jim is usually up your ass. Deciding to go for a quick smoke break you headed out to your car, only to be stopped by the sound of hollering and something falling over.

The sound was loud and the boisterous laughter following soon after had you not only curious, but a little frightened. Naturally, the curiousity got the best of you. Finding the source of all the noise wasn’t hard considering the large crowd of people.

Spotting one of your favorite coworkers, you pushed your way to the front to see what all the commotion is about.

“Janae, what in the hell is going on up here” you asked with an amused tone.

All she could do was laugh and shrug. Clearly confused as well, but mostly entertained.

Finally turning around to look at the group causing all the ruckus, they were interesting, to say the least. There was a boy with short black hair and black clothes, a goofy looking guy with a slightly grown out buzz cut, a guy with shoulder length brown hair, a blonde man with a beard, and a taller guy wearing a red cowboy hat.

odd group.

Standing in a circle of sorts, the 5 men were talking to the camera. It wasnt easy to make out what they were saying but there was definitely something along the lines of “horse shit” thrown in there. They stood around and talked for a minute before the man in the cowboy hat laughed loudly and ushered them away.

As they were all walking to do whatever it was they had planned out, your eyes seemed to linger on the cowboy a little longer than necessary. Finally taking the time to analyze his appearance, you realized he’s actually really fucking hot.

He had on a pair of dark sunglasses, dirty red converse that matched his hat, a little facial hair, and amazing arms. The sleeves of his t-shirt were tight around his biceps, and god did he look good.

You weren’t sure if it was the muscles, the light tan, or the way he was covered in sweat, but it drove you crazy. For the first time in a long time, the heat of the south was on your side.

The way you were staring must of caught the man’s attention, cause when you looked up he was staring right back at you. He smiled at you, and sent a small wave.

You waved back, but kept your smile small, trying to play it cool even though he had definitely saw you staring . He laughed a little, looking oddly flustered, and turned back to his group.

“Oh god, Janae i’m out. I’m gonna go find something to keep me busy. Bye baby.” you muttered out, a mixture of embarrassed and nervous. “Bye honey”

Taking long strides, you made your way back to work. Your mind still filtered back to what happened, you never get that flustered over random men!

What you didn’t know was that Johnny had watched you walk off. He had planned on showing off to get your attention, but you had left before they could even start the stunt.

“Knoxville i swear if you don’t get your head out of your ass i’m gonna smack the shit out of you.” ahhh Jeff always had such a way with words.

“Sorry man, i’m focused i swear” he wasn’t.

“No you weren’t, you were too busy checking out “mrs cowboy boots” over there.” Jeff laughed. Johnny just laughed, knowing he couldn’t deny it now.

“Listen, just get through this stunt and you can go talk to her during your break, ok man?” he swore. “ ok ok, let’s get this over with” he agreed before clapping Jeff on the back.

They had just finished all their stunts and Johnny was itching to come find you. He had been counting down the minutes until he could get off.

“Hey Jeff, i’m gonna go on over there, i’ll be back in a minute” Johnny shouted. “ok man, have fun” he shouted back, chuckling.

Immediately after getting the ok from Jeff, he ran off to find you. He must’ve searched around outside for more than fifteen minutes, but there was absolutely no sign of you. Right as he was about to give up, he saw the woman you were talking to earlier.

“Hey! Hey ma’am im sorry to bother you but umm” he paused, not knowing how to go about this without seeming like a creep. “i noticed you were talking to this woman earlier, and ive gotta ask, what’s her name”

Janae paused, trying to think of who he could be referring to. Once it finally hit her she smiled “Oh! was she wearing a white shirt and boots?”

“Yeah! yeah she was. What’s her name?” Johnny was almost bouncing he was so excited. “Yeah her names y/n, real sweet girl. She’s right inside that door over there if you want to go talk to her.”

Johnny swore at this moment that this woman was an angel. “Thank you so much, have a nice day!” he exclaimed, already turning around to go see you.

Once he finally got up to the door, he took a deep breath, making sure to collect himself. He opened up the door and walked inside, relieved to feel the cool air on his damp skin. He looked around for a quick minute before his eyes finally landed on you.

You were faced away from him, looking at some kind of paper. He took a second to admire you. A clean white shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and some roughed up cowboy boots.

God you were gonna be a problem, he could already feel it. He knew it as soon as he saw you outside, but seeing you up close made it so much worse. There was absolutely no reason for a woman to be so damn beautiful.

“Excuse me ma’am.”

Hearing another person in the once empty room startled you. You whipped around and took a second to catch your breath. Realizing it was the cute guy from earlier, you straightened yourself out and walked towards where he was standing.

“Oh gosh i’m so sorry, have you been standing there long? i was in my own little world over here” you admitted. “No, no i just got here, sorry to spook you.”

“No baby you’re fine, i should’ve been paying attention!” it was then that Johnny noticed your accent, and he could’ve sworn his knees almost buckled.

god she has a pretty smile.

shit he was staring.

“Ok, i’m just going to try to be straight forward here doll, i asked your friend outside where i could find you.” he admitted sheepishly. “I saw you out there while we were filming, and i was gonna come talk to you but you ran off before i could get the chance!”

All you could do was laugh. “Yeah i kinda dodged you a bit huh… my nerves got the best of me” you laughed. “So what’s your name cowboy?” you joked, motioning to his obnoxious red hat.

“Johnny, it’s nice to meet you.” he held his hand out for you to take. “Y/n, nice to meet you too.”

Feeling how much bigger his hands are than yours had you a little flustered. it was then you realized just how much bigger than you he really was. He had to be over 6 foot, and his wide shoulders added to the look.

“Well y/n, how would you feel about going out some time. I’m in town for a few more weeks if you’re interested.” Johnny questioned nervously.

Honestly you were shocked. There was absolutely no way this man who was not only handsome, but apparently pretty well known, was asking you out.

Your silence had Johnny worried, “If you don’t want to i understand completely, absolutely no pressure.”

“No, i’m sorry! i would love to!” you answered frantically, worried you had made a bad impression. “Why don’t you give me your number, and we can talk about getting together? I know some good places around here!”

Johnny let out a sigh of relief and smiled at you. God there was no way you were getting over that smile anytime soon.

“That sounds great doll”

THIS LITERALLY SUCKS IM SO SORRY!

IM HAVING SUCH BAD WRITERS BLOCK 😭 I HOPE YALL ARENT DISAPPOINTED 🙏

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD MAYBE LIKE A PART 2?!?

tags: @vaporub4ever @maddieeb3 @stplvrr @ilovewhiteboyz

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Arthur Dayne: Physical description and NSFW Alphabet edition

After the Arthur Dayne requests I received, I was sorely tempted to write up a full NSFW alphabet that could be used for future fics, so here it is, along with a brief physical description of him.

Themes: Smut

Warning: This post contains a wide variety of mature and explicit content (sex, positions, kinks, cum, etc.) | Mention of scars

Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

A/n: I write with the seasons of Westeros stretching over the usual three months per season, not years and years. Sorry not sorry, GRRM.

What does Arthur Dayne look like?

Arthur was born in the spring of 240 AC. He stands at 6’3, with a muscular frame to go with it. His skin is like the burnished gold sands of Dorne. Like his sister, Ashara, Arthur has rich, earthy brown hair and purple eyes, although his is pale, like lilacs. As a knight and a disciplined warrior, Arthur keeps his hair cropped short, just like his beard. Due to his long life as a warrior, Arthur’s body is covered in the scars of old wounds.

What is he like as a lover? Gentle, considerate and tender. As for the rest?

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): Arthur is big on pampering, like cuddles, words of endearment, and acts of service, such as bringing his partner a meal, a glass of water, or their favorite drink, or drawing a warm bath whenever possible.   

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) : On his partner’s, he loves their lips because he loves to kiss. Arthur rarely gets the chance to do so due to his being a knight of the King’s Guard. Discovery is dangerous, so as soon as an opportune moment presents itself, expect him to pull them into his embrace while he showers them with deep, soulful kisses.

For him, Arthur’s favorite body part is his arms. All the better to lift his love with, is his motto. The feel of his partner running their hands all over his arms while telling him how wonderfully strong he is, is intoxicating to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): Arthur Dayne is very much into finishing inside his partner, every single time. Nothing less would do for him. And there is no need to worry about unexpected epilogues. Arthur makes sure his partner has easy access to freshly prepared moon tea.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Arthur has one fantasy, and one fantasy only. To make love to his partner in the Round Room of the Sword Tower, and on top of the White Shield Table, no less.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): Despite being a sworn brother of the King’s Guard, Arthur still has plenty of experience, for he did not take up orders until he was twenty two.

He certainly knows what he is doing and is not afraid to put his experience, his hands and his tongue, to good use.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): On top, where he could look at his partner during the act, touch them all over, and kiss them. Or from behind, where he can still maintain control and set the pace.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): Arthur is very much a serious lover. The act of making love is precious to him, not something to be made light of. If he does make a joke, it would only be because it is his partner’s first time with him, and he wants them to be comfortable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): Arthur is well groomed, and takes good care of himself. He doesn’t have an excess of body hair, but there is a soft trail of dark brown hair trailing down his chest, ending in a similar colored thatch between his thighs.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): He is big on romance, setting the right scene, kissing, and taking his time to please his partner with lots of foreplay. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): Masturbation has little appeal, for he prefers the warmth of his partner’s body to the use of his hand. If he cannot find a partner, or if his partner is occupied elsewhere, Arthur will be content to wait.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): Arthur has little in the way of kinks. He is into slow and gentle lovemaking, but he will take his partner’s kinks into consideration, such as using blindfolds or feathers.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): The bedroom, naturally. Something about soft sheets and a softer bed, with wide windows letting in a cooling wind, appeals to him more than any other location.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): The sounds of his partner’s moans, the feel of them trembling against him, their urging to go harder and faster, always warms his blood fast.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Anything that can inflict pain of any kind on his partner. Hurting his partner, even to give them pleasure, is a huge turn-off for him, so his partner can expect to hear him saying no to requests such as spanking.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) : Arthur loves to give. He would spend all day between his partner’s legs if time and his duties permitted him to do so. He plants broad strokes with the flat of his tongue, sometimes slipping a finger or two into his partner’s hole while he goes down on them.

He loves to receive as well, often showering his partner with praise on how well they take him and how good their mouth is around his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): When it comes to pace, Arthur is on the slow and sensual side. He wants to make the most of his time with his partner, to explore their body, to savor every moment he has with them.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): Arthur has little interest in quickies, as he is a man who wants to take his time. He may be tempted into saying yes if his partner succeeds in appealing to his baser urges.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): Besides the yearning to take his partner over the White Shield Table in the Round room? Very little in the terms of risks and experimenting.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): Given how strong he is as a warrior, Arthur could go on for most of the night if he could. And it would be one marathon session that would leave his partner weak and exhausted by the end of it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): He does not own toys, but he may consider using something like a silk blindfold or feathers if his partner asks to.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): Arthur does not believe in denying his partner, except when they are being bratty. Then he will just deny them sex until they show they know how to behave.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): Arthur is on the quieter side. Soft grunts or groans are what his partner will hear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): Arthur once kissed his partner during the great tourney of 276 AC, and in his tent, when he came to rest before the final joust.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): He is decently proportioned, at around six inches. His cock is thick and veiny and more than a little sensitive. The right touch is enough to make him hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): Arthur has an average sex drive, and would never press his partner if they were not in the mood. Even kissing and cuddling are enough to satisfy him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward): He tends to fall asleep pretty fast, as he has to rise early and see to his duties. He will still hold his partner close to him while he rests and will wake them so he can give them a proper goodbye before he has to sneak back to the Red Keep.

[montrealmadison]

Tater 27 please ?

i have never written tater before - ever! - so this was incredibly fun! thank you so much for the prompt and for helping me stretch my writing muscles a little bit ❤️ the only things i know about patater are inspired by a frankly shocking quantity of sidgeno rpf so make of that what you will

27. tater + i’m so tired by lauv & Troye Sivan for @shygryf

Strangers, killing my lonely nights with strangers And when they leave, I go back to our song, I hold on Hurts like heaven, lost in the sound Buzzcut season like you're still around Can't unmiss you, but I need you now

Tater’s letting some girl he doesn’t know shoot tequila out of his belly button when he gets the text.

Kent Parson: you awake? Kent Parson: sorry know it’s late

It is late, three or so, and the club’s fun but the idea of not being here is just as good. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t care; he props his elbow on the table for better leverage and sends back, yes, and then ok?

Kent Parson: no Kent Parson: popped my achilles Kent Parson: we're out

Shit. That means the end of their playoff run, which in turn means about five hundred other things. He doesn’t even have the chance to formulate a response before Kent adds, will you come?

A cold thing settles in Tater’s chest, a weighty purpose that he doesn’t stop to examine. Maybe it's the shots making this seem like a good idea; of course he will, and that’s the end of it. There’s something about clambering up off the table, tequila soaking down into his open fly, and shouldering his way to the exit without a word that makes him feel about a thousand feet tall.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

Kent lives in a nice building. Not nice enough for the security guy downstairs to make any real effort to stop Tater from getting in, but then, Tater is six foot seven and built like the desks that lesser men hide behind. He hits the button for the elevator and zips upward, chewing on his lip, watching the numbers tick higher.

This is stupid. This is an absurd way to spend a thousand dollars and God knows how many days, catching a frantic red-eye to Vegas like he’s going to be able to do anything the Aces’ trainers haven’t already tried. It’s more absurd that he stands in the hallway with his fist poised to knock on Kent’s front door for at least five minutes, wondering if he should have brought food. Does the kid even eat? He’s awfully tiny.

He finally gets over himself and knocks. There’s a voice from inside at once: “Open.”

Tater does.

The apartment is nice, modern. It’s also a complete fucking mess. There are ostentatiously dirty shoes scattered all over the entryway, possibly-related scuff marks up the bare white walls. Tater has to do this dainty hop through a minefield of Yeezys just to make it to solid ground, and is very glad that no one can see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Parson?”

“In the living room.”

Tater drops his bag in the kitchen and heads for the voice. The close little hallway seems much more inviting than it did in the dark last time he was here, and the living room is spacious and airy without a couple hundred bodies packing it. There’s a big TV on one wall, running something trashy. In the middle of the room is that ugly couch, brown suede and covered with cat hair, and in the middle of the couch is Kent.

Relief spreads through Tater at once, numbing the tingle in his hands. Okay, so maybe he spent the whole five-hour trip picturing the worst-case scenario. Guys in their line of work are not, as a rule, great at handling their injuries, especially later in the season; Tater only has to look at Jack for proof of that one. But Kent’s eyes are clear, if tired and a little wet-looking, and he’s sprawled out comfortably with his hand in Kit’s fur and his wrapped ankle carefully supported by a pile of throw pillows. He’s wearing ratty old sweats, white socks gone gray on the bottoms, a couple days’ worth of scruff that marks his sorry excuse for a playoff beard. 

“Shit, man,” he says, seeing Tater in the doorway. “You came.”

“You call.” 

It’s not quite that simple, but somehow, faced with the fact of Kent’s obvious, boneless relief at having him here, it feels like the right sentiment.

“I did,” Kent says. He sounds croaky, exhausted. The deep shadows under his eyes make them look more green. Tater wonders if he’s slept, or how much. “Thanks.”

He has this weird impulse to poke the bear, which maybe isn’t fair to Kent, but it’s all he knows how to do. 

“You miss me?” he asks, slouching further into the room. Kit lifts her head imperiously to watch him settle a polite distance away on the couch. “That why you ask me, not teammate?”

This is the dynamic they built at the bar, in the darkness of Kent’s bedroom: push and pull, catch and release. Things are still too new, too fragile between them; they’ve never implied a sense of belonging to each other, or at least not the kind that prompts something like this. 

As it stands, Kent doesn’t play along with the teasing, and that’s what finally gives Tater a sense of how shitty he feels. 

“Let ‘em grieve, right?” he says listlessly, tipping his head into the back of the couch. “Shit game. Didn’t wanna bother them.”

You were okay with bothering me, Tater thinks but does not say. A guy you’ve hooked up with twice who lives across the country. What the fuck does that mean?

He knows what he wants, what he wants it to mean. It’s part of what caught his eye in the first place: this kid is so, so young to be a captain, to bear this weight. The Aces are out of the playoffs not because they played their hardest, but thanks to a non-call and an injury that’ll have Kent in PT all summer. Now he’s curled up on the couch in his disaster of an apartment with only the cat for company, his teammates pushed away or otherwise nowhere to be found. It’s incongruous with the spitfire who finds a reason to drop gloves every time they share the ice, who likes to have his wrists pinned down and kisses with too much teeth and, holy hell, called Tater in Providence when he got hurt.

“Bother me anytime,” Tater says before he can bite down on it. He scoots a little closer, clasping his hands briefly between his knees. “Poor Parson. Need friend when teammates being sad.”

Kent’s laugh turns into a cough and Kit scrambles off his chest, affronted. 

“Is that what you are?” he asks. “My friend?”

“Maybe,” Tater hums, pretending to consider. “Well. Maybe not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kent echoes. He sounds puzzled. “Okay?”

“We not really know each other,” Tater says. Maybe it’s mean, the way this is lighting him on fire. Kent likes to bottom, but never to lose control; even in bed he runs his mouth like everything that comes out of it is gospel truth. Opportunities to catch him on the back foot are few and far between, and—well. Tater likes to take care of his people, likes to show them love, and above all likes a challenge.

“We don’t—”

Tater decides to take pity on him. “Sex not knowing, Parson. Think maybe you think that way.”

Okay, yeah, this is definitely mean. Kent’s breath is coming faster, and the line of his jaw is set and trembling. But Tater wants to push him a little bit, get his money’s worth for the flight, the worry; Kent can pay him back in kind, and will. Tater just has to help him get there.

“So what if I do?” Kent asks. His laugh is tiny. “Man, I’m confused. Not like we’ve had much more time to figure each other out.”

And yet you asked me here, Tater thinks, and decides to play his trump card.

“It’s summer. You not play, I’m not play.” Tater spreads his hands wide, goes for broke and scoots in close to curl a hand slow and sinuous around Kent’s good ankle. “Need rest, someone to take care. Seem like good time to me.”

Kent’s breath catches in his throat. He smells sweaty and kinda gross, but his smile is soft, a fragile thing, and Tater knows he’s gotten it right. 

“Captive audience,” Kent says, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Tater agrees, and leans in to meet his mouth.

[nami-lvr]

Correct OP: Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Ft: Shanks, Law, Ace, Sabo, Marco, Smoker, and princess Vivi

A/N: I love everyone on this list like for real come kiss me Vivi 🙁🙁 SHANKS TOO. HE IS SO FINE. SO IS ACE. LIKE GYYYYYAT!! Next part is Enel, Katakuri, Big Mom, Kidd, Arlong, and Yamato (last part)

Shanks

Loud ass snoring

Does not care

Aaabsolutley pulls bitches

Marines or not marines

Paints his nails the brightest most noticeable colors

Bright yellow

Hot pink

Neon green

Absolutely outstanding father

10/10 dad

The one you call to get drunk or high or cross faded with

Would deal his kids weed to make sure they stay safe

Would also give alcohol recommendations

all when they’re legally allowed ofc

Law

Definitely

A lil fruitcake

Sorry to all Law simps but he is AroAce and atp it’s cannon

Would not be into romance at all

Ever

He would definitely read gay dirty books though

“I WAS JUST CURIOUS-“

Boooo lame excuse

Like

Ok gay ass 🥸

Would dress like a teen boy trying to be cool

Would be an outstanding father if he ever had kids

Would be so into Star Trek not even joking

Speaking Klingon and allat

Stoner

WEED SMOKER

Is a Math/Science kinda smart guy

Ace

I do not give a single shit what this GIF looks like

Ace has a hooked nose

And crooked teeth

And heterochromia

One green eye one brown eye type shit

Is color blind

The green and red kind

Can not drive

Do not let him behind the wheel

Please

Got that greasy hair

That unwashed stench

Overgrown armpit hair

Has a forest under there

A REALLY GOOD LOOKING HAPPY TRAIL ☹️☹️

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GOOD HIS HAPPY TRAIL LOOKS I SWEAR TO YOU

Sabo

This motherfucker is inSANE

Bro needs to go back to the mental health institution

Has a gold tooth

Has cologne on always

And it smells so good

Doesn’t brush his hair

But its fine bc he really pulls off the messy look

Tried to grow a beard and it did not look good

Is very organized

Is insecure about his scars

(Secretly) looks at guys

Not so secretly looks at girls

Is definitely bisexual

TRANSGENDER

Choked on the devil fruit when he ate it

Messy eater

CROOKED NOSE

It’s basically facts that the ASL brothers have crooked noses

Except for Ace with his hooked nose

Can speak Spanish but not Portuguese

Loser can’t speak the language he grew up around 💀💀

Marco

Just GET A DIFFERENT BARBER GYAT DAMN 😭😭

At least get a fade

Has male pattern baldness

Knows his hair is bad (doesn’t care)

Has cavities

Doesn’t floss

Does not wear deodorant

would definitely dress grungy

And or punk

And have a mohawk sometimes ;p

And think he’s the shit

When he needs to fix that GODDAMN HAIR

He would be gay

Oh my god how gay he would be

Has SEX

This guy FUCKS

Idk how but I feel like he pulls some major bitches

Smoker

TBH I would fuck him and I’m literally asexual

So yk this dude is getting it on

Has tried to smoke 20 cigars at once

Succeeded somehow

Type of guy to say “I bet five dollars that___” and always lose

But does it anyways

GOD at rock paper scissors

You may win the first time you play him, but that’s because he’s watching your tactics

Sneaky little bastard

Straight and Cis but fully supports the LGBTQIA+

“They don’t bother me, and even if a queer person did bother me, it would only be that specific one. Not all of them.”

It makes no sense how people get bullied for things they can’t control

Very stand up kinda guy

Beats up bullies type of fella

Princess Vivi

She is so fine istg

She would for sure pull

Would have an unbelievably dark past by age 30

God of never have I ever

Would just own everyone in it

The coolest backstory

Paints her nails to match her hair

Looks really good in modest dresses

Uh

She’s Hispanic

Not sorry

For real she is

I think she would really like cats

Keeps in contact with the strawhats

Buys them things and all that

Gives them supply crates like food and fresh ingredients

Really likes working with kids

Would be an amazing and patient teacher

Would have a really good singing voice

Looks absolutely amazing in white

[todayis-snowy]

biiiig storm hawks sketchdump

[vechkinfan]

Jack

A/n: I found this little one shot while I was looking through the deep dark depths of my google docs the other day and figured I might as well share it. Its a young Joker fic, and my fist time writing for the joker so please take it easy on me!😁

Pairing: Joker x OFC

Summary: A brief glimpse into the Jokers past, memories that he would rather keep buried, memories that reminded him of someone that held his heart. A heart that now burned for Gotham's reckoning.

Warnings: Talks of abuse, swearing, angst, vague talk of death

Jack found himself climbing the dirty, half rotten stairs of his apartment building. The light bulbs on every other floor, blown out or stolen, casting a darkness over him as he made his way up. 

His mother had one of her 'friends' as she liked to call them, over. So he made himself scarce for the afternoon, like he always managed to. Jack weaseled his way out of the apartment when those creeps were over. Especially the ones who would come right in and give him those looks. Those perverted sideways eyes when his mother was too plastered to notice any different. Looks that sent a piercing shiver across his whole body, and an uneasiness to settle in his gut.  He much preferred the men who would come over and pretended like he didn't exist. 

The sun had long since started to sink in the sky  as he climbed the stairs towards home and Jack knew he had to make it before the streetlights in the narrows started to flicker. The evil in his apartment was one thing, but the evils that lurched about once all the sunlight was extinguished in the sky was much more frightening. 

Rounding the last flight of stairs, his eyes landed on a girl  sitting at the top of them. Her back pressed against the door jam of the closest apartment door.  One foot stretched out in front of her blocking his path and the other bent, shaking vigorously on the next step down. 

She was sucking on a red popsicle, as her fingers drummed against the skin of her knee that poked free from a hole in her ratty jeans. 

Jack knew she just moved in a few months back, but he never crossed paths with her before now. However every time he opened the door to let in one of his mothers 'friends', she would be sitting at the top of those stairs. Usually a pack of playing cards in her hands, flicking them one by one, aimlessly down to the next landing. 

"What flavor is that?" Jack asked, curious at what her voice would sound like. He'd been intrigued by her presence the moment he saw her all those weeks ago. 

Pulling the half melted popsicle from her mouth, the girl turned her head slightly to gaze towards him. Her dark brown hair in a curly mess that covered half of her face, but not enough for Jack to miss the darkness of her left eye. It almost appeared black, the deep brown of her iris engulfing her pupil, giving her a truly ominous appearance. 

"Cherry." She answered, her voice nothing what he expected. It held a delicate raspiness, nowhere near the point where it matched Ms. Emerson two floors up who had been smoking 3 packs a day since the depression. There was a softness to it though, one that made Jack want to hear more from her.  "You live in the apartment cross from me don't you?" 

Nodding his head, Jack shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Sure do." 

She sat in silence after that, and he stood a few stairs below quietly staring at her. His feet shuffling against the creaky old floor board, wondering if this would be the end of their talk. Perhaps it'd be the last time they spoke at all. Jack knew the Narrows had people shuffling around from place to place, like one of them scam shell games. She very well could be gone by morning. 

 "I can bring you one next time…. If you want?" Swinging her leg around, she sat so she was facing him. Both feet planted one step down as she licked the red sugary liquid that was starting to drip down the wooden popsicle stick and onto the top of her hand. 

"I got two left in the freezer." Her voice was soft and held a nervousness that made fighting off a sly grin for Jack very difficult.  

"Yeah, I'd like that." Hustling up the stairs, Jack found himself sitting down beside her. 

His eyes getting a better glance at the girl, in the low light of the stairwell. Now he could tell she was using her hair to hide the right side of her face. Her right eye was an awful shade of purple, and the lid swollen so badly Jack knew she must be having a hard time seeing. 

As he let his eyes pan across her face, he noticed her lip that was stained with cherry popsicle was also busted open. The girl next to him seemed to have come from a similar home as himself. It was near luck that Jack hadn't gotten his ass handed to him by one of his mother friends in a while. Talking back was a habit that he couldn't quit no matter how much he was beaten for it. Not to mention the fit of laughter that usually escaped his thin lips as a belt or a fist swung in his direction didn't help either. 

"You got a name?" He asked, finally dragging his eyes back to meet her dark gaze. 

"Billy." 

Furrowing his brow and giving his head a subtle tilt, he wondered if she was fucking with him.

"That's a boy's name." He puffed out a small laugh. However the girl beside him didn't react at all. 

"I know, you don't gotta remind me." She shrugged her shoulders, before finishing off the popsicle and throwing the wood stick down the stairs. 

"It's  your nickname right?" Jack couldn't quite stop himself with the questions. Usually he kept to himself and avoided people, but she…  there was just something  different about her. Something that drew Jack in like a moth to a flame. 

He knew his interest was purely the result of her moving directly across the hall and appearing to be close to his age, if she had moved three flights up and was a little frilly girl, Jack was sure he wouldn't have even batted an eyelash in her direction as he carried on home. 

Shaking her head and rolling her eye, she was the one to laugh now. "No, my momma lost her first baby, who was a boy when he was real little. She ain't been right in the head since." Jack watched as she picked at the frayed edge of the side pocket of her faded army green vest while she spoke. "So when she found out she was having me, she just knew I was a boy. The doctors told her different, but she didn't really care what they thought. So she named me Billy." 

Shoving her hands into her vest pockets now, she quickly pulled out her deck of cards and began to shuffle them absentmindedly. 

"Billy's not a bad name, I mean there was Billy the kid that robbed banks in the old west right? Like some badass cowboy outlaw… Maybe one day I could live up to that name." Jack's eyes watched as she expertly flipped the cards against themselves, the loud noise filling the hallway. 

"Hate to break it to you, Billy the kid never robbed banks. He's just known for murdering people."

Peering up at him from the corner of her eye, her posture deflated, "Oh…." Billy sighed. 

They sat there in silence after that, Jack feeling some form of regret telling her about Billy the kid. The girl had seemed thrilled in her blissful unawareness, so happy with only a shared name that connected the two. Which was utterly ridiculous, and in any other circumstance Jack would have enjoyed watching the girls dreams come crashing down from the clouds. However it was like a small light had been snuffed inside of her and Jack hated that he caused that. Which blew his mind, cause why would he care about some girl he just met and her no good thoughts. She'd be gone in a few weeks, out of his life for good! The narrows would swallow her up just like it did the other kids, and he really shouldn't have cared. But he did on some level, and it fucking bothered him. 

"Billy where the fuck you at, you little piece of shit?" An angry voice screamed from just beyond the door she had been leaning against. The abruptness caused the girl to flinch and drop the stack of cards she was holding. 

They fell like dominos down the stairs, fluttering off in all sorts of directions. Making a fucking mess. 

Jack watched as she threw herself off the steps and down the stairs chasing after all the playing cards. "Fuck I'm gonna be in so much trouble." She muttered to herself as she frantically began the daunting task. 

Without much thought, Jack did something that surprised himself again. He stood up and grabbed a few of the cards that had fallen towards the top of the stairs. Bunching them together in his hand, before looking down at the Ace of hearts that was face up. The corner dog-eared like a well read book, from constant use probably. 

"I said where the fuck you at girl." A man ripped the door open to her apartment, and stumbled out. The stench of bad tequila filling the air almost immediately.

"I-im I'm sorry I…" Billy stuttered out as she crawled on the ground grabbing the last of the cards.  Her hands trembled bad enough that Jack could tell from where he stood that she was terrified. 

Eyeing the man cautiously, Jack saw him take a step closer to the edge of the stairs. His arm raised slightly, fingers twitching, ready to strike her hard when she finally made her way back to him. 

"Sorry, I tripped into Billy while I was coming down the steps. Made her drop her cards." Jack lied with a laugh, and held up the few in his hands. "I was just helping her pick them up." 

The drunken slob of a man, took a steadying breath, probably knowing he couldn't pummel a kid that wasn't his own. The man's overtly round face, covered in a patchy beard and a badly trimmed mustache that had the remnants of cheese puffs littered throughout it, gave Jack a nasty look. His lip turned up in pure disgust. 

"Yeah well watch where you fucking walk next time." He flicked his hand at Jack, and then turned his attention to Billy. Who was now standing up straight at the bottom of the landing, cards in hand. "You, " He pointed at her with a chubby accusatory finger, "pick up your goddamn mess and get in the house, and don't make me fucking tell you again." 

Jack watched as the man turned ungracefully on his heel and stumbled back from the pit in which he came. Slamming the door behind him with such power, some of the cracked plaster on the ceiling fell to the floor.

"You didn't have to lie." 

"I know." He heard her take a few hesitant steps up, until she was standing side by side with himself. "I ain't in the mood to watch an ass kicking at the moment." He couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped him at his own humorless joke. 

Tilting his head towards Billy, he finally held out the few cards that he managed to collect. She greedily took them back into her possession, and Jack watched as the girl seemed to be counting them to herself. Her fingers flipping past each number making sure they were all accounted for. 

"Thank you." Her voice was softer than anything Jack had ever heard as she finished what she was doing and tucked the cards back into her vest pocket. 

"He hit you a lot?" Jack asked aloud, as the girl pushed past him and towards her apartment door. 

Shrugging her shoulders, Billy nodded her head. "Not as much as my real dad did, so I'm lucky enough. I know some kids got it worse than me, so I'm not complaining."

"Lucky?" He quirked a brow at her choice of words. Luck was nowhere to be seen in the Narrows, especially not in that girls apartment. 

Perhaps the girl had been struck in the head so many times it actually made her dense. It wouldn't be a surprise to him if that was the case, because no one, and he meant no one, would ever call themselves lucky with the life she seemingly led. 

"You got to believe in something, right?" She smirked. "Luck seems more plausible than some god or a superhero saving me. Plus I got this." Reaching back into her pocket the girl drew out a single card, and quickly flicked it over to him.

Jack caught it and huffed an amused laugh. His eyes falling upon the joker card that belonged to her deck. The jester was skillfully juggling three knives while he balanced with one foot on a large green and purple circus ball. The character itself was off putting, his face painted white, his lips smudged with red paint  that made his maniacal grin even more pronounced. His jester hat constructed out of oddly colored rattlesnakes, multiple wrapped around one another to give its iconic shape. Their rattling tails hung as the bells at the tips. It was clearly far from the typical playing card one could get at the Bodega down the block. 

"It's my lucky card, bad things don't happen as often when I have it on me." 

Jack couldn't help but continue to stare at it. The wheels in his mind spun endlessly with hundreds of questions, but he knew he'd never have time to get them answered. She was on borrowed time as it was, and he didn't want to hold her up further. Cause if he did, the girl probably wouldn't be able to see at all next time he ran into her. The guy inside, smashing her other eye to the point it was swelled shut as well. 

Looking up into her eyes, Jack attempted to hand it back. But Billy just shook her head at him. 

"You keep it, it's the least I can do after you saved my ass. Maybe it will bring you some luck." She smiled at him before turning and opening her apartment door making her exit. 

"If you give me this, won't your luck be gone?" His words stopped her in her tracks. But all Jack could focus on was her soft laughter.

Without turning to face him, she pulled another card free from her pocket, twisting it expertly between two fingers so the face of it was in Jack's direction. An inverted match to the very card that he held in his hands. "There's always two jokers." 

Just as quick as she pulled it free, Billy shoved it back into her pocket, "See you around." She chuckled before disappearing into her apartment. Leaving Jack alone in the stairwell, staring quizzically at the place the girl once was. His lip twitching up in amusement, before he shook his head clear of their encounter. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The joker cracked an eye open as he startled awake. It was a rare occurrence in recent years that his dreams would startle him out of sleep. That was only reserved for a specific time in his life, and that was not now anymore. 

His half sleep blurred vision instantly focused on the ever growing water stain that was spreading across the ceiling tiles. It's dark brownish edges tainting the once white paint, giving the already run down room a greater sense of abandonment. 

His hand stretched out wantingly, his long fingers gripping into the cool sheets of the spot next to him. The spot that had been vacant for many years now. An emptiness that slowly consumed him in absolute sorrow, and then engulfed him in a burning rage, no one could ever put out. 

It was a pain that radiated through the Joker like a poison when his mind traveled to her. Pleading for him to remember, remember a time when things were pleasant. When she was by his side, and in his bed, places he could keep her safe. 

But he couldn't, the day Gotham took her from him was the day its reckoning started. They would all pay, every last one of them.

[amchara]

Road to Hell (Wait for Me, I'm Coming) Pt 1 - Kit / Ty fanfic

An expanded version of this Orpheus and Eurydice post

Part one tonight, fingers crossed part two tomorrow!

--

The silence in the Faerie wood was deafening.

Ty stared at the spot in the clearing where Kit had just been standing. His last words echoed in Ty’s mind, as he lifted up his chin and said. “Take me instead.” He had spared a glance at Ty, clear blue eyes burning with purpose and another message that Ty was still trying to decipher before he had vanished.

Dru and Anush came rushing over and Ty allowed Dru to help him up. Ty could feel his muscles aching from where he had been thrown but he barely paid attention.

“What just happened?” Dru asked, her freckles standing out her pale face. “Where’s Kit gone?”

A giggle erupted from a pocket of thick bushes nearby. Ty didn’t even stop to think, he plunged in, a knife appearing by instinct in his hand as he hauled out the short, wiggling goblin and shoved him up against the nearest tree.

“Where did that Faerie take him?” he spat out, his mind spinning as he suddenly struggled to deal with the fact that Kit. Was gone.

The goblin stopped giggling; its voice sing-song in its malice as it said: “To Hades. You’ll never see him again, Nephilim.”

The world narrowed to a pinprick, on its horrible face and mocking smile. Ty could see the splash of red on the goblin’s throat growing, as his knife started carving in, before Anush’s hand wrenched it out of his hand, as he pulled Ty away.

The goblin snarled, its shark teeth flashing in the fading sunlight as it scurried away.

“What the hell, Ty?” Anush was shaking from the effort, and Ty stopped fighting him, allowing his knife to fall on the ground.

His mind latched on what Anush had just said. “Hell… I know where he’s gone.”

He whirled around and started walking out of the clearing, already starting to connect the dots of the plan, his fingers tapping out a pattern on his weapons belt as he thought.

*

The audience with the Unseelie King was held in a smaller, private room, rather than the grey throne room, strewn with boulders. Kieran looked grave. “I have no authority over Hades and his realm… it is an ancient part of Faerie that has never ceded to either Seelie or Unseelie rule. There are tales that it is a remnant of the original demon realm from the demon who helped sire the Fae.”

He paused, as he took in Ty, and his voice softened. “Hades is one of his eldest children, it is said. I have never heard of anyone who has returned from his realm-- it is said they are as good as… dead.”

Ty could feel Mark’s gaze on him, from where he was standing beside Kieran and he surged forward, as if to touch Ty on the shoulder or give him a hug.

Ty neatly sidestepped him and Mark stopped short. “Ty- we can keep looking but…” and in his voice Ty could hear the truth - and Mark would not sugarcoat it for him. He thought Kit was gone.

“I see,” Ty said, and for the second time that day, he started walking away. Distantly, he knew that he should be more polite and continue the conversation but he couldn’t. Not while Kit was in the literal underworld and he was out here. Not when he had failed before with Livvy. That wasn’t about to happen again.

Ty searched out the Herondale necklace that he wore below Livvy’s locket, stroking it as he thought. This time… this time would be different.

*

The Underworld was… not what Kit had expected. But maybe that was on him, as despite not being religious, he still pictured hell as a fiery pit filled with demons, torturing the souls of wicked people.

This was not that - but it was still hot, Kit admitted. The weak fluorescent lights showed grey and brown walls rising up twenty feet or more, the roof barely visible with no light shining in from the dirty windows, while machinery and sparks flew around and workers with dull, lifeless faces walked past.

The Faerie guard pushed him down another corridor and Kit felt trepidation as they neared a heavy-looking wooden door, with a sign spelling out the word: BOSS in stark black lettering.

“Good to know I’m important enough to be taken to the person in charge,” Kit said, but he felt his heart sinking. He knew it had been a stupid plan but he had panicked - he knew currently he had one ace - that he was the heir of the First Descendent - but that was as likely to get him killed as get him out of a sticky situation.

The Faerie guard smirked, as he shoved Kit through the door. “The Boss sees all new workers.”

And then he closed the door, leaving Kit to stand face to face with Hades.

Kit wasn’t that up on his mythology but Hades wasn’t what he had expected - no Disney villain with grey skin and burning flames for hair or a toga-ed bronzed man with the abs of a literal Greek God, but make no mistake- this version was still impressive.

He looked at Kit from where he was sitting behind a rich mahogany desk, a burly man in his sixties, in a sharply-cut black suit and a full head and beard of snow white hair.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve caught a pretty angel bird in my trap,” he said, his deep voice almost crooning, as he laid down a fountain pen and folded his hands in front of him.

Kit cleared his throat. “Yeah- well, I came of my own free will- to protect my friends,” he said.

Hades took in Kit, from his torn and dirty gear to the unhealed cuts on his face when Kit had still attempted to escape when they first arrived at the underworld’s gates. “Is that so?” he said, his amused chuckle almost a rumble.

He pulled out some sheaves of paper from a drawer and pushed them across his desk in front of Kit. He held out his pen. “In that case, I’m sure you’re happy to sign the contract.”

Contract… something in Kit’s memory screamed out a warning but he found himself mesmerized by Hades’ eyes - there were the flames, he thought - burning like a fire’s dying embers. He walked towards the desk and he felt his hand pick up the pen, almost of its own volition and moving towards the papers.

Behind him, the door opened and a woman’s musical voice rang out, cutting through the spell. “Hades? Are you almost finished with your work?”

Kit jerked back and he dropped the pen, the ink spilling out on the page.

The woman came around to stand beside Hades, her full figure brushing past Kit as she walked past, and her green eyes burned brightly in her dark face as she examined him.

Hades stood and he placed a possessive arm around the woman, whose small wince was so fleeting that Kit wasn’t sure he had seen it.

“Almost, my darling,” Hades said. His voice was sharp as he barked at Kit, who was surreptitiously trying to find an escape or at least, a weapon. “Stop.”

His compulsion was strong but Kit tried fighting back anyway. He summoned the brief training he had had with Tessa on his fae powers. It might have worked too, if the woman hadn’t looked at him, a slow smile emerging on her face. “Oh, he is a pretty one…” She reached out and grabbed Kit’s hand. “You must stay here.”

“Sign the contract,” Hades commanded.

Kit signed.

(Part Two)

@dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @thechangeling @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid @jesse-is-spiraling

(let me know if you don't want to be tagged! Or if anyone else wants to be tagged - no worries either way)

[mrs-gucci]

The Angel, Chapter One: Intel {Flip Zimmerman x biker!Reader}

Chapter One: “Intel”

series summary. The Angels are the newest biker gang in town, looking to dethrone the current high-riders, The Sharks, a notoriously violent gang. Fresh off the Klan case, Detective Flip Zimmerman and his new partner, Detective Ron Stallworth, are tasked with finding out more information about this new gang. After a passionate affair behind the bar with a mysterious woman calling herself Siren, Flip discovers that perhaps he’s a bit closer to this investigation than he originally counted on. Can he manage to use this newly-recruited ally to not only take down The Sharks before they strike again, but perhaps use it to benefit his lonesome personal life as well? Find out all this and more in “The Angel”!

chapter summary. Flip and Ron head over to Ace’s, a local bar in Colorado Springs to gather intel on The Angels, the newest biker gang in town. The young detective gets more than he bargained for when he meets and beds a mystery woman named Siren. Except ‘Siren’ ends up being the last person Flip expected to get intimate with and now, he’s entangled in this case, both professionally and personally.

table of contents. Intel (NSFW) * Saint Siren Turned  Sharks Intercepted Epilogue

(a * indicates where you are in the table of contents)

author’s notes: hello, hello! saw a few bikers as I was driving on the highway, and my mind decided that I wanted to write a multi-chap fic about flip with a biker gang reader love interest. I love exploring the whole ‘flip with an independent/dom fem reader’ trope. so, here I am, designating an entire ten chapters to it.

**this multi-chap will have 5 parts total (4 ‘story’ chapters and an epilogue). due to the shorter number of chapters/parts, expect each to be longer, usually between 4-6k words.

word count: 6.1k 

warnings: smut. heavy flirting. swearing. a generous amount of dirty talk. degradation. oral sex. reader smokes. use of the term ‘pig’ to describe the police.

(possible) tw’s: tobacco use (as is canon for flip’s character). public sex.

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268​ (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist. I’m also willing to do a series-specific taglist if enough people are interested!)

---

“Alright, everyone. Rumor has it that there’s a new biker gang in town, called ‘The Angels’.” Chief Bridges says. “We gotta be on top of this, make sure they’re not the violent type.”

Flip rubs his chin, stroking his beard as he listens to the limited intel the department has on this new group. 

“I’m putting Zimmerman and Stallworth on this one. You’re gonna hang out at some of the local watering holes, see if you can gather some more information on this new group.”

His eyebrows raise and he looks over at his partner. “C’mon Chief, don’t you think our talents could be used elsewhere? It’s just an intel mission, a beat cop could do it.”

“This is incredibly important, Zimmerman, and I only trust my top talent to do the job right.” Bridges crosses his arms, staring daggers at the dark-haired detective. “It’ll be a quick job, I’m sure. No more than a week’s time. Now, get over yourself and do the damn job.”

He huffs softly, nodding as he looks away. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“You’ll head to Ace’s tonight, since that’s where they’re said to hang the most. Meeting dismissed.”

Everyone piles out of the small conference room and back out into the bullpen. Flip lights a cigarette as he sits down at his desk and continues typing up a report from last week’s home invasion-robbery. 

Ron sets the ‘Angels’ file down on his desk a few minutes later, sighing as he sits on the edge.

“What are you thinkin’ about this case, Flip?”

“I just wanna get it over with, rookie.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging and taking a drag. “I think it’s nothing to worry about, since they haven’t done anything yet, but the Chief wants us to check it out so I guess we have to.”

Ron nods.

“Well, we’ll head over to Ace’s after work. Hopefully we’ll find something and then we can get back to finding the Sharks.”

The Sharks were the biggest gang in Colorado Springs, spreading violence and dominating the northern part of town. But, all of them wore masks or helmets with masks, so no one’s been able to identify any of them. 

“Mmhmm.”

Flip hums, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the mug on his desktop.

Before he knows it, the clock hand lands on 6, and everyone starts packing up. Flip gets up and puts his freshly-typed reports on the Chief’s desk before heading over to Ron’s desk. 

“You ready to go, rookie?” He asks, hopping up on his partner’s desk.  “I need a fuckin’ beer.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head as he stands up and both men walk back to get the mics and listening equipment together. Flip clips the lauve to his white undershirt, then re-buttons his signature buffalo plaid flannel. 

They head out and hop into Flip’s pickup truck. He pulls away from the station and heads down the freeway towards Ace’s while Ron sets up all the audio equipment in the front seat. 

The parking lot of Ace’s is almost full when the two detective’s pull in, and when Flip puts the truck in park, he immediately catches sight of a series of bikes parked at the front. 

“They’re here.” He says in a low voice, nodding over to the bikes.  “I’m gonna go check the jackets to make sure.”

Flip casually gets out from the cab and walks over. He sees one of the jackets draped over the seats with the words ‘The Angels’ and a logo on the back. 

“Yup,” He says to Ron through the window of his truck. “It’s them.”

Ron’s eyes widen slightly. “Well then, get in there, partner. See what you can find.”

He chuckles, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter on as he walks into the bar. His eyes scan the room, looking for biker-like characters, but his attention is quickly drawn to a certain young woman sitting at the bar. 

She’s not much younger than himself, if Flip had to guess, and her subtle smile was infectious. Flip was absolutely taken with her, but he maintained his cool, approaching the bar. 

“Hey, Earl.” He says, leaning against the bar.  “Get me a Miller, would you?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender nods, giving Flip a handshake before heading over to the beer fridge. 

You can’t help but look over at the handsome man that’s leaning against the bar. His eyes move over to you, and yours dart away quickly. He smirks, and when you look back over, he gives you a quick wink.

Your cheeks warm as you and the handsome stranger make eyes at each other. You’ve only been in town for a little while, and you’ve certainly never seen someone like him around before. 

Once the bartender hands him the dark brown bottle, mister tall, dark and handsome casually makes his way over to where you’re seated. His presence is intimidating in itself, patrons suddenly hushing their voices as he stands behind you.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a low voice, smirking. You chuckle.

“Perhaps, although you don’t have much competition. The human eye is naturally drawn to the most appealing sight in the room and quite frankly, I’m so damn tired of looking at old white men. You were the reprieve.”

“Mmhmm.” Flip laughs, sitting down next to you at the bar, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he flicks his lighter on. “I’m impressed at your ability to spin such a convenient story for your obvious ogling.”

“Don’t act so innocent, prettyboy. Your eyes were not keeping to themselves either.”

You huff softly, taking a drink, the smoke from his latest drag clouding the space between you.

 “Perhaps.” He retorts, taking a sip of his beer before looking over at you. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to know.” You hum softly. “You can call me Siren.”

His eyebrows furrow.  “Siren, really? What, is that a nickname or something?”

“Something, yes.”

He’s intrigued by your mysterious and closed-off presence, your casual yet extremely confident demeanor. God, how he’d love to make you crumble on his cock, scream his name and beg him for release.

The thought has him stirring in his Levi’s.

“Phillip.” He says after a beat of silence, taking a drag off his cigarette. “In case you were wondering.”

Back in the truck, Ron shakes his head. “Did you really just use your own name, Zimmerman?”

Flip realizes his slight mistake, mentally kicking himself for not having an alias name already prepared.

Your finger swirls around the rim of the whisky glass. “I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment. He liked this game you’re playing with him, in fact, he loves it. 

Finally, a woman giving him the thrill of the chase, making him work for it.

“Are you new in town, Miss Siren? I think I would remember seeing someone like you around here before.”

You nod silently. “Got here a few weeks ago. I’ve got some business to take care of, y’know, tie up some loose ends and such. Then I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush in getting out of here? You don’t like it?”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like you’re sad to hear that I’ll be leavin’ soon, prettyboy.”

He huffs softly in amusement, although his liking of your nickname for him is much greater than he anticipated or would ever admit aloud.  “No, nothing like that. Just curious, is all.”

“I’m more of a city girl. All this fresh mountain air makes me sick.” You quip, smiling softly. “I like the polluted smell of New York much better.”

Flip laughs. “Oh, a city slicker. Yuck.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. He’s kinda cool.

“What, Colorado Springs isn’t enough to convert you, or at least open your mind to the idea?”

He takes one final long drag before crushing the butt out in the ashtray on the bar.

Your eyes linger on his seated figure for a moment before turning your attention back directly in front of you.

“Well, now that I’ve met some more of the locals, I’m thinkin’ about it a little more.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowers an octave as he leans in a bit closer, one of his large calloused hands now resting on your denim-covered thigh. You shiver slightly beneath his touch, the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly-chopped lumber intoxicating as it ensnares your senses.

“I think you’d like it out here, if you gave it a shot. We’ve got a few things New York can’t offer.”

You’re biting your lip as his husky voice rasps in your ear, his close proximity thickening the tension between you. You haven’t been this rattled by a man in a long time, and damn, it feels good.

“Oh really? And what is that, besides trees and grass, hm?”

His chuckle makes you squirm in your seat.

“Men. Real men. Not the city pussies that gel their hair up all fancy and can’t get a speck of dirt on themselves without throwin’ a damn fit. I mean...”

“Big,” He leans a bit closer.  “Strong,” Closer. “Men.”

His lips are practically on top of your ear now, hot breath tickling your eardrum. He smirks. “And that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it, slick? A big strong man to take care of you, protect you...satisfy your every whim and desire.”

You can barely see straight, vision blinded by the sheer lust rolling off his tongue. He’s so damn cocky, a real alpha male type, and you were eating it up. You couldn’t wait to break him.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it, prettyboy.” You say, voice unwavering as you turn to look him directly in the eyes with a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lip.  “So why don’t you go ahead and prove it, hm? I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw clenches along with his fists, body turning lurching forward slightly to the edge of the chair, now fully facing your side. 

“You’re walking an awfully thin line with that trap of yours, slick. I’d watch yourself, ‘cause the folks out here won’t hesitate, like city folk do, to make an example outta brats like you.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you lean forward a bit, challenging him right back. “Lotta big talk from you this evening, prettyboy, but no action has come to match these claims. All bark, no bite, just like everyone else in this town.”

Flip is hard as a fucking rock, erection urgently pressing against the seam of his Levi’s, but he can’t even focus on that right now. You work him up like no one else ever has before, and he’s not about to let you just leave with the last word. No, he’ll have the last word tonight if it fucking kills him.

“You wanna see some fuckin’ bite, slick?” He growls, standing up and grabbing hold of your jaw, keeping a firm grip on it. “Talk to me like that again and see what happens.”

You grin deviously, wrapping your hand around his wrist, holding it as you remove your jaw from his grip.

“Heard it all before and nobody’s gotten me just yet. You’re no different, prettyboy.”

A twenty is thrown on the tabletop and then you’re leaving.

His blood is boiling, cock twitching with excitement as he lets you walk out of the bar, letting you think you can get away with this. Then, as soon as you’re outside, he strides across the room, flings the door open, and grabs your arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He walks you to the side alley and pins you to the bricks, body caging yours in. You’re breathless and defenseless against him as his wiry whiskers tickle the side of your neck. His legs spread out and his large hands grip your hips as he scoops down, grinding his arousal against your ass with one long, rough stroke.

The denim-trapped bulge presses incessantly against your backside when he stills and lights up a smoke behind you, taking a brief drag, exhaling through his nose.

“Y’know, I work hard all damn day, seven days a week, bust my fuckin’ ass to get shit done.” He stands up again, kicking your ankle so your legs spread open. You gasp softly at his brazen moves, which only fuels his arousal. “I come here to kick back a few beers and have a few cigarettes, relax, unwind…”

 His hands yank your jeans down your hips suddenly, then one curls around to cup your clothed mound, lifting up against you.

“But instead of that, now, I have to bring you out here and fuck some goddamn manners into your bratty cunt before I can go back in to finish my beer.”

You can barely formulate words at the moment, his every move dripping with pure power and unwavering dominance. You’re absolutely taken by him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fulfill your own agenda. 

Let him think he’s the boss, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. It’ll only wreck him harder in the end.

The small jingle of his belt buckle being undone brings you back to reality, as well as his fingers swiping over your clit through the material of your panties. He pulls away for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking them down far enough so that he can pull his length out. 

Luckily, due to his massive body size and the fact that you’re in a dark alleyway behind a dumpster, nothing is too exposed in case someone happens to come by and see the little show about to unfold.

Your panties are torn down your legs quickly and his digits swipe through your warmth. He smirks when he feels how wet you are.

“Now I can call you slick for two reasons.” He chuckles darkly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew you liked this, dirty girl. Bet you’ve been wet all night since I came into the bar.”

His fingers trace over your clit, pressure on and off with his lazy circles, and within seconds he’s got you gyrating against him. Then, suddenly, he pulls away and steps back, hand on your shoulder. He flips you around quickly so that you’re facing him, then forces you back against the wall, flicking his abandoned cigarette away onto the black pavement.

“Why’d you turn me around?” You ask nonchalantly.

He smears some of your fresh arousal onto the tip of his cock, moving it around over his girthy length while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, grabbing and pressing on your tongue.

“I decided that I wanna ruin your disobedient little mouth first. On your knees, use my boots as padding if you need.”

Your legs close and you cross them at the ankle, leaning back against the brick wall freely, arms crossed over your chest. His eyebrows raise and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“Did you not hear me or something?” Flip asks, voice low. “On your damn knees, slick, or I’ll put you there myself.”

Silence. You don’t move a muscle, watching the frustration fester. He leans in suddenly, face real close.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to do as I say before I force you down.”

Nothing.

His hand wraps in your prettily-done hair, holding the roots just above scalp-level, yanking harshly. He steps back a bit quickly as you cry out, hand on your shoulder, pushing you down as the shock and pain weakens your knees. 

Your knees rest on his work boots and his impressive arousal is lip-level, now. He loosens his grip on your hair ever so slightly, still holding you firmly as he rubs his head over your cherry red lips.

“Don’t make me take this from you too, slick.” He warns.

You offer him a cheeky, close-mouthed smile, batting your eyelashes teasingly. He snarls, pulling your hair again, and when you yelp in pain, he pushes his hips forward. His cock forces itself into your mouth and your eyes widen, choking immediately at the sudden intrusion. 

Flip’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as your throat contracts around his length. He holds your head, keeping your mouth wrapped around him, and he gives you a quick look of concern, breaking character for a moment. 

Once you give him a quick wink and small smile, indicating that everything’s okay, he draws back before pushing forward again. He establishes a consistent back-and-forth rhythm, grunting softly with each thrust of his hips. You’re taking him so well, better than anyone before. Your choking and gagging has essentially ceased within the first minute or so, the quickest recovery Flip has ever experienced.

Look, he knows he’s got a nice cock, there’s no denying it, especially when he’s got women chanting it in his ear on a weekly basis. It’s long and girthy with a slight upward curve that gives him the ability to hit the g-spot almost every time. Plus, he knows how to use it properly.

But, women often have trouble taking him or making him feel good with oral sex because he’s always concerned that he’s genuinely hurting them. A lot of women are also very intimidated by his size, which doesn’t help him in feeling okay about it. 

You, however, didn’t say a word, give it a concerned look, or hesitate even a bit when he put you on your knees. You’re something else.

He groans, fucking your mouth even harder, hands on the sides of your head. Your eyes are watering and tears have already begun spilling down your cheeks, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. He looks so incredible like this, restrain and composure slipping as the pleasure begins to consume him.

You do your best to establish a bit of suction on his length, and when a guttural growl emerges from above you, you know you’ve done it. His hips lose their rhythm soon after, cock throbbing in your mouth, meaning he’s close. 

He’s panting heavily, spine curling as he fucks your mouth harder, shuddering every once and a while from the sheer amounts of lust coursing through his veins. 

Just before his release, he forces himself to pull away, a strangled groan of agony rumbling through his chest as his shaft bobs angrily at the lost orgasm. 

“Christ!”

You catch your breath for a moment, but that moment is brief because within thirty seconds, he’s got his hand wrapped around your jaw.

“S-S…” He takes a second to compose himself. “Stand up, turn around, take your panties off and spread your fucking legs.”

This time, much to his surprise, you obey, getting into position with little resistance. He smirks, giving your ass a quick swat before rubbing his head through your folds.

“Mmm, shit, you got wetter just from having your face fucked?”

His chin digs into your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in quickly with a long, low groan, then settles inside of you to allow for an adjustment period. 

Your eyes go wide and you whimper, walls stretching out to accommodate the large intrusion. Soon, you move your hips a bit, looking over your shoulder.

“You can m-move.”

Flip nods, drawing back before pressing his hips forward again, sighing through his nose as he picks up a steady thrusting rhythm.

“Fuck you’ve got a good little cunt, wrapped around me so goddamn tight.” He growls in your ear, mouth lazily kissing and nipping at your neck.

The burn of being stretched out subsides soon after he begins, replaced with copious amounts of pleasure, jaw slacked as your body jolts back and forth with each powerful movement.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut...I know you like this. I wanna hear you fucking admit it.” He breathes. “Tell me how good I’m making you--fuck--feel. Tell me how much better my cock feels fucking you than any--goddamnit--other f-fuckin’ city slicker’s cock.”

When he doesn’t get a response, his pace suddenly quickens a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing experimentally.  “Say it, slick, admit it!”

“Y-You, you feel...okay.”

You smirk, eyes squeezing shut when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

Flip huffs. “You’re a fucking brat--god fucking damnit.”

He snarls, hand closing tighter around your neck, lips right up against your ear.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you, slick. I’m gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard and stuff you so fucking full of my cum, make it run down your fucking thighs when you go home. You’re gonna have to walk into your fuckin’ house with my cum leaking out of you like the dirty slut you are.”

A loud whine comes from your lips, goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin at his words. You’re close already, the anticipation and sensations too much to hold off much longer.

“I know you’re lying, slick, I know you love this fucking cock, and I know you’re close. Say it, say it and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you can’t see straight for the rest of the night.”

He growls into your ear, panting heavily.

“All you gotta do is--shit--say it and I’ll give you what you want, what we both know you want.”

Your walls clench and pulse around his shaft, preparing for your approaching orgasm. But, even though the temptation is sweet, you hold out.

“Eh, I’ve h-had better. You’re really--oh--not t-that big, prettyboy.”

“Fuck!”

His reaction is exactly what you were looking for, hips thrusting impossibly quick as his hands grab your wrists and pin your hands behind your back. Part of him liked this, being called ‘small’ and being taunted, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

“It’s your fucking loss, slick.”

“Oh, is it?” You smirk, adjusting your hips subtly until you find the right spot, crying out softly as you teeter on the edge of orgasm. “I don’t t-think so--fuck!”

“NO! Goddamnit, f-fuck...NO!” He tries to stop your climax, but it’s too late, you’re already there.

“Y-Yes, fuck...yes!”

You’re trembling as you ride out your intense high, his hips pumping you into a delicious overstimulation.

Your release gushes out around him and Flip feels his own climax rapidly approaching, hips starting to lose their rhythm.

Flip’s absolutely pissed that you made yourself cum, allowing his frustration to fuel his thrusts. His teeth sink into the muscle on the curve of your neck, drilling into you as hard as he can manage.

“Brat!”

He snarls against your skin.

“You’re a fucking d-dirty, filthy--yeah, so fuckin’ tight--naughty brat! O-Oh fuck, shit, gonna--fuck goddamnit--cum…”

“Are you gonna cum? Fill me up, prettyboy?”

You clench around him one more time, bringing him over the edge. 

“Oh f-fuck, yes, gonna--unnhh!”

Being fully prepared to bury his load deep inside you, fill you up, it took him by great surprise when you suddenly pulled him out of you. His eyes fly open and a choked cry leaves his lips.

“FUCK, N-NO!”

He roars, load erupting out onto the bricks and alleyway pavement instead of inside you. His hips rut forward instinctively as he rides out his high, groaning against your skin.

You smirk, slipping out from beneath his grip, pulling your panties back up over your hips. He’s still panting and recovering from his climax, hands spread on the cool brick of the building, eyes catching sight of his seed dripping down the wall as he redresses.

Before you walk away, you run a hand through his silky black mane. You give it a gentle tug, earning a low growl from the handsome man.

“Told ya, no one’s gotten me yet and no one ever will.” You pat his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Have a good rest of your night, prettyboy.”

You’re quickly overtaken, within the first few steps of walking back towards the front entrance, by a large set of hands. Flip turns you around in his arms and crashes his lips on yours, pulling you close to him.

At first, you’re taken by surprise, but that lasts for only a few seconds before you melt into his touch, melding your lips with his. He pulls away a minute later, a big smug smirk stretched across his face.

“Good night, slick.”

He walks back towards the side door, lighting a cigarette on his way, leaving you frozen in suspension for a moment. Every inch of your skin, every fiber of your being, is buzzing. You find yourself unable to wipe the small smile off your face as you walk back towards the front of the bar.

You look through the window of the bar as you slip your leather jacket on, then your helmet before swinging your leg over your bike. The engine rumbles, ground quaking beneath it as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, wind whipping around your body as you disappear into the cool Colorado night.

-

Flip is drunk on you as he pays for his drinks and stubs his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the bar. The damn bastard’s essentially grinning and giggling with joy as he walks back out to his truck, or at least ‘grinning and giggling’ by Flip’s standards, which pretty much just means a small smile.

It’s quickly wiped from his face when he sees Ron in the passenger seat. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Ron was listening the whole time, and he can only hope that his partner took the headphones off before anything too explicit happened.

He hops up into the cab and immediately, Ron begins chuckling to himself. 

“Oh, shut up.”

He says, frowning as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I hope you took the headphones off.”

“So, did you find out anything about The Angels?”

Ron asks, snickering.

“Or did you focus on learning more about the inside of her mouth?”

Flip growls under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Can it, rookie. We’ll go back tomorrow. And, for the record, I cased the joint when I walked in, and there were no bikers in sight. No one that seemed the type, y’know?”

“Well, the bikes were there. They had to be there, right?”

His jaw clenches, kicking himself for losing focus. Although, he doesn’t exactly regret anything he did with you, he just wishes he had worked the case a bit beforehand. 

“They should’ve been there, but I’m telling you, there was no one.”

Ron gives him a look and Flip shakes his head.

“Look, I know what it looks like, but I’m serious. I cased the joint when I went in, and there was no one even close to the basic look of a biker gang.”

His partner sighs.

“I know, and I trust you, Zimmerman. We’ll go back tomorrow, like you said. We should go a bit earlier, maybe try and catch these bikers coming to the bar.”

“Agreed.”

Flip nods as he pulls back into the station, sighing when he puts the truck in park.

“Alright, let’s go report to the Chief.”

The Next Day

It’s another long ass day at the station, although there was a bit of excitement when the Chief went out to his squad car and found the window busted out.

Everyone chuckled to themselves as he flipped his shit, almost as if he’d temporarily forgotten that he was a police chief. 

Flip and Ron went out to lunch at the local diner, discussing the ‘Angels’ case, and of course Flip’s back-alley hookup last night, much to the detective’s dismay. 

He just resorted to sucking down as many cigarettes as he could while Ron fired off questions, hoping the nicotine buzz would get him through this all quicker. It didn’t.

Finally, with the Chief’s approval, Ron and Flip head out at five to Ace’s in hopes of spotting The Angels as they come to the bar.

Luckily, when they reach the bar, there are no motorcycles in sight. Flip backs the truck into a spot facing where the motorcycles were last night, putting it in park before lighting up a smoke. He and Ron pass the time with some casual chit-chat before the telltale rumble of motorcycle engines.

The first bike comes into view, the leader no doubt, and slowly rolls up to the front of the bar, foot planting on the pavement. There’s something so oddly familiar about this leader to Flip, the way they move, their demeanor in general, but he thinks little of it, determined to actually focus on the case this time. 

Once the whole gang has pulled up, Flip grabs his notepad and a pencil, ready to write down the names on their jackets while Ron pulls out his camera. The bikers' engines all shut off almost simultaneously, pavement settling back into the dirt as they all dismount their bikes. 

Flip looks at all the names on their jackets, each beginning with ‘Saint’, writing all five of them down before pausing when he reaches the leader’s jacket. It read ‘Saint Siren’, glitter-infused stitching catching in the evening sunset. 

No, it can’t be.

Saint Siren reaches up to pull their helmet off, and when they do, Flip is stunned into utter and total silence. It’s you...you’re Saint Siren. 

You're the leader of ‘The Angels’.

Ron’s snapping a bunch of pictures as the rest of the gang takes their helmets off, revealing the women beneath each. Both detectives were surprised to see that ‘The Angels’ were all women, considering the general ‘man-ness’ of biker gangs.

Your hair flutters in the gentle breeze as you hang your helmet on the handlebar of your bike, reaching into your jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter, hand shielding the flame from the gentle breeze. 

“Zimmerman?”

Flip faintly hears his partner say, but he doesn’t process it, too focused on the reality hitting.

“Zimmerman!” Ron says, shaking his partner’s arm.

“What’s the matter with you?”

His eyes dart over to Ron, a serious expression etched on his face.

“That’s her. That’s the girl from last night.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ sure!” He snarls. “I only spent all night with her. I’m not that shallow, rookie.”

Ron stifles a laugh. “Uh huh. Well, now we understand why no one could ever figure out who this gang was. No one would ever suspect women to be bikers, much less in a biker gang.”

Your jacket is taken off and draped neatly over the seat of your bike, and Flip quickly tosses his notebook on the dash, clipping the lauve to his undershirt with a sense of urgency. His face is steadily turning redder the more he thinks about it, and Ron can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He’d be whistling like a damn tea kettle if that were true. 

“What are you gonna do when you get in there? Remember what the Chief wants, intel only.”

Flip huffs, buttoning his flannel back up before flicking on the microphone set on the front seat, tapping the top of the machine. “I know how to do my damn job, I know what Chief said. Just be sure to listen and write the important stuff down.”

He hops down, the heels of his work boots reverberating off the pavement as he walks, more like storms, into the bar.

Earl, the bartender, greets him, but he’s already closing in on you. He doesn’t even hesitate, just walking right up to the table you’re sitting at and putting his hand on the top.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He says in the calmest voice he can muster at this point, staring daggers at you, teeth gritted. “Please?”

All the girls look up at him, then back over at you, awaiting your answer. You stub out the cigarette between your lips before gesturing for Gladys to scoot out of the booth. She does, and you slide out, standing in front of the familiar man.

“Lead the way, Flip.”

He spins around on his heel, then stops, stomach dropping. How do you know that name?

You giggle to yourself as you walk by and out to the alley. He’s hot on your tail, slamming the door shut behind him, bounding down the stairs.

“I figured it out pretty quickly.” You say, twirling your hair as you lean back against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. “After I saw the mic clipped to your undershirt last night. Looked through the yellow pages this morning and found the contact information for one Detective Phillip Zimmerman of the Colorado Springs Police Department. There’s only one other man by the name of Phillip living in this town, and he’s the guy down at the gas station.”

“Could’ve been a fake name.”

Your lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, coulda been a fake name, I guess. But I saw the way you reacted when you said it, looked like you wanted to kick yourself in the nutsack. The mic on your shirt tied it all together, and then when I did some surveillance on the station, I saw you.”

Flip isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or impressed by your ability to observe and fact-find. 

“I’m not the only one that hid my true identity last night, Saint Siren. Nor are you the only one that did surveillance today.” He growls, standing in front of you. “You’re one of the ‘Angels’, the leader, in fact.”

Your face is unchanging, still wearing a neutral expression, before a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Congratulations, Detective. I’m a little surprised you didn’t put two-and-two together last night when you read the name on my jacket.”

His eyes widen, which makes you laugh. Had your name really been on the jacket that he’d seen, and he just missed it?

“Saw you not so discreetly snooping around the bikes before you came in last night. You ought to check your surroundings a little more thoroughly before ‘casually’ sauntering by the bikes and leaning over to read the jackets...someone might see you.”

You laugh quietly, shoving your hands into your jean pockets.

He’s pissed, you can tell, but there’s also a sense of respect buried deep within his gaze, and perhaps there’s even a bit of desire mixed in, too.

“I...you’re…”

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head, and the rage suddenly melts away. He could use this to his advantage.

“Join me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Think about it, it’s beneficial for both of us. You want to knock the Sharks on their asses and kick ‘em outta town, and I want to stop them from taking over the whole town. We both get what we want.”

You just burst out into laughter.  “You’re a funny guy, Detective, thinking I’d ever even consider becoming an informant. Ha! Sure, I hate the Sharks and I wanna kick ‘em out, but I don’t need the pig’s help for that.”

His jaw clenches. 

“You’re trying to turn her now, Zimmerman? What the hell are you thinking? INTEL, Zimmerman, we’re here for ANGELS INTEL, not the Sharks.”

He shakes off his partner’s words, staring deep into your eyes.

“You know this is a good idea, I know you do, slick. All we need are some names. It’ll be quick work, and in return, we’ll help you get rid of them and stay off your ass after they’re gone, as long as you don’t start or engage in any violent altercations.” 

“Man, you gotta stop. You can’t make promises like that without the Chief’s approval. C’mon, Zimmerman, get outta there!”

“I’m not falling for that bullshit, and I’m not becoming a pig, even if it’s only for a few weeks.” You say, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. “G’night, Detective.”

Flip quickly grabs you before you can even take a step back towards the door, holding your arms as he steps up behind you.

“I never say things I don’t mean, and I never make promises I can’t keep, slick.”

He grabs one of his business cards out from his wallet, teasingly sliding it in your back pocket, giving your ass a quick squeeze.  “In case you change your mind.”

Your skin has erupted in goosebumps as you walk back into the bar, overly conscious of the business card tucked into your back pocket, gently poking your bottom with each stride.

As you sit with your crew, drinking and chatting the night away, you can’t stop thinking about this proposal. 

The thought of being an informant scares you.  The thought of turning on the Sharks scares you.

What scares you the most, though?

You’re ready to get to work.

[plume8now]

Isolation

Fandom: One Piece Character: Portgas D. Ace Tags: Impel Down, Angst, Captivity, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Family Feels, Portgas D. Ace-centric, Past Character Death, ASL Brothers, Suicidal Thoughts, Kairouseki | Seastone, Existential Crisis, References to Depression, Pain Summary: Inspired by the prompt: "isolation"

It is a funny feeling, sitting here.

Except for his own presence, the place is wide empty. The ground and walls would be entirely naked if it hadn’t been decorated with locks and chains here and there, leaving him with seastone cuffs adorning his wrists and ankles. Dadan’s necklace hangs around his neck in a sad tone of red, and without his hat, half of the pearls that remind him of his foster mother are missing. His skin is dirty, his clothes soiled, his hair greasy. He can feel the coldness of the stones against his back, against his arms, when he lies on the wall, and against his legs and bare feet. The room is filled with monochromic shades of grey and blue, and the pirate can’t help but miss the brighter colours of his youth. When he closes his eyes, he can picture more vividly the Fuchsia village and its inhabitants. 

Then, once in a while, his mind wanders to the fond memory of his brothers, and a bittersweet taste of sorrow springs in his heart in the sound of their laughter. He gets all the time in the world to lose himself in nostalgia of the Spade Pirates’ camaraderie before finding his new father and his family, until... The White Beard commander bites his lower lip, and his body shivers to the thought of his nakama’s death. His chest burns up in ache as he remembers Marco’s screams, warning, begging him not to leave, at least, not alone.

But he’d lost a brother before. He had only been left with a grave to cry upon, back then. He was young and weak, and Celestial Dragons are unreachable.

But Teach is a pirate. And pirates aren’t untouchable… 

He’d know.

Sometimes, he looks up to the ceiling, as if his eyes would magically pierce through the stones, to at last, find the sky and its clouds – the sky and its sun. Sometimes, he can hear the echo of his ties as his sore body jolts in pain, protesting against the stillness of his position. Sometimes, he wants to call out to his family and ask, just like he asked Garp, ‘Was it good that I was born?’ 

Was there any point to my existence? Did it ever matter? Will it ever matter?

At least, when all of this is over, he tells himself as a mere consolation, he would get to see Sabo again, and yell at him, ironically just like his crewmates did with him, for running away on his own.

It’s a funny feeling, sitting here. If that could even be called ‘sitting’.

The bars before him, standing strong and fierce, cut his sight of what is left for him to see from this place in multiple squares. Without them, the picture would have been complete. And without the seastone, he wouldn’t feel cold. Without the seastone, he wouldn’t be plunged into darkness. Without the seastone, he wouldn’t be chained to a potential, certain death.

Ah, it really is a funny thing, sitting here. 

He is, Ace thinks in a smile, entirely part of the landscape. As if this had always been, and will always be, the only rightful place of the Pirate King’s son.

A/N: Thank you for reading, this fic is also available on AO3! I’d like to thank @infiniteinmystery in particular for beta-ing this work, even though they’re not in this fandom. Don’t hesitate and leave comments! :D

[weswritescomics]

Character descriptions:

Bruce Wayne: Italian-American 30 years old. 6’3, slick black hair, darker blue eyes, usual darkened lining around eyelids, fit build. Not as stocky, more slender psychic, but still muscular. Five o’clock shadow, always.

The Batman: Dark blue shading to his costume, stitched leather cape, shorter ears on the cowl, cowl a darker blue than the cape. Doesn’t look like armor, more fabric, woven with kevlar. Lenses are white as snow, reflect light and shine in the dark, not animatic however, still and shaped.

Alfred Pennyworth: 63 years old, balding head, full beard of grey and white, 5’9. Stocky build, English, war veteran.

Detective James Gordon: 40 years old. African American, 6’2. Firm build, rougher mustache, balding hair, new hire at GCPD, transfer from Metropolis.

Detective Harvey Bullock: 37 years old. Caucasian, 5’9, heavy set, longer orange tinted beard, always wearing a classic hat. Thinks of himself as a real hot shot.

J𝗨𝗦𝗧𝖨𝗖𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗚𝗨𝗘.

𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗛 - 60.

Chapter One.

The Night Cometh.

Gotham City, August, 1962.

Rain is the constant in Gotham. Pelting rays of ice cold water that hit window shields at a rapid pace. Across the open yard of Wayne Manor, through long strands of untamed grass, and leafless trees, sit two grave stones. Each of them a mark of the past that holds him. Each of them carved with the singular word.

𝗪𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲.

“Master Bruce?” The butlers tinted voice breaks his train of thought, standing at the window, with hands clasped behind his back — is Bruce Wayne. The last heir of the Wayne fortune, and The Prince of Gotham, “Alfred, in here.” His voice is lower, rougher than that of the past. A child, who was once full of life and optimism, was now a man heavy with dread.

“Sir.” Alfred stands in the doorway of the room they both share, the old master bed room of Martha and Thomas Wayne. He holds in his hands, a silver tray, accompanied with a small cup of coffee, fresh with the trail of heated steam — and next to it, a blueberry muffin, “You don’t usually come in here, I wasn’t sure where you were. Large house and all.” Alfred moves across the open space, placing said tray of assorted goods on the edge of the bed, “I thought it was time.” Wayne responds, however, his eyes keep outward, looking towards the gravestones that stare right back at him, “I owe them that much.” Pennyworth let’s out a sigh, his white gloved hands find themselves intertwining. He rocks on the back of his heals, with a small clearing of his throat.

“Master Bruce, I think it’s time you let go of the ghost in the backyard, and comeback to the land of the living.” Bruce doesn’t answer. “You’ve been back in Gotham for a whole year now, and you’ve barley seen the city for what it is now.” “I have.” Wayne turns finally, his eyes rage with pain, with lack of sleep — and vengeance. “Running around at night does 𝗻𝗼𝘁 count. Allowing yourself to feel the pain, to move on, and to run your fathers company 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀.”

Bruce takes small steps toward Alfred, the space between the two closes, “Alfred.” He starts, “We’ve seen this city for what it truly is, it showed us long ago the violence it can produce. The only way to fix that, is to bring it down, from its core. Gotham can’t rebuild, until the infestation — the 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝘂𝘀 — that crime is, is ridden of.” The two lock eyes now, a father made of grief, an arrogant son full of pain, their words aren’t spoken here — how much they truly need one another. Instead, it is met with another sigh, as Alfred takes the tray from the bed, turning and heading for the door, “We’ll then, a late dinner it is.”

GCPD Precinct, August, 1962.

The precinct buzzes with the usual morning crew of Gotham’s finest. Each of them in their own world of steady cases and rising efforts for the fight against crime. Or so, this is what James Gordon would’ve like to think they were doing. In reality it was 15% working against crime, and 85% working 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 crime. But he knew this before he even moved his family here, before he and his pregnant wife Barbara, took the plunge into the crime capital of the world. He, saw it as a way to do right by his father. Metropolis was dangerous, sure, but compared to Gotham, it was a shiny utopia. His father, then officer Gordon, always told him one thing — you do right not by the actions you 𝗱𝗼, but by the people you 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽.

And those words stuck with him ever since, which is what brought him here. The GCPD was failing, the criminal underground was boiling over into the ordinary world, dirty cops helped push that quota into reality, hate crimes continued to soar, even within the GCPD — and yet he still felt like there was good in this city. An ability, if it were to try, if it were to be given even an ounce of a chance, to shine — if not 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 — than Metropolis. Barbara didn’t think so, she didn’t like the move, but how could she. The only silver lining she saw in this city was the chance of real and meaningful social work. Something that Metropolis barely offered. Again, a utopia to Gotham.

“Gordon!” Bullocks voice comes across the room, a gentle motion for Gordon to come closer, a waiting look on Harvey’s face, behind him in the meeting office was current Commissioner Harlen. James fixed his tie as he walked forth, bumping shoulders with busy bodies, and gaining 𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀 from those who’d wish for his downfall. Since his arrival, Gordon had done nothing but make enemies, other then Harvey — most of The GCPD had already told their assorted crime bosses about Gotham’s new hotshot. And how he was 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 to save the city from its internal bleeding.

“You’re late.” Bullock snorts, he combs out the side collar of Gordon’s coat, “I had —“ marriage troubles, “—to take the trash out. Got in a fight with a raccoon before I could claim my territory.” Both men let out a gentle laugh, before Harvey motions inside with his head, “C’mon.”

The room sits idle with one singular table, three chairs — two on one side, one lone on the other. The white board behind the single chair is covered with photo evidence, four separate crime scenes, each of them murders of four wealthy Gotham elites. All of them, with two common factors, the fact that each man used his wealth — his power — to influence The GCPD, the political world of Gotham, and to fund The Falcone mob family. The second thing they had in common; the large lipstick like star marked across the face. And the burning white eyes, void of emotion.

“Gordon..” Harlen begins, “Sorry.” James responds, he takes a seat, as does Harvey. “Four new cases boys, each of them on the same path you’ve been following —“ “Christ.” Harvey lets out under his breath, “—each of them as proper as the first three. Our perp, whoever it is, is one for the thematic and the dramatic.” Gordon digs into his coat pocket, pulling out a small notepad, “I was able to get in touch with forensics on the last hit, sent them a sample of whatever that green shit was — turns out it’s the same chemicals produced at ACE.” Harvey learns forward, “As in ACE chemicals?” James nods. “You too go there yet?” The commissioner leans forward, hands placing on the top of the table, a shift in the weight he holds, “No. No not yet.” Harvey responds, he takes his hat off for a second, running his hands through curly uncut hair.

“Then you go there next.” Harlen sits up now, hands resting on his belt buckle, “We’re on it.” Gordon responds, Harvey shoots him a look. They were friends, yes, too an extent. Gordon knew of Harvey’s deals, the backwater jobs he took in his earlier days of GCPD, he knew he was out — but he knew he still had ties. It was the only reason he never turned Harvey in, he was out, and trying to stay out. Trying to be clean, trying to be a better cop. That’s all any of them could do, try.

ACE Chemicals, August, 1962.

The old squad car rolls alongside echoing gravel, Gotham had just been covered in rain, verified by the shine left on the rocks and stone buildings that await them. A warrant for a search hides away in the glovebox, the car itself comes to a stop, just outside the gates — the lights turn off — as well as the engine. Out steps the two detectives, each of them in long coats. One, Gordon, with a freshly lit cigarette hanging from his lips, the other — Harvey — with a small flask held in his hands.

“Hate this place.” Bullock states, closing the squad car door behind him, “Scared?” Gordon muses, mouth slightly muffled by the stick, “Of radiation? Yea, sure. Also — the fact that only low life pieces of garbage hang at these parts. Talkin the worst of the worst out here Jim.” “James.” “What?” “Don’t call me Jim, man. That’s my dads name. I’m James Gordon, he’s Jim.” Harvey waves him off, taking one last swig, “When you pay my bills, I’ll call you whatever you want me to. Hell, maybe even president Gordon someday.” James shakes his head, placing the remaining cigarette on the ground, and stomping it out, it sizzles as it’s smushed between heel and wet gravel. The two set forth, walking through the now opened metal gate, the chain links rattle and ache as they push past. Each of them holding a flashlight in hand, “What did forensics say exactly?”

“They told me —“ Gordon takes out another cigarette, lighting it, the red end illuminates the inner palms of his hands. And then, a gentle puff of smoke. “That this chemical was created here, it was initially a military grade weapon — meant to be used in Germany. But, it was deemed too violent — er — powerful as they put it. Was scrapped, at least it was suppose to be.” “So how the hell is it on Gotham streets?” “That’s why we’re here. Aren’t we?” ACE chemicals spirals into a kingdom of cone like buildings, each of them painted with the same three letter word — ACE, ACE, ACE. And each cone, a spewing mountain of smoke. As each man continues their walk, they stride in silence, each of them in their own thought — focused on the task at hand. Gordon, thought back to Barbara, the conversation they had before he left this morning. It wasn’t pretty.

In the first year, they were better — they were still whole. That was until 𝗵𝗲 came along. A figure of the night, a myth that soon became reality — a man built of darkness and mystery. The Batman. He came to Gordon, he didn’t know why then, or at least he thought he didn’t. But he understood now, a year later, why Batman came to him. They were honest, mask and all, they knew one another — what this city meant, and how to save it. But this, this devotion that came with this relationship — ruined his real one. Days, weeks, months, spending late nights at GCPD. Working alongside The Batman, taking down the man they now call The Riddler. He laughs, an audible one, one that catches Harvey’s attention.

The Riddler. How funny it was, it use to be gangsters, both street and professional level men. Then, it became all about costumes. The red blur in Central City, who took down the man who called himself Captain Cold. The Amazon in Washington, fought a living tiger like woman. It was all, truly? Insane. And somehow, someway, they — these normal men — were soon intertwined in it all. 𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗛! A scream breaks him, cigarette dropping from parted lips. “Shit — was that?” “Go!” Their guns are removed from their holsters, their feet dig into the ground, pushing them into a run, “Go! Go! Go!” James repeats — one step ahead of the larger Bullock.

They almost slide taking a corner, the damp gravel giving way to their fastening pace. Until, they come into clear view of the scene ahead, hanging from the roof of a taller, shackle like building, is a lone man. His foot, wrapped in a thin line of wiring — one that can only be seen when it catches the small light of the moon, “Awe hell.” Harvey lets out, his gun lowering, his feet stopping. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon sees it. The small shimmer of white, that pierces through the dark of Gotham — that lets him know their not alone here. The Batman, “Harvey, go get him down, cuff him. I think I see something...” Detective Gordon moves off to the side, as Detective Bullock goes forward.

Gordon shuts off his flashlight, waiting for a minute, as the space between him and Harvey is at a good distance.

“Jim.” The Batman begins, voice at almost a whisper, “Batman.” Gordon responds, his gun now being placed back in its holster, “What happened here.” The Batman sits on a rail, a few feet off the ground, not even James athletic background could get him up there. The wind pulls gently at the edge of his cape, it flutters in noticeable flaps, his short ears make out the remainder of his cowl — the white eyes peer back down on Gordon. Never looking away, “Those cases you’re on now — I’ve already been working them.” “Of course.” “I tracked the chemical to here, as did you. They call it chemical - x. That man —“ The head of the bat shifts, in a pointing direction, “Was here to get more.” “Why?” “You know why.” “To do more.” “Yes.”

Gordon rubs at his neck, “I don’t know, this is all, well this feels like Riddler — again. This feels like someone is playing games, trying to stir up Gotham.” “Not someone, Jim. Something.” “What?” “The man, his tattoos tell a story. On the back of his neck, look there. His friends will have the same signal — this is something, Jim. Bigger than Riddler.” Gordon looks back to Harvey, who had just gotten the man down, his eyes look back to — nothing. The Bat was gone, leaving nothing but the gust of wind.

The two men walk silently back, guiding the arrested man to the back of the squad car. Gordon opens the back door, almost stuffing the suspect in the back, as he does, he reaches forward, pulling back the hoodie over his head — moving long locks of hair from his neck. What he sees is a symbol, or rather a character — a creature. Shaped like a starfish, with a human eye at its middle, colored purple — the eye red as fire. As violence.

Bigger than Riddler. He thought. Sitting back into the driver seat.

What the hell did that mean?

[dansedan]

I threatened on the Disco Writer’s Nook server to share my notes from this latest fic, but since they’re wildly incomprehensible and kind of silly I thought maybe I’ll just... chuck ‘em on here instead, under a readmore where they can pass by easier so uhhh xX WeLcOmE To My TwIsTeD mInDXx !!!1!!

(warning for LONG LONG post- I write full sections and asides from the universe that aren’t even in the damn fic within the same notes document a lot... I’m also insufferably pretentious on notes I KNOW and I cull it on the final as much as I can, as well as mild possible spoilers for a fic I haven’t written in the same au-timeline-thing I suppose and NSFT stuff)

(also a lot of this gets discarded because it’s so stupid and I write it at terrible brain moments)

"Por la mañana me di a la estúpida tarea de esconder mis cigarros por los rincones de la casa. Los encuentro, claro, pero fumo poco, fumo menos, hago esfuerzos por mejorarme de una vez."

meditative cigarettes and quitting fic.

Harry smokes less than he drinks, because he smokes to keep sharp and he usually wants to be numb, down to zero, space-based. but after going tee-total and opening up on his quest to actual-human-persondom he finds himself chainsmoking constantly. A concern in his volition is raised, a thought project ruminated on, and strategems laid out.

Harry grasps at the first half at a low point in his attempts to get better without anyone knowing or helping. He wonders about Kim's life, Kim's control. The electrochemistry in him fantasizes about a free-wheeling party-boy sort of Kim, still cool, still quiet, but free and soft and in control of his lack of control- the aviator, the flying ace, at the mercy of the elements and gliding by by choice- lands on the question of the one-per day, the Kim he knows, who takes what he needs with trepidation and preparation.

The truth is that last one- Kim was a social smoker, an after-dinner-if-the-date-is-pleasant smoker, an after-sex smoker, a bumming-cigarettes-to-gague-his-interest smoker (it all started with a boyfriend) but police work and his neverending stint in Juvie drove him to once-per-day, a creature of obsession. He used to heavily resent it- until Harry came along and joined the ritual.

"bebiendo mate con el ademán gracioso de los novatos. Es lo que hago ahora cuando siento ganas de fumar, dijo, con una sonrisa."

Kim and Harry not so close together- the idea of Kim and Harry not knowing everything about each other, because that's just not how you survive, but somehow Kim aching to be up-to-date on Harry all the time.

Harry and his funny little excursions around town. Kim visits and finds cigarettes hidden around the house, smells them in fear of finding drugs, or Harry has to awkwardly shuffle around for one when Kim invites him to smoke. Harry tries to join a book club, starts cooking lofty meals for his yoga class, tries being vegan for a week, checks out a bunch of books on the history of the Coupris Corp (SUZERAINTY ERA MARK OF AUTHENTICITY BABEY) as a way to help him wean off substances but also off Kim. They want each other but they know they need to stand on their own </3

Harry starts going to this novelty/gourmet supermarket and buying one new thing every paycheck like furikake that says it has lead on it and mate and all that. He spends his ex-drinking, smoking money on it.

Harry makes Kim huevos rotos :'-)

You're barely holding it together- how the hell did you get to this newsstand? Is it a newsstand? This structure- round, metal, iron-wrought frame and squat stature- was once a newsstand. How do you know it isn't? What is it now? You feel yourself point someplace on a menu you can't see past the dew of heavy crying- the clerk does not react, he's seen you like this- slam your wallet on the counter. You receive a paper parcel slightly larger than your fist, long. It's warm through the paper, and you can feel the dryness of a light dusting of flour passing through it. Food.

Your legs and arms are moving on their own again, wallet shoved this way, steps stumbled past the other, clumsily bringing whatever it is to your mouth and feeling crumbs fall into your beard- like a shark. That's one of the first things you remember, the beautiful old ultraliberal woman, like a shark, on her boat. The joy of your first- no, second- idiom. The first was up on Marvel Hill where you can't live. Kim said that. Kim's gonna be there, when you do it like a shark and don't stop any of this on your way to work and you stop crying so nobody thinks you did what you're avoiding doing. Is there anyway you can forget the frittte? There's so many locations in your mind, what kind of man are you, remembering the placement of a store that's meant to vanish and appear out of convenience like it's a fucking pitstop (would a flask not be enough? A single habit to get rid of, easy- but you're never easy).

You feel dark-dark-light-darkness and then light again, and smoother flooring and your coat being too warm. You're at the precinct- fuck, you're at the precinct- and it's late, real late, but you are here and there's too many people to fuck up here and at least you aren't crying. Your red face and eyes blend perfectly into too many years and days of red and puffy eyes to call attention. Perfect, perfect- god bless the innocence (or is innocence god? You can't forget- Remember- something.)

"You're late, shitkid." At some point Jean appears beside you. He's walked the other way and stopped- he's grimacing- but more importantly you see his left arm raise and still and clench itself, like a restricted movement, natural instinct. "You smell like shit- is that fish?" You do not know if that is fish because your throat hurts so bad already that you cannot know if you've been swallowing bones for this past hour (minute? Minutes? The walk feels like forever and never enough. You're swearing like a pig now that you're standing, how adequate.) 

You want to say it's agony, the end of days, the end of you- you want to say reprise, and sorry, and oh god I didn't want to see you please I don't deserve it Jean please leave and go away from me and also please oh god please hold me up I don't know what I'm doing but I'm trying to be better but I ate this thing that might as well be sawdust and I do not know what time it's been for several days.

Instead you say "it's my GOD-GIVEN RIGHT, VIC" and you move along like a fucking idiot.

"An image arises in your mind's eye-- a baby, dirty, hideous, its skin mottled and raw and red, peeling, stretching almost impossibly. The baby cries from pain- in it's brief stay on this earth it has already suffered more than some men do in their entire lives. He is built for it- thick skin, quite literally. He is being held by a slight, pale, ugly nurse- a nun in bloodied white rags with a terrible smell of herbs permanently attached to her. The scene is a caricature of mother and child- the hideous thing, held up to her chest, is drinking from an amber bottle, clouded over. In ten years, the contents of this bottle he will be legally too young for-- is this the reason you became the way you are? Are you just born-and-bred this way, surviving off of alcohol where most people had blood and human kindness?

-- It's not. The little pastiche you've thought up for yourself is half propaganda and half racist idiocy. Despite what the supposed "race-realists" may say, not everyone from the Insulindian is thrown on the bottle the moment they're weaned from the tit. In truth, you were barely even medicated, and those bitter, herbaceous spirits are not the cause of your current addiction. It's still on you harry, it's always still on you.

"Wake up- time to listen to the radio.

You love the radio. You really, really love the radio. You think the radio was the greatest purchase you have ever made- drunk you was horrible, and traumatizing, and entirely undebatably subhuman, but he did buy this radio, and by god fuck if that isn't his saving grace (a story comes to mind- a Dolorean allegory from your childhood- about a selfish rich woman and a lazy cheating bum both ferried up to heaven by a single onion that she'd given him during their lives as charity. You choose to ignore the part where they fight and fall back into hellfire). It's the thing that broke you off from your mazovian monk-like refusal to buy anything for yourself other than flour for a week after THE HANGED MAN, it's what got you into cycling and hanging out with the neon eyebleed catsuits crew, it's what reminded you that public libraries exist and nobody will ask you why you're in there reading about suzerainty-era motor carriage manufacturing and the homo-sexual underground. It's the greatest thing since communism, since disco, since-- since-- since cigarettes and kebabs and- and--

... And idolizing someone to the point of crucifixion. Which you aren't supposed to be doing.

Good thing the radio cranks up real loud! 

"You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography, even, notably, the single romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what books were, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years).

"Harry's apartment is no longer clean, but not as dirty as before, and its stalwart light-green walls seem, in the summer light, less queasy and foreboding than what they are now, almost dainty in the contrast of the sparse few frames and piles of knickknacks on the floor. 

Believe it or not, this is good-- sometimes, life with Harry makes you feel like a zoologist, intricately analysing an animal's pile of leaves and refuse and knowing, despite all human standards, what these habits mean for the foreign species. And for Harry, mess like this is good. It means he's kept busy by any one of his million little projects,  picked up and put down at a dizzying speed and constancy, each one increasingly out of left field in

Kim and harry talk about the radio, kim thinks about it "radio, what's new? Radio- some-one still loves you"

Harry talking abt agenda + library bc you can't smoke + planning for dinner with Kim :-)

Gotta go to the library so you don't chainsmoke

Gotta shower to go to the library 

Don't wanna shower bc executive dysfunction

Grab a smoke before you shower 

Oh wait you've been chain-smoking fuck (insert meditation on sharp vs smooth)

Hide all your cigarettes around the house feeling pathetic about it

You still don't feel like showering

But you just chainsmoked and you know you'll do it again because you JUST hid your smokes and the hiding spots are fresh in your mind

Birdbath (why are you so fucking dysfunctional that you can't shower like a normal adult) 

Introspective rubber ducky selfhate momence

Rubber ducky encourages you through the power of nihilism and Kim

Thought project gain

Go to library and need comfort so you're going thru all your usual shelves (insert le funny homo shelf joke here) 

What does he read about? Smoking? Idk

Kiiiiiim. Kimmy kim kim. Think about Kim

Maybe he reads recipe books to woo kim

        INSERT EXISTENTIAL BROTH EPISODE HERE to talk about how you've never actually seen Kim cook (he told you it was good soup, clearly lying, you told him it was broth, and that you could teach him how to make soup out of it if he wanted...)

(broth episode was another note, inserted here: 

ANOTHER harry coping fic. Miserable housebound weekend nights because he can't party but the house is horrible to be in and he keeps dunking his hands into more and more ice water and taking like half-body cold showers and he's like "maybe this is bad for my skin!!! I gotta get out holy shit" and he's like uhhhh fucking. Can't go to work. Let's go to the supermarket. And then he's almost there and he's like OH FUCK NO THERES ALCOHOL AT THE SUPERMARKET and he straight up bolts out of there and muscle memory gets him to a shady ass butcher shop in some random immigrant neighborhood and he buys so much fish because of a failed check and he goes home and basically he makes so much fish stock. He makes just so fucking much fish stock and Kim comes to pick him up the next day and panics because it genuinely smells like the dead in there but it's just harry making fucking. fish broth or something. Just harry coming up to the door in his work clothes with way too much cologne on and a thermos of fish soup like "uh... Do you want some Broth kim?" And Kim can't fucking cook but he takes some Broth anyway and he's trying to figure out why harry would do that but harry is being a little edgy about it and Kim is like oh god I need to help him a little and they have a sit down about it and he's like wanting to say "hey if you need somewhere to go I'm here for you" but it's hard and I don't even know if he ends up actually saying it. Okay bye)

Talking about the sexiness of supermarkets and how they make reptile brain go brrr

Think about alcohol vs smoking. Think about kimmy kim kim (insert european drinking joke here)

Have that get stuck in his head. Kim kimmy kim kimmy kimmy kim kim. Kimster. Kimbo. Kitsy. Kitty. Cutie. Oh god no fuck oh god I need to stop.

He goes home and still rlly wants to smonk

You hide the cigarettes around the house. It feels stupid, and you know you’ll be embarrassed having to pull the Jamrock Shuffle in your own apartment, that you’re a grown adult who could just *buy another box of cigarettes* whenever you wanted to, but you feel like it helps. Drag the killing thing away from the crappy little animal even for a couple moments more, let yourself get tired out like the old man you are below all the disco scaffolding. You can’t really bring yourself to shower, but you drag the radio into the bathroom with you and wash yourself in the sink. You try to be good about it- stay away from the mirror, really lather up and clear away the sweat that’s caked to you throughout the night and morning, feel the warm graze of the water on your skin. You brush shampoo through your hair and work it in in cycles, focus on the humming feeling of the bristles on your scalp, trying not to think of much of anything, just the smell of the cheap powdery soap and of what clothes you’ll wear today, try to settle into a better memory of this instead of picking at the shame you feel about how hard it is for you. ducking your head into the stream of the water in the sink and forgetting everything except the whishing, scratching sounds of cleaning.

Being clean feels good, and being dressed again feels maybe even better (knit sweaters are a revelation- who could’ve known polyester satin wasn’t made for seaside winters), so by the time you walk your way into the Jamrock public library the morning’s incidents are nigh-forgotten. The dry warmth of the old library is a reliable balm- the yellowed fluorescent lighting washing out the rows and rows of slate-grey plastic bookshelves lined up like soldiers over prerevolutionary tile, with its woven edges and dark, jeweled pinwheels of color, stretching out endlessly full of books, reels, and the rare intricate portrait hanging overhead. Before them, long wooden tables dotted with mismatched lamps, flickering in and out of use, occupied by antsy juveniles and sleeping hobos. It feels effortlessly like home, like a shared worldly past that welcomes everybody- and maybe that just means that it's generic and a little overdue for renovations, but you love it as it is.

Shuffling through the tall shelves of books, you weave through mindlessly to find your favorite sections- the history (both common and infra-cultural, with a surprisingly competent collection of industrial works and a predictably miserablly little shelf of homo-sexual underground interest), the art, and the meager offerings of political literature. You can hear your off-tune humming echo back to you somewhat feebly off the high, painted ceiling, done up in some lame facsimile of early Dolorian excess (therriers, noblewomen, forget-me-nots crowding the edges of each filligreed panel, dead-eyed faces in doleful expressions, pale and empty smiling). You've got all of daylight ahead of you, which is more than enough time to browse around as usual before you have to get yourself home and start cooking.

You turn the corner smoothly into the very back of the library, into a wider set of dusty and anachronistic wooden bookshelves-- history trends unpopular, considering the fact that all the books within are horrifyngly outdated due to a miserable municipal budget, maybe that's for the best. There are better places for students to get this information now, like the private library a couple blocks away at the Cycle Universitee, or from library dial-stations tuned in from the south, where the Bibliotheque Nacionelle Des Travailleures is run by Coalition-approved volunteers. The first thing to catch your eye is the pillar of works of infra-cultural expression and documentstion- essays and short stories from New authors, studies and zines on Disco, and of course, the particular political darling of the 20s, the homo-sexual underground.

You've read everything in this section- theory, history, photography- even, notably, the single commercial romance novel, comically bad, about a middle-aged Vespertine businessman travelling north to the harbour where he had experienced his first teenaged love-- and the young, strapping man he gets to know there. (There are boats involved- it's very biblical). All in all, you read it twice,  meticulously rewrote its horrifyingly vague and unsafe sex scenes (in pen, inside. Not like the librarian's gonna check it) and masturbated at your efforts, winning you a very sore wrist and about 30 minutes of crying because you remembered being in a bookshop with Kim in Martinaise while you were remembering what the world was, and then remembered Jean's apartment having a secret stack of equally terrible heterosexual novels bequeathed to him by an ex that you made fun of him for (rabidly, for years). You shudder, now, at the sight of its cracked spine looking you from the middle sill. Its gaze feels hefty and judgemental, and you do not like it.

There are  

KIM CHAPTAAAA

"you'd like him to take care of himself. You'd like to be there to do it for him when he can't"

"He opens the door, and immediately there are a million little things that test you (hell, with that thick-knit sweater he's wearing, any weakness in you would have him writhing on the floor in seconds). The half-up style of his now-so soft looking auburn hair, split across to reveal the pale white of his nape between the raised collar of his sweater, the kind wrinkling of his open smile upon seeing you walk in, the light, jazzy music of the radio backing his belly-deep laugh and the heady smell of incense in the room are all exhilaratingly Harry to you.

What to do with jean:Standalone fic for him?

Starts when he sees Harry with the eyebleed crew and he's the one who goes up to him like "WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHIT KID" and harry is like. Oh god oh fuck jean uh let's be... Cordial! Optimistic! (What jean sees is one of his signature pauses but like. Yeah it's the skills talking) and he's just like "oh it helps me stay sober and make friends, I found out about it on the radio🙂" and Jean is like holy fucking shit this is absolutely insane.

            1) bc Harry used to be so repressed he was basically homophobic with his macho act

            2)bc Jean originally didn't believe the amnesia thing but then when Harry genuinely did shit like this and never told him (which, if it was a cruel joke he would've tried to make it very public and obvious and drag jean into it to embarrass him)

            3) because JEAN was his friend and why the fuck does he just. Run off with random people with a radio ad instead

            4) because he's doing so well. He's like, fully at the sort of "this-side-of-pudgy" bear level that's hot enough to get him positive attention over the damage of the alcohol and he's wearing the sort of clothes that show it and he's got all these crew buddies where Jean is stuck with his hellish depression workouts where he sometimes works until he pukes and then feels like shit about self-harming like that. (what he doesn't know is that Harry is basically doing that same exact shit just he's using his swag alcoholic skills to lieeeeee about it. rip)

Maybe harry apologizes in their conversation about the romance novels. Like it blurts out.

eventually add in the previous consideration fic you were thinking of &quot

starting with bitter porno kimbo/viccy catfight bullshit

"no that's pathetic and he'd never go there." dynamic where kim cares quietly and jean is bitchy about Harry

then "no, he's dealt with harry so much already, I can't imagine." so it's all concern for him

and then that backslides into "how could I comfort him? how could he understand my need for comfort? "

we stan a mildly nonaccepted himself Jean so he's like "WAIT UH GAY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS GUY TOO? FUCK FUCK FUCK"

gotta make it panic horny. it's a Dan Gat fic. how would kim look.... yknow......

since the only other guy who's been like that with him has been harry -> third wheel dynamic going to ->

horny ot3 dynamic. old men doting on him because it's his fantasy and he gets to be the pampered one goddamnit

end somehow

THIS IS THE EXACT DYNAMIC WE'RE GOING FOR Jean liked Harry premart and Harry was unbearably machismo repressed homophobic bullshitero man (I need to decide if he was stupid enough to be like AS LONG AS IM ON TOP IT ISNT GAYYYY or smth sex/intimacy related like that maybe he just kinda. ""comically"" hit on Jean or said suggestive shit to him but never fully acted on it) and then he comes back from Martinaise all loyal puppy dog or whatever for Kim and Jean is like "??? OKAY SO I GO THROUGH ALL THIS BULLSHIT AND HE TALKS SO BIG ABOUT LOVING MUSCLE DUDES AND NOW HES GONNA FUCK THIS GRANDPA?" but then he's like self-aware enough to know that's stupid.(Jean's problem is that he looks for wounds on Kim and not Harry, so he's all like "damn this bitch stole my mans when he's actually good...." meanwhile Harry is like Very Obviously Self Harming All The Time and not even really with Kim so often rip)

Harry wants to reach out and ask him about his thing with Kim because he has memories of Jean either being gay or being less homophobic or just having Gay Energy that he was an asshole about or whatever plus it just feels natural to work through shit with Jean but he stops himself because he's like "well DRINKING also felt natural that doesn't mean we should do it..."

maybe they get into it because Jean makes an offhand comment about "stop ogling kim" and harry is like (computer warmup noises) and jean just kinda forces him to spit it out RE: meme description

Harry's whole deal with avoiding Jean is "some things are unforgivable and I'm fairly sure I've done things bordering on that to you for so, so long, and now I don't even know what they were or who I was when I did them, to me that person is dead, and I know then that I can't apologize to you thoroughly, genuinely, and I don't want to insult you by presuming that I ever could, at this point. I don't want to insult you by assuming I can just go back to what we were before, to each other, without an apology or an actual understanding of what went wrong. I can't speak for certain about his mind-my mind- but at least in some part that guy killed himself because of what he did to you, and to everyone around him, sure, but mostly to you. And now I'm here, and it feels horrible to try and go against that and push myself into your life. It feels horrible to see I've done something to you worth killing myself over and then still insist on coming back to bother you beyond the grave"

And Jean's response is "you thought everything was bad enough to kill yourself over! And you're still alive, you're still him, and fuck, yes it'll take a long ass fucking time for me to ever really forgive you, but you were my best friend and you're still fucking alive- I see you every single day, Harry, do you know what that's like? To see your best fucking friend every single day and watch him flinch and try to act like he doesn't exist every single time he sees you? Fuck you and fuck what you wanted before, *I* never wanted you dead, and your little stunt here with pretending you're finally fine and then keeping everyone at an arm's distance is just another, slower grave you're digging" etc etc "if this is the upswing at last, I’d better be there for it.**”

Jean is a frat boy that you do not expect to be a frat boy. He unironically gets along with mack and chester. He's only just started to grow out of it through dealing with Harry's horrible downfall

sequel to geste drole des debutantes but it's just a 3 chapter PWP masturbation fic..... of Kim and Harry after the dinner and then SHOOKETH SURPRISE IT'S JEANGST YEARNING TIME!

Kim trans.... Good for him...

Stroker shit

He wants to fuck Harry basically

     ...slow tease? Or fast and desperate?

Dry kissing

Hair pulling...

Youre hard, and you're wet, and you can't help but think of that smile on his face as you left and you want him to taste it, to get on his knees for what he's done to you and swallow it all down, feels the soft brush of his beard on your thighs.

 Harry also trans... Good for them good for them...

Handkink shit

Wants kim to absolutely wreck his shit

... He's new at this

Slow....

Jean

Jeangst

Want to wreck harry's shit... Mouthfuck stuff maybe

Power bottoming?? Idk

Whoops my hardcore dom revenge fantasy has slipped into a getting bossed around by the guy I thought I disliked for taking away my partner UHH.... LETS NOT UNPACK THAT....

Some idiot makes like a homophobic stupid "ah the fucking lieutants off scissoring or something" comment and then jean is like "oh god what if that but sexual instead"

Gym shower...

Jean has a big dick too bad bitch

When harry du bois ruined his life, thinks satelitte-officer Jean Vicquemare- he might at least have had the decency not to also curse his dick. This shit was weekly and only getting worse, now that the shitkid didn't constantly smell like despair and carrion had scored a threesome with a bartender's manual.

[ajw720]

The number one thing that the stans aren't getting is that the active closeting is not about presenting D as straight anymore. It's about covering up the decade of lies that have led to this point, back when that was the goal. Celebs don't care about coming out as much now, but 10 years ago this was not the case. Closeting was more actively done at that time and D was part of it. He can't just change tack because it's 2019. They need to cover up the lies and legitimize it, hence the mockery.

While I agree with your premise on D specifically, closeting is sadly very alive in Hollywood and very much still happening, even to younger stars, in 2019.  The industry is still living in the dark ages and it only cares about one thing, money.  

This being said, as for D specifically, I don’t think this has been about him being straight for a very, very long time. Certainly during G/lee, but now it is about legitimizing PBB, control and power over him and C, and covering up the myriad of crimes committed by F/ox, RIB, SS, RR, PBB, and her family plus numerous others that have contribution to his oppression.  

I think everyone involved is well aware that D has every intentional of telling the truth (I still believe he was going to come out in connection with ACS) and they want to make it as hard on him as possible and to paint him as the “guilty” party.  

Before the sham mockery, d still could have come out and told the truth, that he is not straight and in a relationship with C and M was never anything more than a beard. Frankly, it still would have been better for her and I think she made a grave mistake pushing for the wedding.  This will haunt her in the future, just because she feels like she is winning now, as soon as she is cut from his life, no matter what D discloses, the truth will start to be revealed and even her biggest stans will start to question. The rumors and speculation are too strong and frankly, the facts speak for themselves. Add, i think D has some pretty powerful people on his side who won’t hesitate to destroy her and the jumping jackass.

So here we are. The wedding occurred. D cannot say he did not participate, because until this point, we could easily point to how his team manipulated and controlled the situation. But he woke up on February 16, put on a tux, and went through the motions of a ceremony and reception and it is well documented. His team needed this.  She needed this. And they are all going to hang on until he is able to cut them out legally.

I hope when he “agreed” there was a strict, binding legal agreement that had a very definite end date and strict restrictions on what she could do.  And I hope his eyes are wide open, because she is ruthless and not afraid to play dirty.  

[famous-aces]

Henry David Thoreau

Who: Henry David Thoreau

What: Author, Philosopher, Abolitionist, Activist, Naturalist, Critic, Surveyor, Yogi, Historian...ah, Jeez, what wasn't he?

Where: American (active largely in the US)

When: July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862

(Image description: a photo of Henry David Thoreau from 1861, it is obviously in black and white but has faded to sepia. He is a white man in a jacket and what appears to be a scarf or cravat. He has a long, tired face, circles around his eyes. He has a thick beard and mustache and slightly messy hair, his hair is dark but graying.  End ID)

You have probably heard this name even if you don't know why. He is best known  for his memoirs, essays, and his role in the founding of the Transcendentalist movement. His progressive philosophy remains relevant to this day. His influence has lasted well over a century and he served as inspiration for the likes of JFK, Martin Luther King Jr., Hemingway, Tolstoy, Shaw, Gandhi, among dozens of other names of equal note.

Thoreau was a Transcendentalist through and through, meaning he believed in the inherent goodness of humanity and nature in conjunction with science, and the power of the individual. His writing is generally practical, thoughtful, detailed, and observant, and he wrote extensively on a number of subjects. Perhaps most notably on environmentalism (he is one of the inspirations for and a precursor to the 20th century environmentalist movement), nature, ethics, simple living, direct action, civil disobedience, abolition, tax resistance, anarchy, among countless other topics.  

Thoreau's most famous and popular works include Walden, which is the published version of of the diary Thoreau kept over his two year social experiment at Walden Pond (written beginning in 1845, published in 1854), "Civil Disobedience,"  which helped both Gandhi and Dr. King form their philosophies, and states that in an unjust society the just must rebel, (it was originally titled "Resistance to Civil Government or Civil Disobedience", 1849), "Walking" an instruction manual on how Thoreau thought, observed, and wrote (1862), "Slavery in Massachusetts", a speech given at a rally to protest the re-enslavement of escapee/fugitive slave Anthony Burns (1854) and Excursions, collection of essays, published posthumously in 1863 with biographical introduction by fellow author and Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson.  He also wrote on John Brown and his execution ("A Plea for Captain John Brown" [1859], Remarks After the Hanging of John Brown [1859], and The Last Days of John Brown [1860]).

(Image description: a replica of Thoreau's cabin in Walden. It is a very small wooded. Cabin in a clearing, one room at most, brown/gray in color. It has a white multi-paned window and a brick chimney in the back. The whole cabin is not much taller than its door. Behind it is a shed or outhouse.  They are surrounded by trees. Touching one of the closest trees is a brown metal statue of a man walking, presumably Thoreau. End ID)

Probable Orientation: Gay ace or possibly aroace with a desire for a male QPP.

I am very confident in Thoreau's asexuality, if a little shakier on his romantic orientation. As far as anyone knows (and his life has been repeatedly and heavily scrutinized since the 19th century) Thoreau never had a romantic or sexual partner. He was a public figure with a wide circle of friends, someone would have known at some point during his life and if somehow a partner escaped notice the historians who dedicated their lives to studying his life specifically would have uncovered them. Thoreau wrote on male/male relationships, some more platonic, some queerplatonic, some vagulely romantic, none sexual.

Thoreau, like Elizabeth I, is one cishets hold onto, turning away from the idea he could be anything but heterosexual regardless of the evidence to the contrary.  Like Andy Warhol he is one exclusionists refuse to acknowledge was ace, although they have even less of an argument here. Many aphobic fans of Thoreau are terrified by the idea that maybe, just maybe, the thing Thoreau loved most was nature. Some outrageous arguments from either side include: one historian claimed a poem Thoreau wrote for a man was actually meant for that guy's sister, some say he was being hip in writing about Achilles, some say he was too repressed to have sex, especially since he was gay. One blogger got heated in his admantness that Thoreau wasn't ace but was "a human being with feelings and needs." Nice aphobia there, dude.

But here is the thing about any of those arguments: Thoreau broke every other rule in his culture. He was not afraid to be different, and separated himself from society.  He was all about the individual breaking away from society and its traditions and going with your human nature. Thoreau did what he believed to be right.

He had a following, many friends and aquaintences, almost certainly suitors, he spent a lot of time alone in the company of men he seemed to find attractive e.g. Tom Fowler (who was his sole companion and guide through Maine) and Alek Therien (who visited Thoreau alone at Walden). I firmly believe that his percieved "prudishness" was not artificial but came from a genuine disinterest and failure to even really understand sexual attraction (his journals imply as much, you will see). If he did sleep with any of these men Thoreau never documented it, not even in his own journals. But what he did articulate in letters is that society's refusal to discuss sex/physical relationships was proof of its problems. Sex was natural so dismissing it wasn't. 

His feelings about sex are contradictory, he thinks it must be natural but he also finds it repulsive and dirty. He makes note at one point of how beautiful pollination is (he is quoting and translating J. Biberg but agrees with the sentiment and indeed only uses the quote to prove his point on the beauty of sexless flowers), but he vilifies or dislikes human intercourse. Thoreau seems to like the idea of sex without the sex, he likes closeness more than intercourse. He wants to like sex but can't, the closest he gets is the desire for these things to be open.

Quotes:

Hang onto your hats. There are some long ones here, but Thoreau, like Chopin, is pretty overtly ace. Like he couldn't make it clear without waving an asexual pride flag, would be hard considering it was invented in what? 2010? And Thoreau had already been dead 148 chaste, chaste years.

"What is commonly honored with the name of Friendship is no very profound or powerful instinct...I do not often see the farmers made seers and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love in each other’s presence. I do not observe them purified, refined, and elevated by the love of a man…I do not often see the farmers made seers and wise to the verge of insanity by their Friendship for one another. They are not often transfigured and translated by love in each other’s presence. I do not observe them purified, refined, and elevated by the love of a man…Nor do the farmers' wives lead lives consecrated to Friendship. I do not see the pair of farmer Friends of either sex prepared to stand against the world...Even the utmost good-will and harmony and practical kindness are not sufficient for Friendship, for Friends do not live in harmony merely, as some say, but in melody. We do not wish for Friends to feed and clothe our bodies,--neighbors are kind enough for that,--but to do the like office to our spirits…[the ideal friendship] will make a man honest; it will make him a hero; it will make him a saint. It is the state of the just dealing with the just, the magnanimous with the magnanimous, the sincere with the sincere, man with man.”

-Henry David Thoreau, from his journal 1839. This entry on friendship the hope for something deeper than what most people call by that name, but still looking for friendship. He is looking for a partner, an emotional, spiritual, partner. This quote could be read as romantic or queerplatonic. You know which one I am leaning toward, queerplatonic, especially because he specifies these relationships as unique from marriage (which he equates in other texts with sex and maybe romance) also he was writing while on a trip with his brother, John, to whom he would later dedicate the publication after John's death in 1842. But it could easily also be a sexless romantic relationship, what he is looking for is not explicitly either.

The following are all from 1852 letters written by Thoreau to his friend and proofreader Harrison Blake. One of these letters was overtly written on the subject of "Chastity and Sensuality" and contains his complicated feelings on sexuality:

"What the essential difference between man and woman is, that they should be thus attracted to one another, no one has satisfactorily answered."

(Note: self explanatory)

"If it is the result of a pure love, there can be nothing sensual in marriage. Chastity is something positive, not negative. It is the virtue of the married especially. All lusts or base pleasures must give place to loftier delights...The deeds of love are less questionable than any action of an individual can be, for, it being founded on the rarest mutual respect, the parties incessantly stimulate each other to a loftier and purer life, and the act in which they are associated must be pure and noble indeed..."

(Note: in the above quote he seems to believe that in marriage sex must eventually stop because there is something better. As if they have gotten the sex stuff out of the way.)

"Love and lust are as far asunder as a flower-garden is from a brothel.

(Note: this was part of his description for his disdain for human sex vs human love, his confusion about sex but love of human relationships. It is part of that desire for sex without sex thing I mentioned but harsher than his tone in a later letter.)

"'The organs of generation, which, in the animal kingdom, are for the most part concealed by nature, as if they were to be ashamed of, in the vegetable kingdom are ex posed to the eyes of all ; and, when the nuptials of plants are celebrated, it is wonderful what delight they afford to the beholder, refreshing...'"

(Note: this is Thoreau quoting and translating J. Biberg. Part of the same letter as the brothel line. In this letter he discusses how perturbed he is by sex and lust, but how it should be something beautiful. He celebrates pollination, while finding human sex distasteful, again sex without sex.)

"The intercourse of the sexes, I have dreamed, is incredibly beautiful, too fair to be remembered. I have had thoughts about it, but they are among the most fleeting and irrecoverable in my experience."

(Note: Also self explanatory)

(Image description: the original title page of Walden. It has an illustration on it drawn by Thoreau's sister Sophia. Above the illustration it reads "Walden; or Life in the Woods by Henry D. Thoreau, Author of "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers". Then is the illustration showing Thoreau's cabin, it looks very much like the modern replica if with a slightly different treeline.  There is a path leading from the cabin down to the bottom of the image directed at the words below. The text continues after the drawing "I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake the neighbors up. -Page 92. Boston, Ticknor and Fields. M DCCC LIV.". End ID)

[shadows-twilight]

RWBY Volume 7, Chapter 1

What is up, FNDM!!! At long last we are back with an all new volume of RWBY, and thus I am back to gush about it! Let's just jump right in with my thoughts and opinions on Chapter 1 of RWBY Volume 7, "The Greatest Kingdom"

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW:

I swear, the moon gets prettier and prettier every volume. This opening shot is incredible.

When we heard his one line in the trailer, I was blown away with how little I could tell that Qrow had a new voice actor, even though I was listening for it. Now that we get to hear more of it, the differences are admittedly starting to stand out a bit more. That being said, I don't think it will take long at all to get used to it, andJason Liebrecht is still doing an amazing job. I certainly look forward to his performance moving forward.

Looks like I was right in the finale in that the lower area is Mantle. I must say, it looks amazing. Everything about it just looks so dirty and industrial, definitely what I would imagine for the slums of the technological giant that is Atlas. Major kudos to CRWBY for this setting design.

Ooh, both Ironwood and Winter get new outfits. They look good, though something about Ironwood's beard looks off to me. Maybe I'm just not used to it, but something about the shading makes it look photoshopped on. Maybe it'll look better in the future.

Decided to pause on the newsboard that the purple haired dude is looking at, and I must say, while there isn't a lot there, what can be made out is...foreboding. The bottom middle headline I believe says "Outer Wall Damaged" which certainly seems like it will be important later, while the one to its left seems to be an opinion piece on the dust embargo. The standouts, however, are the top two. The first on the left talks about a journalist being found dead (always a good sign in politically charged climates) while the one on the right talks about an upcoming council election. Specifically, it talks about a "Mantle Hometown Hero" (whom I am assuming to be the woman on all of the posters that looks like she wouldn't look out of place in The Dragon Prince) going up against an "Atlesian Tycoon." Five Lien on who THAT could possibly be. Are Team RWBY and Friends going to have to go up against Jacques in a political arena? Because that could get pretty interesting.

I'd say that drone was too cute to die the way it did, but quite frankly it was far too funny for me to muster up that much compassion.

Yeesh, our first look at the Faunus Dust Miners, and it is not a pretty sight. Or maybe it's just the drunk asshole spouting casual racism. Either way, it's an ugly sight.

Thank you Weiss. We were all thinking it, put the trash where it belongs.

So did the drunk with the blue beanie know who they were? I feel like that was what he was trying to say before he decided to eat shit.

I don't know who the mouse Faunus girl was that exited the clinic, and we'll probably never see her again, but she was adorable as hell and I feel like that deserved mentioning.

Hmm, a robotics technician that resides in Atlas, has similar hair style and skin tone to the guy we cut to when Penny died, and is currently wearing a pink bow tie? Yeah, no idea who this is.

I love his chair. That is all.

"Days Since Last Nonsense: 0" I like the added touch of 'nonsense' being written down the side where room ran out.

If we never get to see Nora try Pietro's dancing shoes, this entire volume will be considered a waste.

So, seeing how incredibly obvious it is as to who this Pietro guy is, did anyone else perk up a bit when he referred to his daughter in present tense?

Hehe, convenient-reveal-delaying Grimm attack is conveniently-reveal-delaying

I see the Atlesian are as useless as always.

This score sounds like it's based on a song we'll be getting later, but even if it isn't I am loving it all the same

Even though his pose was completely different, when Oscar stabbed the Sabre Grimm in the head, it reminded me of Scrooge Mcduck's pogo attack in the old Ducktales game.

And there it is. The major even that they have been teasing us about for months, the big Vol 7 premiere surprise, the one, the only PENNY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am so excited to see our precious robot girl back! Now all we need is Pyrrha and I will be happy once more

Let's face it Ruby, any other greeting simply would not have done this reunion justice.

Plus side, the status of RWBY redheads just got a lot less endangered.

"We have so many things to catch up about" Oh, Penny, you have no idea.

Dangit, Qrow, you had to jinx it, didn't you. I mean, I guess that's pretty on brand for you, but still.

These Ace-Ops guys certainly seem...colorful (despite most of them wearing the standard boring Atlas white color palette). I'm particularly interested in who I'm assuming is the leader, who the credits name Clover Ebi. I don't know who or what his character allusion is, but I feel like him being covered in stereotypical good luck charms is a sign.

Woohoo! New intro time! Just like last time, there's a lot to unpack here, so let's get into it

-The opening silhouettes remind me a lot of the original trailers, and quite frankly I love it for that. Not sure how I feel about the more pastel color pallet, though. -The shot of Team RWBY flying through the sky and shifting throughout all of their main outfits? A stroke of genius. -They seem to have updated Yang's semblance effect from the Bees vs Adam fight. It looks amazing and I love it. -Ironwood alone in a dark war room certainly doesn't seem ominous-Hmm, now the Ace-Ops guys get there own silhouette portraits? I am certainly interested in getting to know these guys. -When we zoom out on Watts's computer, alongside the Ace-Ops we see something to do with Mantle's security network as well as an election map. This election is definitely looking like it's going to be a main focal point of this volume. -Nothing too special here, just a few character shots, a silhouette of Tyrian looking creepy, Ironwood looking angry and sad (though the effect of the snow and ice consuming him is interesting),  Jacques and Whitley looking smarmy, Weiss and Winter looking at each other (their facial expressions are certainly telling of what their relationship is going to be like this volume), Pietro and Maria, a group shot of Teams RWBY, Team JNR, and Oscar, and of course, Penny looking adorable. -Now that we're getting to see it in motion, I must admit that Jaune's new haircut doesn't look too bad. Also, I noticed his shield now incorporates hard light dust. I wonder if it just widens his shield a little or if it will manifest in other ways as well. -When the Mantle citizen threw a rock at the hologram of Ironwood, it briefly flickered to Jacques. That's concerning. -The action scenes are a lot of fun, with Oscar training with Ironwood, and Weiss and Blake in the dust mines, but the really interesting one is the Mantle Hero and Qrow going up against Tyrian. I wonder if Qrow knows her. -The group shot at the end is very My Hero Academia and I absolutely love it. -Wow, even Qrow gets a new outfit. It only took him twenty years. -Ooh, a brief look at the Relic of Creation. I admit, I was hoping that the relics would each have different color schemes, like having all of them be gold is fine, but I was slightly hoping where the Relic of Knowledge was blue, the Relic of Creation would be maybe green and the Relic of Destruction would be red, or something like that. Still looks cool though -There was not a single hint of Cinder or Neo in the opening, and that somewhat worries me.

Hehe, credits humor "Drunk Mann played by Joel Mann" Ah, once again, RWBY shows that it knows how to come out the gate swinging. They've set up a lot of interesting things in this first episode, and I can not wait to see how it all plays out.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

OOH can we please have the angsty fluff fic rec list??? thanks!!

@idontneednormal said to inevitably-johnlocked: hi there! could you please share your angsty fluff fics with us? i live for angst with a sappy ending!

HELLS TO THE YES I WILL, LOVELIES. Like I said on this post, I was just waiting for someone to request it. I’ve A TONNE MORE, but like I said, these are just what I’ve sorted so far :) There will probably be a part two in a few months if someone asks again, LOL.

ANYWAY, here’s some angst with a healthy happy dose of fluff to soothe the heartache caused by the angst! I think 99% of these all have happy endings, so don’t you worry none, your angst gets instant relief

ANGSTY FLUFF

One-Way Mirror by StormyNight108 (K+, 830 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-TRF, John’s Blog) – It’s been months since the incident, where a man lost his best friend. Slowly but surely, John’s life is starting to turn up a little. That night, his blog is updated to share good news to his followers, and one anonymous commentator is quick to share his happiness. It’s about as close to his friend as he can get right now. No slash.

You Lead, I Lead, You Follow, I Follow by BrighteyedJill (M, 862 w. || Fever, H/C, John Whump) – John wakes up after a chase gone wrong to find Sherlock watching over him, but he’s a little hazy on the details.

Static by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602) (G, 917 w. || Fluff, H/C, Dr. John, Headaches, POV Sherlock, Fluff, H.C, Pre-TSo3) – Sherlock suffers from a headache.

Secrets by 796116311389 (G, 1,084 w. || Drunk Sherlock, Drunk Confessions, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Pining Sherlock) – “He is the best person in the world and sometimes I get sad because I’m not. Not his best person.”

Drums and Fireworks by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 2,121 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Platonic Cuddles) – “Are… Are you afraid of THUNDERSTORMS?” John asked incredulously.

I’m Sorry by bewdifuldragon (K, 1,172 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John) – During a case - that just for the record, he never wanted to take on anyway - John falls ill; and a guilt-ridden Sherlock does everything he can to make amends.

Of Small and Unexpected Things by wearitcounts (T, 1,239 w. || Love Confessions, Scars, Implied Abuse, Fluff & Angst) – It’s by accident, the first time John sees them.

In Dreams by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 1,340 w. || Falling in Love, Accidental Cuddling, Snuggling, Fluff, Romance, Domestic Fluff) – Every once and a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

Lost Without My Army Doctor by ItsRealForUs (K, 1,499 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Migraines, Doctor John, Domestics) – Sherlock’s fighting a losing battle with his migraine when John comes home to help.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Not Straight by IamJohnLocked4life (NR, 1,728 w. || POV Sherlock, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – John moves back into 221B. Feelings come up. Happy ending.

Q 1 HR by StillWaters1 (K+, 2,234 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John, Fluff, New Year’s Eve) – On New Year’s Eve, Sherlock discovers that sometimes it’s the seemingly innocuous, rather than life-threatening, conditions that can keep John from The Work. And John is reminded just how deeply their friendship runs.

Just Admit It by LoyalNerdWP (T, 2,512 w. || Christmas, Fluff, Family, Romance, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock goes to his family’s place for Christmas without John, and Mycroft makes an interesting observation that Sherlock missed.

Rooftop Confession by Random_Nexus (T, 2,514 w. || Ace Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Friendship / Love, Angsty Fluff) – Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.

Intensive Care by aceofhearts61 (T, 2,539 w. || Ace!Sherlock / Straight John Queerplatonic Relationship, Hurt Comfort, Angst, Cuddles and Snuggles, Hugs, Doctor!John, Medical Procedures) – In which John looks after Sherlock directly following the events of “Bless You and Keep You.” Sequel Fic. Part 15 of A Love with No Name

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices (M, 2,718 w. || First Kiss / Time, Angst With a Happy Ending, Emotional Messes, Implied Sex, Angst and Humour, Bed Sharing, Post-TRF) – Sherlock and John have been dancing around what’s between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

Extraordinary by ardenteurophile (T, 2,739 w. || Angst, Pining, Romance, Second Person POV Sherlock, Pre-Slash) – Sherlock tries to understand his preoccupation with one Doctor John Watson - the one case he can never solve.

There’ll be people By Ariane DeVere (T, 2,739 w. || Friendship/Romance, Angsty Fluff, First Kiss) – There’s a reason why Sherlock doesn’t travel on the Underground, and it’s not because he’s a snob. John learns the reason the hard way. Although, given the conclusion, maybe this one Tube ride wasn’t such a bad idea.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || John’s Missing Wed., Fluffy Angst, Mutual PIning, Pre-Slash, Missing Scene) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

The Sweetest Taste In The World by crossroads (G, 3,121 w. || First Kiss, Fluff, Pining, Friends to Lovers) – The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by.

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn’t trust the evidence in front of him, until there’s a compelling reason to do so.

Listening By Ear by StillWaters1 (T, 3,384 w. || Lestrade POV, Friendship, H/C, John Whump) –  Lestrade figured that anyone who thought John Watson wasn’t important, and that Sherlock hadn’t changed since meeting him, had to be completely, bloody deaf. Because it was all right there, in every sound Sherlock made. For anyone attentive enough to listen.

Measuring Damage With the Fujita Scale by teahigh (T, 3,548 w. || First Kiss / Time, Vacation / Holidays, Friends to Lovers, Bed-Sharing, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Angsty Fluff, Scars, Awkward Talks) – John goes back into town, into the storm, and Sherlock realises he forgot to say, “I just want to be alone with you.”

MR# 1430155 by blueink3 (T, 3,560 w. || Talks of Parentlock, Baby Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst) – John paces the length of the not inconsiderable hallway and glances at his phone for the tenth time since he exited the hospital room seven minutes ago. Sherlock’s last text was sent at 5:06pm. It is now 5:39pm. He should be here by now. After all, his daughter is 46-minutes-old and if John is going to share this momentous event with someone, it sure as hell isn’t going to be the woman who just gave birth to her.Part 5 of Tumblr Prompts

Stay by msdisdain (M, 3,561 w. || First Kiss / Time, Angst / H/C, Bed Sharing, Nightmares, Blow Jobs, Anal) – John’s nightmares are nothing new. Sherlock’s inability to ignore them, however, is.

Because Your Coat is Part of You by camellialice (K, 3,705 w. || 5 and 1, Canon Compliant, Sherlock’s Coat, Angst, Fluff) – Five times John wore Sherlock’s coat and one time he didn’t need to.

Come home. by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles) (E, 3,763 w. || Texting / Sexting, Lonely Sherlock, Nude Photos, Pining, Fluff & Smut) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

April Sea by ladydirewolf1 (T, 3,778 w. || Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Melodrama, Reminiscence) – Sherlock takes John to the place he spent his childhood summers.

Upon Waking by joolabee (E, 3,901 w. || Mild Dub Con, Magical Realism, Angst, Somnophilia) – It sets on slow: John can only be awake while Sherlock sleeps, and vice versa. Their lives are codependent, but never meeting. Like a set of scales.

Water Is Another Matter by cathedral_carver (T, 3,903 w. || Sick Fic, Pining, First Kiss, Heat Wave) – He thinks it’s in trouble, his poor heart.

In the cherry blossom’s shade by Eliane (M, 3,934 w. || Post S3, First Time / Kiss, Sleeping Together, Pining / Obsessive Sherlock, Minor Char. Death) – This isn’t new. Sherlock has already done this – has gone through cities, and dingy hotels, and sleepless nights but it was different before. John wasn’t there before.They’re in this together.

Someone Else’s Heart by thisprettywren (E, 4,188 w. || First Time, H/C, POV Sherlock, Caretaking John, Pining Idiots) – A crime scene, a rainstorm, and something they both should have known all along.

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night, Sad Ending) – “You. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

Carry On by Mazarin221b (M, 4,647 w. || 5 and Ones, H/C, Afghanistan, Frottage, Hand Jobs, First Time) – Five times John didn’t want to be carried, and one time he did.

There’s Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w. || Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Angst, Mutual Pining, UST / URT, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

Facade by distantstarlight (M, 4,715 w. || Fluff, John’s Beard, No-Shave November, Grumpy Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock) – Sherlock is highly irritated with a challenge John has agreed to undertake. Why does he need to grow a beard anyway?

Unforgiven by 221b_hound (M, 4,721 w. || Marriage Proposal, Victor Trevor, Jealous / Protective John, Jealous Sherlock, Sherlock’s Past) – Sherlock’s latest case is for his ex boyfriend, the brilliant and handsome Professor Victor Trevor. John is not too happy about that. But things aren’t what they seem, an old friend of John’s is involved in the case, and John has a few surprises up his sleeve. Also - a proposal! Part 16 of Unkissed

This Time by Radon65 (T, 4,766 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) –  He has practically just finished talking to Lestrade when it happens. A sudden dizziness assaults his brain, things tip sideways, and he barely catches himself on the arm of the sofa to slow his descent before he collapses altogether to the floor.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w. || Sex, First Time, Pining John) – John wants. He always has, but now that he’s living with Sherlock again, it’s all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn’t helping…

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

We Bleed into the Grey by QuinnAnderson (T, 4,989 w. || First Kiss, Supernatural Elements, Fluff & Angst) – It was stupid, really. What was the point of having an ability if it wasn’t even a useful one? Sherlock would just as soon be rid of his. Until he meets John Watson, that is.

Every Little Thing by the_beekeeper_of_sussex (E, 5,066 w. || First Time / Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Come as Lube, Embarassed Sherlock, Porn With Feelings) – When Sherlock walks in on John making tea wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxer-briefs things get a little heated…physically and emotionally.

Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5,178 w. || Christmas, Fluff & Angst, Magic Realism) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.

I think You Need A Doctor by TheGoodDirector (M, 5,254 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Sherlock Whump, Mistaken Couple, Humour, Platonics, Mary is Nice) – John’s not been to Baker Street in four months and returns to find a bleeding Consulting Detective. John can’t help but take care and put up with him. Set after The Sign of Three/Before His Last Vow.

The Only Available Transportation by blueink3 (T, 5,379 w. || Post S4, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Sherlock, Caring John, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Birthday, Family, Misunderstandings) – It’s possibly the desperation that’s seeped into his voice despite his best intentions, or perhaps it’s just a mother’s intuition, but she knows that whatever he’s calling about is Serious, hangover be damned. “What’s happened?” she asks, tone soft and as comforting as a hot cup of tea on a cold winter’s night. “Mummy,” he begins, voice catching. “I think John may be moving out.”

The Heart On Your Sleeve by flawedamythyst (T, 5,441 w. || Soulmate AU || Sherlock POV, Heartmarks, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Semi-S1 / S2 Canon Compliant, Reunion) – Sherlock stared at the imperfect circle on his left wrist in horror, then sat down on his bed with a bit of a thump. After over thirty years, his heartmark was finally showing activity. This was not good.

Finding John by orphan_account (T, 5,456 w. || Soul Bond AU, Symbolic Rings, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes has met exactly twenty-four Johns in his life. They have all been the wrong John. He’s getting tired of waiting, staring at the inscription on his finger and wondering when his John will turn up, if ever. Part 1 of Inscriptions

Surprise Christmas by Ayakae (K, 6,093 w. || Friendship, Sherlock in Disguise, TRF Hiatus, Christmas, Fluff, Mary) – A year and a half after his death, Sherlock tries to give John Watson a happy Christmas without actually revealing himself. The consulting detective thinks his newfound friend can help. Epic friendship.

Same Same But Different by Kerkerian-Horizon (K+, 6,435 w. || Friendship, Angst, Post-TRF, Gladstone, John/Mary, Christmas, No Slash) – After Sherlock’s return, a lot of things have changed, things the detective has to learn to contend with- or rather, to accept. A sometime-post-Reichenbach story in two parts, no male pairing. Contains Mary, the puppy Gladstone and Christmas as well.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

5687 (Approximately) by prettysailorsoldier (T, 6,771 w. || Alternate Canon, Christmas, Pining, Fluff, Soldier John) – When John’s leave request for Christmas is denied, Sherlock is nothing short of devastated, not that he’s letting it show. The holiday season now something he’s just waiting to end, Sherlock doesn’t think anything can possibly make it worse. That is, until he realizes no one in his life believes his army “boyfriend” is even real, but, luckily, everyone is in for a surprise. Part 13 of 25 Days of Johnlock

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Survival Instinct by shirleyholmes (T, 7,162 w. || Post-TRF, First Kiss, Schmoop, Nightmares, Fluff & Angst, Grief, Idiots in Love) – After Sherlock’s “comeback” John starts obsessing with constantly making sure he’s alive (checking his heartbeat etc.)

In Which “John” Becomes a Synonym for “Help” by asignoftwo (T, 7,391 w. || Injured John, Worried Sherlock, Fluff) –  After the fall Sherlock returns to Baker Street and is reunited with John. When John is injured on a case Sherlock is faced with the reality that he could lose John again, and it tears him apart.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you’re coiled like a spring and ready to be … sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don’t mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

The T-Shirt Thief by allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet (T, 7,968 w. || Mutual Pining, Post Canon Fix It, Dev. Rel., First Kiss, Domestics) – Sherlock steals John’s t-shirt from the laundry. John catches him wearing it one evening, fluff ensues with an endeared yet teasing John?

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w. || Time Travel, Post-HLV, Sci-Fi, First Kiss) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

Presence by LostGirl (M, 8,625 w. || Pre-Slash, First Time, Jealousy, Friends to Lovers) – Sherlock has recently noticed a shift in his own perceptions, but he can’t quite figure out when it started.

Let You Kiss Me (So Sweet and So Soft) by out_there (G, 8,659 w. || Fluff, Kisses, Stroppy Sherlock, Confused John) – The first time Sherlock kisses him, John keeps his eyes open, and so does Sherlock, and mostly, he wonders what Sherlock could possibly be up to. There’ll be some logic to this. Some ridiculous experiment about body warmth or respiratory rates or testing a new way of picking pockets. Sherlock does the unimaginable for bizarre reasons, but behind it, there’s always logic and curiosity. Sometimes, it just takes him a while to explain it to John.

The Painted Man by jinglebell (E, 9,894 w. || Tattoos, Scent / Tattoo Kink, Rough & Tender Sex, Fluff and Smut, Obsessive / Jealous Sherlock, Touch Starvation) – Here stood John Watson – middle name, Hamish, ex-RAMC captain and field medic, favourite brand of jam: Duerr’s, preferred toothpaste: Mentadent. Loyal, steadfast, interesting John had just done the most unpredictable thing merely by being. John’s body was covered, neck-to-waistband, shoulder-to-elbow, in tattoos.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

Confidential by sussexbound (M, 10,654 w. || Epistolary, John’s Journal, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Self-Acceptance/Discovery, John’s Sexuality) – When John accidentally stumbles upon the Confidential file Sherlock’s been keeping on him he is both angry and curious. What he learns about himself, though–well, that changes everything.

Never Have I Ever by hudders-and-hiddles (E, 10,655 w. || Pining Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Drinking Games, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers) – John and Sherlock tag along for the Met’s weekly night out, where the evening’s chosen drinking game is Never Have I Ever. Sherlock is reluctant to join in until he realizes he can learn all kinds of new things about John, but he forgets that John might learn a thing or two about him as well.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

Of Course I Forgive You by allonsys_girl (E, 10,735 w. || Love Confessions, Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, Wall Sex, Infidelity) – What if things had gone differently on that train car?

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewold and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

The Red Dianthus by kinklock (T, 11,382 w. || Supernatural Elements, BAMF!John, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Romance, Halloween, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – The boys investigate a mysterious disappearance in a supposedly haunted house, and get much more than they bargained for.

Johnlock Ficlet Collection by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 11,505+ w. [WiP] | Random Ficlets, Pining, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Parentlock, AU’s, First Kiss, Character POV’s) - Just a collection of Johnlock ficlets, originally posted on my Tumblr page.

Where the Sun Never Shines by teahigh (T, 11,634 w. || PTSD, Nightmares, H/C, Post-TRF, Implied Sex) – John is a mess. Sherlock can’t fix him, but he tries. That’s good enough, John thinks.

Rainbow Hearts Retreat by PajamaSecrets (E, 11,638 w. || Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Undercover, Fluff and Smut, Bed-Sharing, Therapy, Humour/Crack, First Time) – “It’s a same-sex couples retreat. For those experiencing troubles in their relationship. Consists of group and couples therapy as well as encouraging socialization between the couples. It’s all in their incredibly dull brochure.” “Rainbow Hearts Retreat,” John read. “Sounds… quite gay.”

the first day of forever by darcylindbergh (E, 11,850 w. || Est. Relationship, Domestics, Light Angst, Insecurity, Emotional H/C) – “I’m going to marry you,” John murmurs with against Sherlock’s smile, and they both giggle in the joy of it. “We’re getting married.”“Yes,” Sherlock says, just to hear himself say it out loud. “We are.” A June wedding. Part 4 of things fairy tales are made of

Take My Breath Away by Quesarasara (E, 14,240 w. || Emotional H/C, Angst & Fluff, Toplock, Smut, Lingerie) – Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his friend—his best friend—and slowly tips his chin down until his forehead rests softly against John’s. They stay that way for a long moment, lips just a whisper apart, warm puffs of air mingling as each of them struggles to breathe. It’s no wonder they ended up here, really, locked in this breathless moment balanced on the cusp of something new. They’ve spent years taking each other’s breath away…

Your Eyes in Darkness Glowing by tamed_untranslatable (E, 14,686 w. || Est. Rel., Case Fic, Hotel Sex, Bottomlock, Anal, BJ’s, Porn With Feelings, Homophobia) – Sherlock gets roped into a case in Moscow on his brother’s insistence, but finds that he can’t do it without John.

Twelfth Night by yourdykeinshiningarmor (E, 15,139 w. || Fake Relationship, Christmas, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst & Fluff, BJ’s, Anal) – John is invited to his aunt’s Twelfth Night ball. Sherlock offers to attend with him as a friendly face among strangers, but John’s family force him to address his true feelings for Sherlock.

Till Death Do Us Part by prettysailorsoldier (M, 15,390 w. || Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Christmas, Fluff) – When Sherlock links a recent spree of murder-suicides to a psychologist who specializes in marriage counseling, there’s really only one thing to do: Go undercover as a couple in hopes of drawing the killer out. Faking a relationship seems easy enough, but things take a turn when their real issues start to creep into the sessions, and, all the while, a killer is watching, waiting in the shadows for their chance to strike.

A Hundred Thousand Ways to Say the Name John by Jberry (E, 16,825 w. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, POV John, Pining John, Cruise Ship, Angst & Fluff) –  John Watson and Sherlock Holmes must solve a case on a cruise ship. To get close to the crew and passengers, they must get married for the case on the Baetica. However, their relationship hits rocky seas both due to the case and internal conflicts. Part 1 of Baetica

Everlasting by cypress_tree (M, 16,884 w. || Magical Realism, First Time, Immortality, Angst & Fluff) – Most lives end. A Tuck Everlasting fusion, in which the Holmes brothers have lived for a very, very long time.

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695 w. || 5+1, Case Fic) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock’s parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And “Anthea”, too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn’t simple.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, H/C, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’, and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts’ now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Set in Stone by SilentAuror (E, 39,309 w. || Romance, Wedding, Therapy, Fluff and Angst) – Sherlock and John are back from Ravine Valley and planning their wedding. However, as they move past the trial of the human traffickers, Sherlock can’t help but wonder if he’s imagining that John is becoming a little distant. Surely he isn’t getting cold feet about the wedding… Part 2 of The Ravine Valley series

[faangirl101]

6 inch/ Mitch x reader

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x reader

Summery: Song imagine of the song  6 inch  by Beyonce. Your a assassin who works undercover as a stripper, assigned to kill one of Ghosts enemies. What happens when the target ends up being hot as fuck?

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, Violence swearing and more

MASTERLIST

anonymous asked: HEYY! love your storiess<3<3 Could you do a story about Mitch rapp with the song 6 inch by Beyonce! And smutty! Daddy kink maybe? thank uu<3

Six inch heels, she walked in the club like nobody's business Goddamn, she murdered everybody and I was her witness

I smiled at myself in the mirror, smacking my red lips together. Damn i looked good. I take a step back, admiring my reflection. I was dressed in a slutty cop costume. It was latex and extremely tight, hugging my posture. The cop hat on my head probably required more fabric than the rest of the costume. It was extremely small. But are you a stripper, you have to dress like a stripper.  A police batch was sewed in the pocket, right next to my extreme cleavage. It feels like my entire breast were falling out. A belt was wrapped around my waist with a gun. It wasn't just probs if we put it that way. I was working undercover for my boss Ghost. He was pretty private and i've never actually met him. He gave me orders over my phone. I was undercover, and not a real stripper. Well they didn't know that. I was on a mission. The order led, to put a bullet in the targets head.

I looked down at the nodular picture in my sweaty hand. He was attractive, without a doubt. His hair was shoulder length, in slight curls. His chest brown eyes focused on another angle, not seeing the camera. His face was half covered in a impressive wild beard.I don't know what this man did, but i didn't ask. Asking questions is not my job, dispatch my victim was my job. I'm a hired killer after all. A assassin. Maybe not the best job, but it was a great way to get rid of anger. And i got paid good. I looked at myself one more time, reloading my gun. Lets kill this motherfucker.

She's stacking money, money everywhere she goes You know, pesos out of Mexico De uno, commas and them decimals She don't gotta give it up, she professional She mixing up that Ace with that Hennessy She love the way it tastes, that's her recipe Rushing through her veins like it's ecstasy, oh no She already made enough but she'll never leave

“Heya Teddy!”, i heard a high pitched southern voice chipper. I turned around at the fake name i chose, smiling to on of the other strippers. Her name was… sugar or something else cliche. She waited with hopeful eyes and i bit my lip. “Its trixie, its okay. You don't have to learn all names on your first night”, she was nice, but i didn't trust her. “Sorry Trixie”, i gave her a honest smile “what do i do now”. Trixie pushed her blonde hair behind her ears “hold ya horses now, sugah! Imma take ya under ma wings, no worry. Lets go outside! imma show ya how its done around here!”. Her almost brutal southern accent was hardly understandable but i decided to follow her. She was dressed in…. well almost nothing. A small glitter bra held up by thin strings covered her chest. Her shorts so shorts they might as well be underwear. Her entire ass hung out under the edge of them. She had a typical hourglass body with a pair of small breast. The next room was covered in red and black. Blinding dark disco lights threw shades around the room. The floor was pounding to the rhythm of the song. Pour some sugar on me, def leppard blared through the speakers. A older girl was on the stage, dressed in a black lace panties and no bra. A good amount of men stood in front of the stage, watching her hungirly.  

A old man smiled to us with broken rotten teeth. “What are two pretty young things like you doing in a place like this?”. He was disgusting, his breath stinking of strong whiskey. “Hopefully dancing for you later?”, i asked in a high pitched voice, curling a string of my hair. The old man grinned widely, chugging his irish beer glass “what's your name, love”, he winked at me licking his chapped lips. “I'm teddy. Well, we have to get going. Hope to see you under my dance”, i giggled girly as Trixie locked arms with me and started moving away. “Your a natural at this, honey!”, she fixed my hair “you don't need me as ya baby mama anymore. up and at ’em”.

She gave me a small push as i moved against the centre of the aula. My eyes searched the room, looking for my targets face. Beard, brown long hair, chestnut eyes…. couldn't be that difficult. Maybe he isn't here yet.

Suddenly i bumped into someone. I stumbled backwards, but thanks to my years of training i catch my footing again. In front of me is the old man again. Now closer i can smell his breath clearly and it smelled like death. “Oh teddy”, his eyes shamefully landed on my cleavage “care for a private dance”.

His hand reached out to touch my waist and out of pure instinct i took a step back. “sorry”, i pretended smiling shyly “i just… its my first day and i'm not really ready for that”.

His entire face fell and he shook his head. “Come on, just a little dance. I can take care of you”. All tiny bit of self control was lost and i was just about to smash his fucking face in. But it seemed like someone wanted to do the same. A man stepped in between us with his back to me. “Is there a problem here?”, his voice was strong and gave of a dangerous vibe. The older man gave the savior a dirty look “It looks like your going to start one”. Before the fight could get more violent two securitys pulled the older man away, spilling half of his beer in the process. “Thanks”, i muttered fixing my costume “if this was a real gun i would have blown that guys head of”. I dropped my character for just a second before going back to being “teddy”. The other guy chuckled and turned to me. I looked down fixing my small skirt, wiping some of the spilled out beer of it. “You good?”, he almost had to scream to drown the loud music. I smiled looking up at him. It took a good 2 seconds to recognize him. Target. Not savior. I'm here on work. I refused to break character and simply didn't let my smile falter, only grow. “Well yes, thanks to my savior”, i bit my lips and watched him follow the action “i'm not used to being the mistress in need. So what's my knight in shining armors name?”.

He looked me up and down “Sebastian hale”. Definitely not his name.

I got the right guy. “Well Seb, my names Teddy”, i weight from foot to foot. Acting may not be my best talent, but he seemed to catch the hook. As long as i was playing the new nervous innocent stripper i could get him alone and well... kill him.

“Are you sure you good?”, he asked, his eyes switching around the room like he wanted to look everywhere but on me. “Yeah”, i place a string of hair behind my ear “just… you know first day. Didn't really expect to have someone try to touch me on the first day”.

He pursed his lips together while his eyes traveled to where the old men was “get i get you anything to drink?”.

I giggled girly “please Seb, i should be serving you. Come here and let me do my job right, at least on the first day”.

He nodded and placed his hand on my lower back while i walked through the club.

I bend over the bar table, being sure to give him a perfect view of my ass and cleavage.

“Heya Trixie! didn't know you worked the bar tonight!”, i gave her one of my most realistic big smiles. She smiled at “Sebastian” before looking at me “yeah! and were allowed to drink on the job, i ain't just whistling dixie. So sit a spell, sug”.

Even if i had no idea what she just said i nodded to my target. “This mister deserve a drink”, i return my eyes to him “what you want. Some girly drink with a umbrella on top? You seem like a sex and the city type of guy”.

He snort but i can see a smile hiding under his stone face “just a beer, thanks”.

I nod to Trixie placing my tight ass on one of the chairs “you heard the man. Can you just mix Hennessy and Ace for me”.

Trixie winked at me “coming right up”. Sebastian sat next to me on the bar chair. He still seemed a little stiff, all i had to do was warm him up. I knew exactly how to do that.

She works for the money, she work for the money From the start to the finish And she worth every dollar, she worth every dollar And she worth every minute She works for the money

“So Seb, what brings you to a club like this a saturday night?”, i mouthed thank you to Trixie when she handed us our drinks. He shrugged “looking for some company”.

I saw his lie right through. He was here alone, on a saturday night. He knew i was going to be here didn't he? I was glad i had a whole face of makeup on, maybe he didn't recognize me. “Well then big boy”, i sipped one my drink quietly “i'm here and i'm free”.

He smiled, his eyes meeting mine. Chestnut eyes. They left mine to look at the drink in my hand. “Isn't that a little strong for you”, i wanted to bash his fucking head in. He was no different. I was glad he was my target.  “Well what can i say”, I swiped the layer of sugar on the glass rim “strong drink for a strong lady”. He took a gulp of his beer his eyes not leaving me. I decided to mess with him. With the sugar on my finger i brought it to my mouth, wrapping my red lips around it and sucked the sugar of. I hummed around it and pretended like i didn't know he was watching. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he followed the motion of my finger in my mouth. I had him on my leash.

“you want a private dance?”, i asked watching his eyes grow double its sight.

He finished the last of his beer in a rush “yeah, sure”. I was going to mess with his head. I reached out to grab onto his hand and started leading him through the club.

I showed him where to sit when we entered the dark private room. A lap dance? couldn't be that hard could it? The song Cherry pie pounded in the background. Sexy, just be sexy.

I looked at him to see his eyes being plastered on me. He watched me like a animal watch its prey. There was something so primal about it. It spread a warmth in my stomach that i desperately tried to hold back. Fuck, did he have to me so attractive.

I started swaying my hips to the beat, my hands slipping down my curves. I tried to move my body in sync to the music, like if i was home alone and no one was looking. I hummed the melody under my breath. My hands buttoned up one button. Tease him, come on! I bit my lip, grabbing my hat and throwing it across the room. His eyes drilled my body. I knew the effect i had on him, i just had to use it. Make all women proud. Another button. I stepped closer to him licking over my lips. As smooth as i could i crouched between his legs. My hands slowly made there way up his thighs, stopping right before they reached his crotch. He groaned annoyed when my touch disappeared.

The last button was up and i peeled the skirt of my lower body. And i gave full displace on a pair of black and red stockings and a  matching thong. His eyes fell from my face to inspect my lower body. His entire face fell when he saw my legs. His entire posture in pure shock. It gave me confidence to say at least. Finally i touch him. I place myself on top of his lap, his hands automatically fall onto my hips. I was going to destroy this boy.

Stars in her eyes She fights for the power, keeping time She grinds day and night She grinds from Monday to Friday

I grind my hips against his, trying to ignore the feeling of his boner. Fuck. I wasn't supposed to enjoy this, i was working. His head fell back only for a moment. “You wanna help me with his baby”, i ask, my voice out of breath. It actually sounded like i was turned on. Actually scratch that, I was turned on.

He licked his lips, looking down at my thin thong “Isn't there a no touch policy?”.

I leaned forward until our faces were centimeters apart “not for you. You wanna help me remove this costume or not”. He immediately grabbed onto my top, fingering the material, before bringing it over my head. Under it i was hiding a lace red bra. It was so much push up it felt like someone was crushing my ribcage. Sebs hands traveled up my body, along my hips, savoring every moment. “You wanna take of my bra”, i grind my hips again earning a groan. He nodded, wetting his lips. With probably years of experience he clasped it open and let it fall from my shoulders. My breast fall free from their torture, falling some centimeter from Sebs face. He licks his lips, locking eyes with me. “Can i”, he asks his hands stopping right under my breasts. Fuck the character. Fuck Teddy. I didn't have to act anymore. “Please do”, i mumble and press my body closer to his. His huge vein popping hands make their way up my boobs, grabbing onto them carefully. “Fuck”, he muttered and before i can process it he crashed his lips against mine. I moan into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck. He bites roughly onto my lower lip, giving me all kinds of ideas what that mouth can do. His mouth leaves my lips to press wet kisses along my jawline. At every change he got, he sucked the soft skin and left my neck bruised with purple hickeys. I lean down to whisper in his ear “you know what the best part about this room is? its soundproof so we can be as loud as we want”. He bucked into my ass as i felt his dick straining against the fabric between us.

His dick. An idea formed in my mind. He must be good if Ghost really wants him dead, which means he's extremely trained. The only way i could kill him was if he was distracted. And when is a man most distracted? that's right, when he's getting a blowjob.

And with my mouth i could even make a assassin distracted. She fights and she sweats those sleepless nights But she don't mind, she loves the grind She grinds from Monday to Friday Works from Friday to Sunday Yeah, yeah, she gon' slang

“I wanna suck you of?”, it was more asked like a question as i looked with big innocent eyes up at Seb. He stayed quiet his lips still on my throat. “Please”, i plead and moved my hips “Please let me suck your cock… Daddy”. It was mostly to test him. His reaction was sudden as his hand connected with my ass chek in a hard slap. The sensitive skin tingled of pain, leaving with a pleasant sting. “I want your big cock in my mouth. Feed me your cum”, i couldn't believe i would ever go this far to get on my knees for a man. “Fuck, baby girl”, he growled while fisting my hair “You can't say those kind of things around daddy or he's going to cum undone. Then you don't get any cum”. I pouted and bite my lip “sorry Daddy, I just really want your cock. paint me white with your cum please”.

I slid down the floor between his legs and watched him with pleading eyes. He hurried to buckled up his pants before throwing them of. His boxers came of as fast. Fuck. He was huge. His dick was veiny, wide and long. I felt my mouth water at the sight. The head was a pretty pink and it was dripping precum along the length. I lean forward sliding my tongue along the vein. He hissed in pleasure his hand gripping my hair harder. While keeping eye contact i slowly take the head inside my mouth, swirling my tongue around it collecting the cum. Salty, not that bad actually. I begin bobbing my head, sucking hard around the length. His hand hardened their grip on my hair. Then i let his dick fall out of my mouth looking up at him. He looked at me confused while i smirked “Don't you wanna fuck my face, Daddy?”.

He groaned his hand pressing me down against his crotch again. I took the length inside my mouth. Then he pressed me down on it. I made myself relax my throat as could as i could, distracting my gag reflex. Sloppily i sucked down is dick as it hit the back of my throat every time. My salvia was mixed with his cum as it dripped its way down my crotch. The only sound in the room was the wetness of my mouth, skin hitting skin and well, Sebs groans and moans. Damn i was good. I could feel his dick swell up, realizing he was close. I began humming, sending vibrations along his sensitive member.

My name lefft his lips chanting, almost like a prayer. “Fuck”, he howled bucking into my mouth “i'm cumming baby girl”.

I didnt back down, to be truthful i only sucked harder. His dick was pulsating. Then with a pained shout he came. Loud after loud with cum spurted into my mouth. I kept his dick inside the warmth of my mouth to not miss a drop. When he softened on my tongue i pulled back with a pop. With the strength of one gulp i swallowed every load left in my mouth. It left a sharp salty aftertaste. Mostly for effect i licked him clean, watching him breathing heavily over me. When he seemed to be to sensitive i pulled back, licking my lips. Slowly i got up walking over to my costume. He didn't even notice me moving as he was coming down from his high. I took the gun from my belt with a hard grip, hiding it behind my back. “Hey Seb?”, he hummed in response. I placed myself on his lap again.

“Do you know what the best thing with a sound proof room is?”, i traced my thumb over his cheek “you can't hear the gunshot”. He shoot is eyes open and was about to grab his weapon i guessed he had in his pants next to him. But my gun was already placed on his temple. He pursed his lips together, his jaw tensed. His eyes were cold, giving me a major death glare. I smirked licking my lips “its a shame, you had a great cock daddy”.

His left eye twitched “don't call me that”. I couldn't help the giggle escaping me. I grinded my hips against his cock under me. His hand hardly gripped my hips, hard enough to bruise. But i didn't mind. Really.

“what's your name, Sebastian”, i mocked his name and rolled my eyes.

His nails dug into my hips “whats your name?”.  I reloaded my gun dramatically “sorry daddy, i don't work that way. Your the one with a gun to your head”. He grimaced a pained expression “Mitch. Mitch rapp”.

He snorted looking up at you “and i think its easy to say your name ain't teddy?”. I furrowed my brows “do i look like winnie the fuking pooh to you? of course my name isn't teddy. Its Y/n l/n, but thats baby girl for you”.

He chuckled and looked up at the gun “who do you work for?”. I shrug my shoulders “i don't know who, but he goes after the name Ghost. Sound familiar?”.

He pursed his lips again and his eyes were painted in pure hatred. Damn, my boss must have done something really bad because Mitch looked ready to kill.

Suddenly he bring his head forward, knocking my head making me lose focus. I groan and try to ignore the pain in my nose. But it's all it takes for him to grab the knife from his boot and press it against my throat. The gun in my hand is long gone and somehow ended up with our clothes in the corner of the room. I can feel my heart beating as i try to keep it under control. In the matter of a second he has me slammed up against the wall in a death grip. The knife is pressed hard against my throat, drawing some blood.

I whisper “shit” under my breath even if i know he can hear it.

“Bullshit!”, he yells, spit hitting my face “Who is Ghost? where is he?!”.

i shrug and licks my lips “i have contact over the phone, he's way to careful to let me know anything. Look, he just pay me”.

He pulled me before him only to slam me back onto the wall. “tell me one reason i shouldn't kill you right now?”. I smirk and look at his lips “you haven't tried out all my holes yet”. Ops, bad move. I get slammed one's again, this time my head getting hit pretty hard. Then he press his hand to its previous spot, bruising my hips again.

“Look i don't know? because i'm good use? because i could give you information about Ghost? your choice”, I click my tongue, acting unbothered.

Suddenly his hands sneaks inside my thong, brushing against my clit.

Oh, gonna make you feel You always come back to me Come back, come back

You couldn't help letting go of a embarrassing whimper. I look at him shocked, but he simply press the knife harder. After so long without attention, my pussy is swollen and pulsating. He press his long slender finger inside me. I was dripping, that's how wet i was. “Who made you this wet huh”, now it was his turn to click his tongue “bad bad girl”.

You buck your hips against his hand “You did, fuck, you did daddy”.

He slips another finger inside your heart. “That's what i thought”, he growled moving his fingers fast. The room was filled with the wet sound of his fingers. He used his thumb to rub my clit. I screamed out of pleasure. He added another finger, stretching you open. Then the tip of his finger turn upwards, rubbing against a sweet spot. My legs give up at the sudden rush of pleasure colliding with my body. He used his knee to hold me up between my legs, his hand and knife pressing my head up so i kept eye contact.

My entire body was shaking violently.His hand moved inhuman fast, hitting my g-spot at every rub. The familiar warmth started growing in my belly. I wouldn't be able to keep my head up if it wasn't for Mitch knife. My entire body was on fire, shaking like it was going through a seizure.”Mitch”, I used his real name without thinking about it “i'm cumming”.

He leaned forward and bit my earlobe. “Cum for me baby girl”.

My whole body fell into abyss of pleasure. The lump in my stomach was finally realized and shocked your entire body. I panted out unregonicebal sounds. I swear I saw stars, glittering before my eyes. A sweet warmth spread through every vein, leaving me exhausted in his grip. As I came down from my high I could feel him carefully laying me down on the floor.I was too tired to open my eyes.  His hand gripped my finger, probably unlocking my phone with the fingerprint. Then I heard him shuffle around with his clothes. I heard the click of the belt. Ant then he left? no wait he was till in the room. Right before he leaned over my body.I  can feel his hot breath on my face. Then he leans further down to press a kiss to my sweaty forehead. Then he left.

After coming back from my high, swearing loudly when I realized that my phone with ghosts all information was gone. I got dressed in the way to tight latex cop costume. I ruffled my hair and placed the hat on top of it. When I left the room, almost everybody had gone home. Trixie was still at the bar and the second she catched my posture she waved me to her. She saw the hickeys at one's, shook written all over her features. “You took ya sweet time. And ya boy seemed to really go to town”.

I bit my lip, hiding a smirk “Yeah. yeah he really did”.

She winked at me returning the glasses to its shelf  “that boy must have really been hog wild bout ya, he left his number here”.

I grabbed the note she was holding, examining the lazy written numbers.

“Yeah. he really must have been”, I smiled fumbling with the paper in my hands.

Six inch heels, she walked in the club like nobody's business Goddamn, she murdered everybody and I was her witness