#they know jack shit and they insist that they know me better than anyone

[jonathanstims]

the funny thing is that I keep in touch with my parents so little that sometimes I wonder how they think they know me at all, much more how they think they know me better than myself

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

shower, m | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. Easy, though, when your husband was Min Yoongi.

warnings: husband!Yoongi x wife!reader; shower smut (fem reader, getting each other off - handjob / fingering); domestic fluff and a hangry fluff that interrupts (nyangnyang!au)

--

You weren’t sure what it was like to love someone else.

But you knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It must be different for other relationships. For one, you always showered together when you could. It was the norm rather than a special moment. Sometimes you had deep conversations about a random concept on his mind or yours. Sometimes you would end up uncontrollably laughing about the way he said something and spent the next ten minutes trying not to snort while Yoongi shook his head at you, it wasn’t that funny. Maybe it wasn’t, but it was funny to you and that was what mattered. Sometimes you didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything. Both of you immersed in your own hygienic tasks, except when you washed his back. You were flexible enough to wash your own, but there was a time when he wasn’t able to, so now it was a habit for you to soap up his broad shoulders.

You knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It was like falling in love every day.

“Stop slouching.”

“I’m not slouching.”

You punched his lower back with the sudsy bath sponge.

Yoongi stopped slouching.

You placed one hand on his shoulder and scrubbed away at your husband. The funniest thing about you and Yoongi was that you were basically the same person. In mannerisms, preferences, even outlook on people. Different talents, of course; you didn’t know jack shit about music just like Yoongi wouldn’t know how to formulate a sentence with intricate syntax to display an emotion without directly stating it. But there was something about you and him that made you feel so sure in this world of unsure. A shared, unshakable calmness that could not be disturbed by anyone on the outside.

You tapped his shoulder, indicating him to turn around.

He did, wiping the last of the cleanser off his face. Black locks swept forward and plastered to his cheeks in messy waves.

Your eyes found his.

The world a storm, and in those dark brown orbs was the calm.

You wondered if anyone else felt this.

The hot water thundered down in rivets across his fair skin, washing away the puffs of white, and Yoongi smiled at you. You smiled back, but a different kind of smile, leaning forward and circling your arms around his neck as if slow dancing. Chest to chest, faces close, almost sensual, except that you were rinsing out the bath sponge behind his head.

Your husband cocked an eyebrow.

It sounded like summer rain.

The air hot and heavy.

It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. The kind of person that understood themselves well and yet was always trying to find a new evolution of self. Simple but complex. Alive in dichotomy. Someone who believed the impossible was possible, ah, of course it was, because he was right in front of you. You leaned in, wet hair and skin, breath to breath. So many thoughts in this silence that later he would have to piece them together in songwriting. For now, you exhaled, slow and steady, over his lips already parting to receive.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were seducing me,” he murmured.

The corner of your lips quirked upward. “You don’t know better. You’re already within my grasp.”

There was the ghost of a laugh in his calm tone.

“Oh, no.”

You closed your eyes and you could feel his thoughts, feel them in the water and his skin under your arms, in the air between you and him. Anticipation, patience, waiting for the moment. The water that went with the flow that was your fire. He spoke to you even when he didn’t. In his songs, in his eyes, in his body, and you closed the distance, lips to lips, insistent comfort, fanning your fingers in his hair and on his back, still clutching the bath sponge, and he pressed back against you.

Breathing life into your throat.

You used to think, I can’t show when I’m weak otherwise someone will take it and use it against me, and you knew Yoongi used to think that too. I must always be strong. You both liked to say you got married for any other reason other than I love you, because I love you was too loaded of a phrase to a pair of people that didn’t really understand what it meant – until they meant each other and realized I love you meant you taught me I’ll be okay with or without you, so I’ll be with you when forever ends.

You pushed him into the wall, turning so the water was half on you and half on him. You felt Yoongi smile, and you caught his lower lip with your teeth, lightly growling in warning.

“Cold?”

“A little bit,” you mumbled, letting go and adjusting your arms, reaching over to hang the bath sponge on its hook.

“You wanna warn me next time?” he chuckled, half of his hair cascading over his face. Open-mouthed smirk and sparkling dark eyes teasing you. His fingertips ghosted your waist. “I’ll always give you anything you want.”

You returned his playful smile with added deviousness.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

What Yoongi and you both understood way before this strange feeling called love…

Was, of course, sex.

He raised his eyebrows. You opened your mouth, slathering your palm with saliva right in front of his eyes. Tongue between fingers, a second that felt like hours, too fast and too slow at the same time, and then your hand shot down, wrapping around his half-hard cock, pinning Yoongi to the wall with your dangerous smile and devious gaze.

He gasped against your lips.

Low moan drawn out. Your hand sliding up and down, feeling him pulse under your touch. Water running down your back, steam and warm air and stolen breath and his name an additional caress, ah, Yoongi, lips to lips once more, fervent and intense. No way to describe the feeling except perfection. Trapped in lip-lock and droplets sliding between hot bodies, hand around hardness, and you felt something else, swift and sly, a deft movement snaking between your legs.

The side of your mouth retreated.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” you muttered.

“Don’t think then, my love,” was the response.

You almost moved away, but Yoongi’s free hand was suddenly cradled around your wet hair, and then it was shortened breath, fingers sliding into your slick heat, and now you were following the same rhythm. Deep, rough, fast, a contest as much as it was pleasurable, sharing tongue and breath and matching smirks, fuck, this guy really doesn’t back down, huh, but it was a fond thought, one you approved of because you didn’t know when to back down either, spreading your legs more and feeling him moan into your mouth as he thrust deeper, your pussy closing in around his fingers, squeezing tight. You had a competitive nature.

Yoongi knew that.

Thus, you were now testing to see who would cum first.

“You can’t outlast me,” you purred.

“That’s not the loss you think it is,” he hummed, one hand still in your hair and the other knuckles deep, shuddering into your touch. Fuck, he was doing that thing with his eyes again, lowering his lashes and with that glint of mischief behind wet black strands, sliding slightly on the tile to be below you. Letting you see the edge of his lower lip between his teeth along with his intense stare.

You…

Yoongi cocked his eyebrow at you again.

A muscle in your jaw twitched, involuntarily tightening at your husband’s annoying power bottom display that was doing too many things to your nether regions, including the sudden throbbing heartbeat pulsing around his thrusting fingers.

The lip bite turned into a flat-out smug smirk.

You adjusted the pace to the exact speed and pressure that would get him off, not too tight but locking your fingers to provide the consistent power, watching his eyes cloud and lashes flutter, rough groan sliding out of his lips, uncontrollable flinch rippling across his chest muscles.

“F-Fuck…”

Those dark brown orbs closing and he moaned in your face. Hips shivering, shoulders locking, his hand falling from your head and hitting the shower wall, tense fingers splayed on the tiles, and then you felt and saw the orgasm wash over his features, immediately pausing your hand.

Jerking pulse in the palm of your tight grip.

You couldn’t feel the cum due to the showering water, but you knew he had hit that high from the shuddering of his chest and his hard cock twitching, almost forgetting his fingers were in you.

Until he started moving them again.

Fast, hard, too easily from the flowing slickness seeping down your legs.

You bit back a cry and tipped your head back, shutting your eyes, burning waves flaring from your core and getting hotter, and Yoongi knew the pace, the angle, the depth, all so well, sliding another in to complete the feeling of escapable fullness. Your forearm was shaking, anchoring your free hand on the wall beside Yoongi’s head, other hand still around his cock, ghosting your caress over him, still hard so he must be looking at you. Taking in all the details of your closed eyes, wet hair stuck you’re your shoulders, rivers of water down the curves of your chest, hard nipples dripping, so close, slick and hot and his.

Yoongi whispered your name.

Smoky and sexy and wonderful.

The side of your lips quirked upwards, mirroring his familiar expression.

It all cascaded down, down, there, and you sighed out, electric bliss all over your nerves and skin, inner walls clenching around his fingers and your heard Yoongi sigh too, content and in lust, feeling your pussy squeeze and shiver around his three fingers buried all the way inside.

You closed your thighs around his hand, pressing softness around him.

“What a nice feeling,” he murmured and he wasn’t talking about his own orgasm.

“You gotta take your hand out sometime.”

“Not any time soon. It’s nice and warm in here.”

Then, both of you heard it.

“Nyaaaaow.”

You felt your eyebrow twitch.

Opened your eyes and looked back to see your husband looking at you with a narrowed gaze and an upturned mouth.

“Did you feed Nyangnyang?” you asked.

“I thought you fed her?” was the emotionless response.

“Nyaow.”

“I thought you did.”

Somecat was headbutting the bathroom door.

“Fuck. I must have forgotten to fill her bowl after washing it. I wanted to get in the shower,” Yoongi grumbled under his breath.

“Nyan.”

“Yes, Nyangnyang, I hear you,” you called back to the white fluffball behind the door with your husband’s three fingers still stuffed in your pussy as he lifted his shoulders off the shower tile. “We’ll feed you as soon as we finish up.”

“Nyan.”

“Bossy.”

“Like her dad.”

Yoongi blinked slowly, unimpressed, at your quip.

You didn’t need him to say it to know that he meant, of course, definitely, just like me. Right? Yup. After all, your husband always said that the wife was always right when she wanted to be. Heh.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[harlowtales]

Jack finds the love of his life who has never been kissed…or anything else 😘

♥️💝♥️

18+ Adult Themes - Romance/Drama/Sex

“Jack stop.” You said, unsure where this was going. You had never kissed anyone let alone had sex. It was time to say something before things went too far. You were saving it for the right person…your husband, and a rapper was definitely not it. You shouldn’t even have taken his invitation to go to the movies but Jack seemed very sweet and down to earth. You figured there was no harm in a movie, but it was going too fast. His hands were starting to go places. You were in the back of an old theatre watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie as they were Jack’s favourite movies.

“Y/N what’s wrong? I thought we were feeling each other” Jack said confused as he sat back.

“Well right here…right now was my first kiss. Jack I…I’m a virgin.” There was no other way than to just tell him. Your palms were sweating and your heart was beating so loudly you thought the whole empty theatre could hear it.

“Say on god.” Jack said in shock

“Swear to god.” You said earnestly “I’m sorry. Can you take me home?”

“If I ruined everything I’m so sorry Y/N.” Jack apologized “I will absolutely take you home if that’s what you really want.”

“I feel so stupid. I usually know better than to waste the time of someone like you. I mean, you’re Jack Harlow. Of course you want to…well you know.” You said in embarrassment.

“Right here, I can tell you I would fucking marry you if I knew it wouldn’t scare the shit out of you.” Jack said in disbelief that he had found a 24 year old virgin. “If you let me be the first, I will be your only.”

“Jack please. I need to go.” All you wanted to do was escape this moment. You weren’t prepared for wanting to do it with him in that movie theatre and that scared you. Jack was incredibly handsome and charming. He was intelligent and funny, tall and distinguished. Everything you ever dreamed of in a man was all in him. You had to get away from him as soon as humanly possible.

You pulled up in front of your parent’s house and your dad instantly peeled the living room curtains back to make sure you didn’t hang out too long in Jack’s car. Jack had to actually introduced himself to your father and ask to take you out in the first place. He saw you with your family at an event his mother put on for charity and knew he had to shoot his shot. Your dad insisted on him coming to the house and properly introducing himself first. It felt like the 1950’s but he appreciated it. Now you being a virgin was all starting to make sense.

“Ughh. He’s literally going to stare at us until I’m in the door. You better walk me to the door or he’ll think you weren’t raised right.” You cautioned.

“Y/N it’s all fine.” Jack laughed “I ain’t going away so pops better get used to me.”

“What? You mean, this isn’t the end?” You said in surprise.

“Why would it be? Cuz I got bitches on speed dial?” Jack said characteristically raising an eyebrow. “If you let me be your first, you would be my only girl. Anything else I had going on would be done for me. Let me make it special for you Y/N.” Jack put a soft hand on your thigh.

You felt a heat rising in you that you never felt before. “Jack call me um…call me later. I have to go. He’s watching us. Open my car door, walk me to the door. Don’t hold my hand. Don’t kiss me on the cheek. Say goodnight to him and shake his hand. Got it?” You said giving Jack the cheat code to dealing with your strict parents.

After some weeks Jack kept calling and spending time with you whenever he could. He FaceTimed you from his European tour and it was no pressure. He never even mentioned sex. You started to think you not putting out had caused him to lose interest in you romantically and it was just turning into a friendship. Jack wanted you more and more, he just didn’t want to scare you away so he was being patient.

The tour was over and he was finally back home. He knew he had to ease you into thinking he was the right one to lose your virginity with. He decided to go to your house and approach your parents about dating you seriously. If that’s what it took that’s what he was willing to do.

Jack was sweating he was so nervous. Your parents came into the living room with just the clock ticking in the background.

“So Y/N tells me you want to date her.” Your dad said

“I know you’re strict. I want to respect that.” Jack said seriously. You were sitting across from him as sitting on the same couch would not have been deemed appropriate by your parents.

“Very protective.” Your mother chimed in “Why does someone in your line of work want to date my daughter?”

“My line of work? You mean a rapper?” Jack said with a tinge of sass. You shot him a look to chill.

“Yes. Entertainment is not for our girl.” Your dad said

“Well I would make sure she’s always with me and protected. I’m very protective as well. You can ask my family that I’m very close too.” Jack explained.

“She can date on a few conditions. She has to check in with us and no sex before marriage. Do you intend on marrying her or is she just one of your many girls?” Your mother asked embarrassing you.

Jack started turning red partly from embarrassment and partly from getting a bit upset. He was sure he would propose at some point or he would have left your house from this grilling by your parents.

“I know I have a reputation but I have intentions of marrying your daughter as soon as she’s ready.” Jack said. A lump formed in his throat. He wasn’t planning on saying that but it came out and he wasn’t sorry. The silence that followed was amplified by the ticking clock.

“Is anyone going to ask me what I want? Do I matter?” You said raising your voice. “I am 24 mom, dad, come on! I’m a grown woman! I’ve done everything you wanted my whole life. I want to date Jack…I will date Jack.”

“Y/N! Really? Hunny you see? He’s influenced her already!” Your father said to your mother like Jack wasn’t there.

“How rude! Jack is right here.” You said

“Y/N please your parents are right. Maybe I should go.” Jack said making s move to leave.

“I’m coming.” You said defiantly

“Walk out the door and don’t come back.” Your dad said.

“Oh fine with me.” You huffed.

“Y/N these are your parents. Please, listen to them.” Jack pleaded with you much to your parent’s surprise.

“Well Jack. Son. I’m impressed with you.” Your dad said “I approve, but talk some sense into her.”

“Will do sir. She’s safe with me.” Jack said assuredly

“What was that? I thought you were on my side?” You said haughtily as you left with Jack to go for a drive.

“I fucking got my hands full.” Jack murmured

“Excuse me?” You said like a spoiled brat.

“Listen princess let’s get one thing straight ok?” Jack said heading away from the park.

“Jack where are we going?” You asked concerned

“Shush for fuck sakes.” Jack said rolling his eyes with a slight giggle

You pulled into the parking of a building and headed into an elevator. When the doors opened to a sprawling condo you realized he had taken you to his penthouse apartment. “Get comfy cuz this is where you’ll probably wind up with your attitude. Geez I feel sorry for your parents. Hungry?”

“Ummm yes. Yes please Jack. Thank you.” You said instantly more polite.

“That’s better.” Jack said kissing you on the forehead. “I want this place to be your place but you have to behave.”

“Ok sir Jack sir!” You said saluting him and laughing.

“Oh yeah? You getting cheeky?” Jack said towering over you. You were like a magnet for him. He pulled you close into a passionate kiss. Your space ached like you had never felt. You longed to be his in every way.

“Y/N I can take you home if…” but you cut Jack off with another deep kiss to his amazement “Take me.” You said looking him right in the eye.

“Y/N come on…” but you pulled Jack towards his bedroom.

“Now? You sure?” He said cautiously

“Please Jack. I need you.” You said in agony

“Baby…I’m scared. I don’t want to hurt you.” He said caressing your hair.

“I know it will hurt but if not now…when?” You reasoned looking up at him.

“Y/N there’s no rush. I meant it. I will marry you.” Jack promised, knowing he was caving in fast. You had a hold on him that was undeniable.

“Come.” He commanded as he sat on the bed and opened his legs for you to stand in front of him. You obeyed and went closer.

He began going up your shirt, fondling your breasts and kissed your bare stomach. You threw back your head and moaned. You saw Jack growing and reached down to touch him but he stopped your hand.

“No. I…I’m sorry Y/N this doesn’t feel right. I’ll take you back.” Jack said. In his mind it was going to happen so differently. He brought you to his place for you to start getting comfortable there. He was used to being around you…wanting you and not being able to really be inside you, he was the one that was hesitant now, and how crazy and special would it be for him to marry a virgin. “We’re not married. This isn’t right.” He couldn’t imagine the looks on your parent’s faces if they found out.

“Are you kidding me? They got to you. They fucking got to you. Wait….you’re not into me anymore are you? I knew it. It felt like a friendship last little while. I should have known.” You burst into tears “I’m not model gorgeous and exciting like what you’re used to.”

“Baby…no no no I have never been in love until now. Did you know that?” Jack said looking at you as you sat on his lap now. “I am very attracted to you. Don’t worry.”

“Then make love to me….Please Jack.” You said softly drawing him into a kiss.

“Ok, I…ok.” He said unable to refuse any longer. You pulled your shirt off over your head and stepped out of your jeans. He was in awe of how perfectly your breasts hung and the curve of your body. “I can’t believe I’m the first to ever see all this and touch you…be inside you.” Jack breathed overcome with emotion.

He gently laid you down kissing and caressing your body. You gasped having never felt such sensations. “Oh god Jack.”

There was no turning back now. He had waited so long.

“It hurts too much and I’m stopping ok?” Jack said lovingly. You nodded in agreement under him, drinking in his aroma and feeling his chest. He tried not to put his full weight on you as your legs opened to take him in. He tested your space dipping in with the head only and pulling back. It was such a foreign feeling you held your breath from the pressure slowly pressing into you.

“You ok?” He asked as he hovered over you about to re-enter a little more.

“Put it all the way in. I’m ok.” You assured him

“We can just play with each other baby. We don’t have to do this all the…” Jack was trying to say

“Can you please just…I want to feel all of you.” You said a bit frustrated and anxious

“Ok baby. Hold onto me ok?” Jack cautioned. He was beyond excited but had to contain himself for your comfort. He held his shaft steadily as he guided it in carefully. You were wet with anticipation but it still was painful. You tried to hide it as much as possible to not make Jack feel bad, but he saw the look on your face and paused afraid to stroke in and out. One thing for sure, your future husband was gifted and it would take getting used to.

“Oh, uhhh, oh my god.” You breathed unable to make sense of the new pain and slight pleasure you were starting to feel as Jack slowly glided partially out and slid back in.

“Ah fuck you feel good baby.” He said breathlessly in your ear. “I’ve waited for this moment” Jack was poised on top of you and concentrating on being as gentle as possible as he went in further and further. Tears started welling up in your eyes with a burning pain radiating through your abdomen and legs as he picked up some speed and put more weight behind his thrusts. You held onto him tightly unable to really move.

After a few moments he suddenly cried out “Uh Y/N!! Baby” You felt your flesh tear apart inside and a warm sensation run down your thighs. There was blood on the sheets from your hymen popping. You were mortified.

“Oh my god Jack!” You exclaimed in tears. He immediately stopped and headed to the bathroom to start the shower and bring you a towel. He wiped you up lifted you off the bed and carried you to the shower. He held you from behind, his arms supporting you as he sung a Bryson Tiller song gently. His smooth melodic voice amplified in the shower filled you with warmth as the pain started to subside.

He wrapped you in a towel and held your hand to his closet where he dressed you in his shorts and hoodie. He combed your hair for you and settled you on the couch. After grabbing you a snack he went to strip the bed sheets and ran back to snuggle with you.

“Are you ok baby?” He asked sweetly “Do you need anything else?”

“Jack please just relax with me. Thank you for looking after me.” You said tiredly. It had been a rollercoaster of emotions your stomach ached, your space hurt, and your legs were like jello. He snuck in behind you and you rested on him as he covered both of you in a blanket.

“After all that you get the remote Mrs. Harlow…this one time ok?” He joked. You giggled snuggling up to him and falling asleep.

@itsyagirljaz @okaaay-mice

[blackdollette]

Thinking about....fuck idk, maybe Clive? Mike? Jack? No idea - Hanging out with his friends with his arm around you, bragging about how good he fucks you and how well he doms you while you just sit there and smirk, knowing that he's full of shit and that his contact name in your phone is fuckin "Barstool" for a reason.

-high anon

this request screams "mike" so loud.

"never bought into your bullshit." | mike

high by the beach. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @icarus-star @imoonkiss @lankysimp @xxbl00d-cl0txx @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @wild-rose-35

female!reader x mike

word count: 929

contents: cunnilingus, mike being subby, masturbation

mike’s hand went clammy as his arm tightened itself around your waist, palpable anxiety coursing through his veins. conversations with leff had always led to an argument and ended with mike crying to you, desperate for an ounce of support. this little chat had gone no different.

“it’s about time you started acting like a man, mike.” leff began, disapproval scribbled all over his face. “how the hell am i supposed to take you seriously when you can’t even keep that bitch of yours satisfied.”

your eyes widened and mike quickly shot back. “a-are you kidding? you can call me shitty at the business all you want but she’s said it herself. no one has treated her better than i have.” leff rolled his eyes. “i know a virgin when i see one, mike.”

mike sneered, hands trailing down to your hips. “you know i’m not a goddamn virgin.” he was getting riled up quickly. you could feel his body starting to tremble against yours. leff extended a hand and patted you on the shoulder. “take it from me, sweetheart. you’d better leave this pussy while you still can before he gets to attached.” he laughed in mike’s face and you felt a grin tugging at your lips.

mike rolled his eyes, gradually becoming more confident. “i fuck her better than anyone could and she knows it. you may view me as some pussy but at least i’ve got the balls to get a girl and keep her around.” he smirks a little. “i even got her crying on my dick. just last night.”

leff was right about one thing. mike had gotten attached to you. like a wounded puppy with a cowboy hat. mike continued to bicker with leff, defending his case about how well he treated you in the bedroom as images flickered into your mind. as mike insisted on wearing the pants in your relationship, you remembered him from just the night before, on his knees and begging you to let him eat you out…

“c’mon, baby… please. i-ill be so good for you, i swear it…“ he sat on his knees in front of the bed were your legs were spread, your wet cunt dripping through the thin fabric of your panties. he was practically clawing at the sheets, bucking his hips against the mattress as he pleaded to get a taste of the honey between your legs.

you pondered for a moment, wanting to see him beg a little more. “are you sure..? i wouldn’t wanna pressure you or anything.” his eyes lit up even more. “it would be my pleasure, doll.” you smiled, opening your legs a little more and inviting him in. “...then show me what you can do…” 

like a starved man, he tore off your panties and pulled your hips to the edge of the bed, connecting his lips with your pulsating pussy and moaning as the sweet taste hit his tongue. you fisted a handful of his hair, tossing your head back as you began to fuck his mouth. mike whimpered as you used his tongue for pleasure, the tip of his nose tapping against your clit. “j-just like that, doll. fuck my face…”

you rolled your hips as he sunk into you, dipping his tongue into your hole. you hissed, insides contracting as he inserted a desperate finger into your gummy walls. he reached his other hand down to his aching cock, wrapping it around and pumping it teasingly, smearing his precum over his girth and using it as a lubricant.

he curled two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out of your greedy cunt. you bit your lip to supress a moan, gripping the bedsheets until your knuckles went white. every nerve in your body was responding to his touch. you uncontrollably squeezed your thighs together, crushing his head in the process.

he let out a deep groan, his entire body getting hot from the feeling of drowning in your soft skin. he greedily jerked himself off, though he was more focused on pleasuring you than himself. you attempted to squirm away as he swirled complicated patterns onto your clit. he held you firmly in place. “i’m not done yet, baby. you just taste so good…”

he was licking and lapping you up like you were a tasty dessert, his cock beginning to throb. whimpers escaped from his mouth as he touched himself. he fed his moans into your hole, sending waves of heat and pleasure throughout your body.

you held the back of his head, rubbing it against your stimulated core. he was a panting mess and you could’ve sworn that tears were running down his face. your body shook and trembled as he reached a harmonic rhythm between his fingers and his tongue. you felt yourself getting closer to a climax. your hole clenching and pulsating around him until…

mike shook you in an attempt to grab your attention, raising an eyebrow. “you okay? i thought we lost you there for a sec.”  you had forgotten where you were for a second. and leff was still standing there with that smug grin on his face. “so is mikey here telling the truth? or is he just full of bullshit?”

you glanced up at mike, seeing that submissive expression filcker across his face for just a second. you cleared your throat. “he’s right. i cant imagine being with another guy.” mike nodded, spinning you both around and starting to walk away, happy that you didn’t rat him out for the pushover he really was.

author's note: i need to learn how to write for mike. thank you so much for the request!!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I feel like this is all very futile. Nothing will happen (infuriatingly) AS USUAL. When has Meghan ever been held accountable for her crimes? Yes, CRIMES. She belongs in a mental institution or prison at the very least. Sorry, but this is small potatoes. She has done so much. Anyone who exercises even the smallest amount of common sense knows she and she alone is behind the vile and deranged sussex squad. I don’t think she started it herself, but knew it was the only organic support (primarily from racist poc’s - sorry but it’s true) she gets, so she took what she could get and ran with it. I’m not sure when or at what point she started interacting with them, but my guess is when her rabid jealousy of Kate reached a fever pitch - and it is the one thing she genuinely has in common with her cult of racist, bitter, hateful online bullies. There needs to be a much deeper investigation into all of this and criminal charges need to be enforced. I can’t believe the BRF and MI5/6 just let her get away with such atrocities. It’s absolutely disgusting. How can they even call a pos like her family?!!! The SS only support MM because they are racist and use her as an excuse to spew hatred openly under the guise of defending her. Meghan doesn’t want even support from people like them, who she doesn’t identify with and believes she is miles above. Perhaps one day they will realise it and turn on her like she actually deserves. Harry too, but I think she is much more involved and has many, many more burner accounts across all platforms than Harry. Lurking around and stalking is so on brand for Meghan and very much her deeply and inherently creepy modus operandi.

But what are her crimes? You can’t be so absolute in insisting she’s this evil mastermind but not giving any specifics about it other than alleging “it’s common sense.” Thats a cop-out, and that’s what Sussex Squad did when they condemned William for killing or beating Kate two months ago. We’re better than that.

Yes, cyberbullying, harassment, death threats, and doxxing are crimes. But show me the evidence that Meghan did it, or that she directly instructed her fans to do it. It’s not there. Or, it’s not in a place that the public can see it.

Yes, physically abusing people is a crime, and so is trespassing. But show me the evidence she did this. There isn’t any. Just a report that disappeared, staff that’s under NDAs, and a family that won’t speak.

All we have is conjecture, gossip, hunches, and armchair diagnoses. That does jack shit when you need a conviction. You need cold, hard evidence and the truth is that there’s none. There is nothing implicating Meghan in any crime. The only thing she’s guilty of is being a shameless asshole and unfortunately, that’s not illegal.

I’m sorry, I know that’s probably not the response some of you may want to see, but it’s the truth. There is nothing directly and publicly incriminating Meghan (or Harry) in any of this, as frustrating and angering it is.

If you disagree with this, then my blog isn’t the place for you.

[bitchfitch]

Idk working on this fic again is. like. I don't think validating is the right word. Consoling maybe? It's sitting a younger version of myself down and working through the worse of its neurosis.

like. Idk. this is one of those topics that feels taboo to talk about because it gets a bunch of better-than-thou whiners saying "Well you shouldn't have done that. That was a bad thing to do" even when that's like. not helpful or adding anything to the conversation other than them jacking off their ego.

Anyways. Lil me was a fucking idiot who thought it was a genius. All the pressure of being told it was more grown up than it's peers because of the trauma it had already suffered. The book smarts it thought it could use to navigate a world it had no power in. It thought it was hot shit. The one in charge of every situation it put itself in even when those situations were sexual in nature and happening with people way, Way too old to be messing around with a teenager.

And working on this fic that's more O than fan at this point, it's just this vibe you know, of getting to finally give that little shit the conclusion to that period of its life that it wanted instead of the one it got. The escape from the pressure to be someone it's not in a suffocatingly religious environment, crushed under expectations that would have been extreme for an able minded and bodies adult but which were Ridiculous for a multiply disabled teen. Because that's why it did those things you know, It wasn't interested in the sex, it was interested in connection and the chance to be the version of itself that didn't feel like a too tight dress ripping at Sunday mass. That's what those older men gave that it's peers and family couldn't even when they were supportive.

The fantasy of what if it had met the right person at the right time and gotten to escape to a place it could just breathe, and be a kid again even if it hadn't been treated like one by anyone in so long.

and then theres the anxiety of writing something like that these days you know, giving your younger self closure while risking your sorta... current social standing to do so. Because like. there's pressure to not write about these things. Because yeah. it's fucking disgusting and awful and the reality of the situation was nothing like what happens in a story with a happily ever after tacked on at the end. But people take that as an excuse to rip into you and spread nasty lies for like, daring to even think about that. Because they have their own demons and those demons don't understand yours so they lash out to defend themselves from what makes their gut churn.

In a perfect world, this post wouldn't exist. But there's a nagging and paranoid and angry little thing in the back of my mind that insists if I don't justify my arts existence, to myself and to those who need someone to feel superior to, then I'm just proving to them and myself that I've become exactly like the men who took advantage of that younger version of me.

[burning-thistles-bt]

I looked at various characters, and now im showing you guys it. I'll send in the other few character analysises after this.

Robinstorm reads as a grooming victim to me, the way he acts is akin to how spottedpaw had acted with thistlestar, albeit it was not romantic or sexual, he displays most of the same behaviours that grooming victims do.

He also displays the same behaviours and reactions of a traumatized child (meek, people pleaser, scared, etc) towards Lightningfur, to the point he was willing to literally exile himself to go with her because he didnt know who he was if he was not lightningfurs former apprentice

From the scenes that we've seen and behaviours in later chapters, Lightningfur physically abused him (and possible also mentally abused robinstorm) to the point he has scars and a torn ear (iirc)

He is unhealthily attaches himself to her, idolizing her the same way spottedpaw had idolized thistleclaw, in robins mind, lightningfur can do no wrong and do no evil, even after seeing her slaughter her own mother, the cat that birthed and raised her with love.

He also shows major panic and fear at the fact he considers himself to be "replaced" by featherpaw, he doesnt want lightningfur to discard him

He also quite literally cannot/does not know how to function like a proper clan member without lightningfur, he was literally forced into silence about what she did to him and how he was treated.

This also all happened while he was still mentally developing (aprox. 0-9 in human years, which converted should be aprox. 0-13 moons in wc time) and was easily impressionable, lightningfur employed groomer tactics (a.e threatening to hurt him if he spoke out, which is exactly what most groomers do), attacked him, i dont really like using this term but, she literally brain washed him into seeing her as literally unable to do no wrong/better than starclan and that what she did to him was normal.

He literally considers himself to be completely worthless and worse than dirt if he is not being ordered around by Lightningfur, seen by how hes implied to literally constantly try to be the perfect apprentice/warrior and make her proud him

This may be me overanalysing but whatever, also robinstorm reminds me of Choice by Jack Stauber and Pure as a lamb by Baby Bug :3c

HELL YES I AM LIVING FOR THIS ANALYSIS

you are SPOT ON literally Lightningfur is just continuing the cycle of abusing a kid, because Thistlestar did similar to Tigerstar as well (and obviously he was sexually grooming Spottedleaf, Grasswhisker, etc. as well). Lightningfur is NOT A GOOD CAT. At all. She HAS moments of "goodness," but not only is she OPENLY horrible about her actions, but in secret, she is way worse.

All of Robinstorm's scars ARE FROM HER, or her training. SHE RIPPED HIS EAR OFF and then told him not to tell anyone and also insisted he didn't need medical care for it! She wanted him to be strong and powerful and when it turned out, hey, babies don't come out the womb fighting soldiers, she was pissy and didn't want to "waste" the effort on him. She just wanted him to magically become good, but obviously he CAN'T, and he internalizes that. He just wants to be good for her, but he also knows that she doesn't give a shit about him!

While she doesn't give Stormpaw any scars, she is very verbally abusive and demeaning towards him too, even neglectful as a parental figure. The only reason she didn't hurt him physically too is because he was Silverstream's kit.

She was kinder and better towards Featherpaw for the sole fact that, not only was Featherpaw Silverstream's kit too, but Featherpaw looks like Silverstream. And Lightningfur would never hurt Silverstream.

All of this is 100% correct.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Two

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Your friends Wanda and Nat drag you to a corn maze event at night. After a rather unpleasant encounter with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, you want nothing but this night to end. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to find the exit first.

Word count: 6.2k 🌾 🎃 🔦

Warnings: Annoyance to lovers; scared!Reader; scare actor with chainsaw; scarecrows; protective!Bucky; little bit of sad!Bucky

Author’s note: This is me ignoring my wips and writing something that randomly popped up in my head. Wrote this all in one sitting but I’m actually genuinely happy with it :)

Masterlist

“We’re going to get lost in there.”

“With your sense of direction, definitely, but thankfully you have me.”

You shove Nat in the shoulder lightly enough, grumbling under your breath, while Wanda on your other side snickers softly.

The brunette links her arm with yours. “We’ll stay together the whole time,” she assures you.

“Well, I left my bed for this, so this better be good!”

Natasha and Wanda insisted on visiting the corn maze event your town had to offer this year. And since they claimed it would be boring to do this in daylight you now are standing in front of towering stalks of corn being so close together, they obscure the view inside. Sure, it would be way too easy otherwise but, the easier this is, the faster you’d be getting out of here.

There is a clear cut through the corn, signaling the entrance to the maze, but you can’t see past the artificial fog swirling in the tunnel so that’s no help either. The branches over the entrance have cobwebs dangling down and a scarecrow is placed right beside the hole, its eyes glowing red with unnatural light.

A few dimly lit jack-o-lanterns path the way to the foggy entrance, giving only enough light to make sure you wouldn’t catch on uneven ground and fall before anything even started. That would surely be embarrassing enough for the night.

You can make out faint whispers coming from inside the maze, unsure if those come from other visitors or if they are simply sound effects. Either way, you don’t like it. It’s not like you get scared easily. But there’s something about the dark that had always irked you and you don’t feel like getting jumped by some scare actor tonight or some other shit.

There are a few other people standing in groups around you three, talking to staff members, or looking at the map of the maze to somewhat prepare. You don’t pay them any mind though. There is no way you’d be socializing tonight.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Nat exclaims beside you.

“I don’t see this being a party,” you mutter, “and shouldn’t we get a map as well? Might be helpful, you know?” The dry sarcasm in your voice gives way to the enthusiasm you are absolutely lacking.

“We don’t need a map. Come on!” Is all she says as she pulls you and Wanda to the entrance.

“Alright well, just so you know, I'm blaming it on you when we’re still aimlessly wandering around in there by dawn,” you warn, but there’s clearly amusement in your tone you can’t suppress and you share a quick laugh with Wanda.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

It takes you three a little more than fifteen minutes to find the first checkpoint. You’re not sure if this is good or bad timing but at least you haven’t lost anyone of your small group yet so that is good.

The small flashlights you had been given earlier by an instructor cast narrow beams through the dense, twisted rows of the maze. Now, each light lands on the scarecrow ahead, its ragged form standing as still as the one you passed at the entrance. He only has one arm outstretched, clearly pointing in the direction you’ll find the next checkpoint.

“This way,” Natasha calls out, already turning to follow the path being pointed at. Her black leather jacket catches the glow of your flashlight as you walk behind her, Wanda beside you.

You hear a set of screams echoing faintly through the maze, the fifth one since you entered - an indication that in the distance, other visitors just got ambushed by scare actors in the dark. You have no intention of being next so you’re thankful for Nat taking the lead.

However, your gaze constantly darts behind you, checking your back every few minutes, convinced that at any moment something - or rather someone - might leap out of the shadows. You quickly assess and flash the path you had walked seconds earlier, before turning around again, paranoia creeping in with every step.

Distracted, you almost miss the tombstone jutting from the path ahead of you. Your heart skips a beat as your foot catches the edge, but before your face can meet the ground, Wanda’s hand shoots out. She firmly latches onto your jacket sleeve, pulling you back and steadying you, an amused laugh slipping past her lips.

“Thanks, Wan,” you laugh, a little out of breath.

“Getting lost already, ladies?”

You shriek, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, and Wanda yelps in unison. You bump into her side, both of you spinning around hastily toward the source of the voice. Even Nat flinched, but she seems to recover quickly, letting out a low chuckle as she eyes the three figures standing before you.

You could practically hear the sultry smile she’s undoubtedly wearing behind you as she questions them. “What are you guys doing here?”

Yeah, what are they doing here? You narrow your eyes at the man who made you leap out of your skin.

Bucky Barnes. Of course.

In the middle of a creepy maze, with scare actors hiding around almost every corner, he somehow managed to sneak up on you. Typical. You shouldn’t be surprised he found you in a fucking labyrinth.

“Thought we’d check out the fancy attraction everyone’s been yapping about.” It’s Sam who answers, his words laced with a teasing grin as he stands slightly behind Bucky with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly entertained.

But Bucky didn’t even acknowledge Nat’s question. His focus remains on you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and that glint in his eyes you know so well. He’s evidently pleased with himself for catching you off guard. Fantastic.

Steve, who comes into focus on Sam’s other side, offers you girls a sympathetic smile. There is an apology written in the way he tilts his head. “We didn’t know you were planning on coming, or else we would’ve asked you to join us,” he says, voice sincere.

Before you can respond, Bucky cuts in, stepping forward with that infuriatingly confident swagger. He throws a lazy arm over your shoulder, pulling your stiff form against his side. “Ah well, we’re together now, so let’s stay that way. We’ll get you through this maze well-protected, girls.”

His voice carries that signature smugness as if he’s doing you some grand favor and you should be grateful. You’re not. Definitely, absolutely not.

You immediately shake off his arm, stepping away from him with a sharp glare. “Yeah, no thanks. We’ll manage on our own,” you argue.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, noticeably unfazed. His smirk deepens as he leans in, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Surely that scream said something different, doll. Don’t you think?”

You scowl. “Oh, shut up, Barnes-”

Steve interrupts you with his hands held up, palms open in a calming gesture. “Let’s not make this difficult. We’ll go our own way if that’s what you want.”

“Stay,” Nat drawls, standing relaxed with her arms crossed and shooting you a teasing glance. “It’s funnier that way.”

You cut her a look that should have been able to kill her. The corners of her mouth only curl higher as she turns back towards the path ahead of you.

You see Bucky’s grin from the corner of your eyes.

You all resumed walking, six flashlights cutting through the eerie darkness around you, their beams illuminating the narrow, winding path ahead. Despite your reluctance to admit it, having the guys with you provided some sort of ease. Your shoulders droop slightly and your gait becomes more confident.

More often than not you feel the hot gaze of Bucky on your skin but choose to ignore it, focusing on the path ahead so as not to stumble over another tombstone.

“So, have you guys started preparing for-” Steve’s voice breaks through the silence but gets immediately cut off by Sam.

“Hell no, no talking about classes, or practice for that matter. That ain’t on my agenda tonight,” Sam scolds rather loudly, his voice filled with mock severity. Nat snorts, still walking ahead of you, and you join in, a small laugh escaping as Steve sighs.

The moment was brief, though, as you round another corner and Nat calls out what lay before you. “Dead end,” she declares, her tone flat but unsurprised. “Turn around.”

Grumbling softly, your group pivots and you retrace your steps to take a different turn, only to find another winding corridor shortly later. This goes on for minutes - Natasha calling out dead ends and your group backtracking to find another path offering no more than the last. The guys didn’t take a map with them as well.

You don’t fail to notice the constant presence of Bucky at your back. Each time you turn a corner he seems just a little closer, the warmth of his proximity soothing the nerves in your veins and helping with the chilling air that comes with the night. You ignore that, though.

However, you can’t ignore the fact that you did not once turn around to check your back since he and the others expanded your little group and Bucky took his place at your back. It’s strange. All the paranoia and unease from earlier had softened somehow, as if his irritating confidence bled into you, making the maze feel a little less menacing, the darkness a little less suffocating.

You feel almost reassured by the steady weight of his attention at your back like his silent presence can ward off any sense of danger.

You’re not sure how to feel about that.

Suddenly, loud menacing laughter erupts from the thick corn wall beside you. The sound is dark and jarring, cutting through the air and sending a bolt of fear through your chest. You startle with a gasp, instinctively reaching for Wanda beside you as you jump away from the bushes, your hand clutching onto her arm.

Your heart pounds violently, the adrenaline making your breath quicken. You’re too lost in the moment to notice the steady hand that has settled on your back - Bucky’s hand.

Without a word, he keeps his palm firmly pressed against the fabric of your jacket as his other hand shoots into the corn wall. You barely register his swift movement until you see him yanking out a small device - a microphone hidden in the stalks, playing that sinister laughter on repeat. With a click, the sound stops.

“Just an audio, doll, everything’s alright,” Bucky explains, his voice low and calm, the teasing edge from earlier absent.

Your breathing slows and you let go of the death grip you had on Wanda’s arm, not registering how tightly you held onto her.

Bucky’s presence remains solid and you glance at him quickly, expecting to find his usual smug grin or some sarcastic remark waiting, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel.

But there’s none of that. Instead, his expression seems almost grim as he eyes the microphone in his hand, a hint of disgust crossing his face, lips twitching. Without much care, he tosses the device back into the corn, not bothering to see where it lands.

His other hand still lay pressed against your back and you let it ground you for a fleeting second.

However, the shock transforms rather rapidly into confusion. Shouldn’t he be delighted it went on right as you passed it? Usually, he would revel in something like this, tease you for your reaction, and flash you that infuriating smirk.

He doesn’t.

You keep walking for another few minutes, the tension slowly easing back into a manageable rhythm, when Sam barks out. “There! Second checkpoint! Y’all that’s on me!”

He moves past Wanda, stopping in front of a small carton laid out on a makeshift table. Scattered across the surface were pieces of a puzzle, all with seemingly random lines on them. Four small wooden stools sat nearby, clearly set up for people to take a seat while working on the puzzle.

“A puzzle?” Bucky asks incredulously, coming to a halt with a frown, his hands on his hips.

“I think it’s cute,” Wanda offers with a smile, moving to one of the stools and lowering herself down. She picks up a piece, studying it as she begins sorting through the chaos. You agree, following her lead and settling on a stool beside her.

“You too cool for a puzzle, Barnes? Or are you scared you won’t be able to solve it?” you mock half-heartedly, your eyes already skimming over the pieces, trying to find where they fit together.

Bucky scoffs, his teasing tone returning full force. “Joke’s on you, sweetheart. I’m an excellent puzzle solver. Always did this with Bec’s when she was small.”

His voice was lighter now and you feel yourself relax a little more at the returning banter settling between you.

Though you find yourself thinking about the small comment about his sister you keep stuck on and curiosity rises in you at the little insight in his former private life. You shouldn’t find this as interesting as you did. And you shouldn’t want to know more.

Bucky lowers himself into a crouch beside you since the two other wooden stools sit beside Wanda. Nat and Steve sit down on those with mild amusement, all eyes on the puzzle pieces.

Bucky stays rather close to your side, his thigh brushing against your own as he reaches over the small makeshift table.

Sam hovers over Wanda’s shoulder, offering commentary and the glow of his flashlight as she arranges the border pieces with surprising efficiency.

“It’s an arrow,” you quip, placing a few more pieces together with a minor sense of accomplishment.

“Oh yeah? How’d you figure that out?” Bucky smirks beside you, playful as ever as he gives you a gentle shove to your shoulder with his own.

Annoyance creeps back in and you roll your eyes. “Cut it, Barnes. What you’re doing over there isn’t helpful either,” you snap, shoving him more forcefully in return. He sways slightly on the balls of his feet, letting out a low chuckle that only grates on your nerves more.

For what feels like the hundredth time, you slap his hand away from the pieces you’ve already fit together. Bucky stopped sticking his own pieces together and rather enjoys reaching over and intentionally placing the wrong pieces onto yours, or worse, rearranging what you’d already solved, eyes twinkling with mischief and the corners of his mouth tugged high up his cheeks. Each time you fix it, he finds another way to mess it up.

You refuse to look at his blinding grin.

You huff instead, slapping his other hand away as it winds around your arms trying to sneak another mismatched piece into your section.

You're also too occupied to notice the knowing glances shared across the table.

“Alright, alright, let’s get this done so we can keep moving. I’m trying to make it outta here in one piece, people,” Sam jokes with a lightness in his voice that suggests he’s enjoying this rather thoroughly.

You finished the puzzle quickly, the final piece snapping into place, and you had to hold back Bucky’s hands, refraining him from spinning the whole thing to make the arrow point in the wrong direction.

A few minutes into the walk and a few dead ends later, Wanda breaks the comfortable silence. “When’s your next game again, guys?” she asks softly.

Sam let out a groan of exasperation, throwing his arms out dramatically, almost hitting Nat. “Oh come on! What’d I say about that, huh?”

He’d been walking at the front since he claimed his spot as the lead after 'earning' it by finding the checkpoint. He turns around as he talks, facing Wanda with a playful glare.

“You said no talking about class or practice. So, I can ask about games,” she counters with a smile.

From behind you, Steve’s laugh rumbles through the group. “She got you there, pal.”

Sam shakes his head, turning ahead again, muttering. “Yeah, yeah. Game’s next Saturday.”Though his annoyance is half-hearted at best.

Then, from beside you, Bucky’s voice breaks through, casual but directed. “You’re coming, right?”His tone is laid back with an underlying expectation. The question seems to be aimed at the group but he was looking at you.

Bucky had stepped up to walk beside you after you resumed walking, his pace matching yours and you see the way his head is tilted in your direction.

You glance up at him, blue eyes watching you. He obviously waits for an answer.

“Don’t know. Maybe I have to work then.” You shrug, playing it off, and look back forward again. But you’re surprised at the way your pulse quickens under his gaze and your hand squeezes the flashlight a little tighter.

You don’t always put a whole lot of effort into being there for their games. Sure, you showed up every now and then, but not nearly as often as everyone else. It wasn’t for lack of support. More like self-preservation.

Watching Bucky stride onto the field with that cocky confidence, owning every inch of the space around him, irks you incredibly. He’s good, and he knows it - he owns it.

Unfortunately for you though, sometimes you couldn’t shove down your annoyance for the guy enough and he, unbeknownst to himself, found a way of making your stomach flip in ways you weren’t entirely proud of.

Also, that football gear - You hate the way your body reacts upon seeing him in it as if it were the first time. The fitted jersey, the helmet tucked under his arm, the way his shoulders look even broader in the pads, the brown tendrils of his fluffy and tousled hair falling over his forehead - it all makes your stomach flutter every time and it drives you crazy.

So you found ways to avoid it. You picked up extra shifts at the library, checked the game schedule weeks in advance to make sure you had a built-in excuse. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, just something casual you were doing to avoid unnecessary distractions. But deep down, you knew better.

And so does Natasha - if her smirk in your direction is anything to go by. You glare at her to move her attention, but it’s useless.

You’re unprepared for the following corner of the maze, lingering in the echo of your thoughts. So when the scare actor does his job, emerging from the shadows and brandishing a chainsaw that roars to life in a terrifying symphony, your soul might have just kissed you goodbye.

The flickering light from the chainsaw illuminates his grimy, masked face, a wicked smile etched across his features, and eyes glimmering with twisted mischief.

You scream - just like Wanda, just like Sam. Nat lets out a quick yelp herself and you hear the sharp intake of a breath behind you from Steve. Bucky, who had seemingly been lost in his own thoughts, flinches beside you. In a swift motion, he surges closer, grabbing your arm harsher than probably intended and pulling you to his side. His leg instinctively positions his body in front of you.

The outfit of the actor - or that’s what you try to tell yourself he is - is a patchwork of tattered flannel and soiled jeans, the perfect embodiment of a deranged lumberjack. Raised high, the chainsaw vibrates with a menacing growl, its teeth gleaming wickedly as the man brandishes it like a weapon, the scent of gasoline mingling with the earthiness of the maze.

You clutch Bucky's arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his biceps as he stands protectively before you, his stance rigid and shoulders tense. Your other hand is linked with his, shaking fingers surrounded by steady ones. Though his stance is stiff and tense.

Time seems to freeze as Nat, Wanda, and Sam stand still in front of you, Steve’s presence at your back.

Your heart races violently in your chest, suffocating you, and for a moment, it feels like your breath stopped altogether as the chainsaw-wielding man lunges toward you six.

All you are able to do in your state of panic is squeeze Bucky’s hand so tightly you might have feared his blood circulation cut off, if your mind were able to conjure up a thought at the moment.

Bucky reacts instantly. Without hesitation, he pivots and bolts down the maze, pulling you along. His fingers clutch yours with such fierce intensity as if his only fear is losing you in this chaos.

Steve surges ahead, taking a sharp turn right while Bucky guides you left, then right, and left again; maneuvering the maze like a seasoned racer. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on keeping up, your heart racing along with your feet. All sense of direction is lost in the chaos and you can’t tell if Nat, Sam, and Wanda are still trailing behind or if they’re swallowed by the cornrows.

You try to take a glance back, hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair, dark brown skin, or Wanda’s long coat.

“Don’t look back!” Bucky shouts over the roar of the chainsaw, his voice snapping your head to the front before you can see anything else besides the blur of yellow-green walls. “Switch off your flashlight!”

You do as you’re told.

You could have had a relaxed evening, maybe taking a bath or watching a show with warm tea and popcorn but no, instead you find yourself chased by a man with a real fucking chainsaw.

Panic surges through you again, your breaths getting shorter at Bucky's fast pace and you feel his hand tighten. There’s an unexpected strength in the way he holds you, his muscles coiling with determination. He navigates the twists and turns with instinctive agility, intense eyes moving over to you every few seconds as if the only important thing here is you.

And somehow that is oddly reassuring and maybe a bit satisfying at the moment. All that mattered is Bucky’s strong grip, anchoring you as you run alongside him.

Around another corner, the path opens up to a small clearing that offers a momentary respite. Bucky pulls you into the safety of the space, pressing your back against the rough stalks of corn, their leaves brushing against your skin. You stand chest to chest, touching each other with every ragged breath you take in.

Bucky still seems composed despite all the running you just did.

He faces the direction you had come from, muscles coiled and ready to react, arms on either side of you, practically hugging you to his chest.

“We lost the others,” you pant, glancing around as best as you could with a mountain of muscle blocking your view.

Bucky’s face is a mask of focus, his eyes scanning the maze. “Yeah. Just stay with me,” he murmurs, lowering his voice, his breath fanning over your cheeks.

He takes another few seconds to assess the surroundings, before looking down at you. “Are you alright?” he asks softly, yet urgently.

You had never been this close to Bucky before, had never imagined such a scenario, and it leaves you unprepared for the overwhelming feelings that flood your senses.

The moonlight cast a slightly silver glow over his features but some remain hidden in shadows. His eyes search yours and you find yourself caught in the depths of his irises, a captivating swirl of blue that makes it hard to look away. His lips are parted slightly, soft breaths brushing against your cheeks and your nose fills with a scent that is something distinctly him. It doesn’t help with finding your voice. The slight furrow in his brow suggests worry as he scans your features.

You nod, still breathless from the scare and his proximity.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to reply, though just then, a chilling laughter echoes from around you. The sound of the chainsaw roars back to life, slicing through the stillness.

You flinch in Bucky’s hold, instinctively moving closer and burrowing half in his chest. “Fucking asshole,”you breathe out a laugh and Bucky tightens his arms momentarily around you with a low chuckle. He seems to relax a little.

“We’ll have to keep moving,” he states, a slight trace of amusement in his tone as he looks back at you. He lifts his hand for a second as if longing to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ears that landed in your face after the frantic escape.

You ignore the sliver of disappointment as he takes his hand back and moves away slightly, letting the chill night air brush against your skin instead of his warm breath. You feel cold, despite the adrenaline pumping in your veins.

The laughing grows louder and Bucky links his hand with yours again. “You ready?” he asks, waiting for your nod before starting to run again, darting through the maze some more.

You have no idea how long it takes before you come to another stop but your chest heaves with exhaustion as you do, ragged breaths leaving your lips. Bucky stands composed with narrowed eyes, looking around the maze.

The silence between you is perhaps a little uncomfortable, the only sound being the heavy breathing of your own labored lungs.

“Well, shit,” you utter after regaining some semblance of balance. “How do we find the others? I have no idea where we are.”

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment. He licks his lips, then shrugs nonchalantly. “Looks like it's just the two of us.”

Your incredulous gaze sweeps over his face. “Seriously?” you ask, coming out sharper than intended.

Bucky rubs his hand over his face, looking away from you. “I’m sure they’re fine. Not like anything ever happens in these things. Sam probably already made a bet that he makes it to the exit before we do. So we should just…try and beat 'em.”

You know he tries to seem like this doesn’t affect him at all but there is something about him that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. He looks a little defeated, perhaps even…hurt. And you don’t quite understand why.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners slightly as he tries for a smile but it looks wry. “Come on, doll! We’re a great team,” he insists.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, Barnes.”

Pain shoots through your chest. Not unfamiliar but not known around Bucky. His faltered expression stings and you don’t know what to do besides watching him drop his eyes to his feet and sigh heavily.

The sound feels like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless once again but without running from a man with a chainsaw.

His hands move over his hair. “It’s still Bucky for you doll. Told you many times,” he says softly, voice heavy with a mixture of dejection and desperation. “And we don’t really have a choice now, do we? We don’t know where the others are and it might take hours to find them. Just looking for the exit of this thing would be easier. Bet the others are doing the same.”

He looks at you then, with a troubled expression, seeming so vulnerable all of a sudden, traces of the cocky football player lost somewhere in this maze.

You nod then, slowly, not able to bring a word out because you have no clue as to what has him this sad.

“Alright,” he continues, nodding to himself. “I think we might have run past the third checkpoint. Let’s find the last one.”

The silence between Bucky and you stretches out like a fragile thread, the tension building with each passing moment. You can feel him glancing at you every few paces and you look over at him every once in a while but nobody says anything.

You don’t even talk when reaching another dead end, just turning around and resuming to walk.

He seems to let you lead, though, taking the turns you do.

You let your gaze sweep over the maze’s twists and turns until something catches your eye. A small, narrow wooden post stands almost camouflaged among the corn stalks, and your pace quickens.

“Over there! Look!”

It feels weird to break the silence between you but you don’t look over at Bucky as you approach the post and hear him fall into step behind you.

It’s adorned with two wooden flags, both having slightly faded letters atop. You read the first one, a small riddle as it seems.

“What’s it say?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and low near your ear.

The glow of your flashlight helps you make out the words. “It says…What has keys but can’t open locks? What has a face but no eyes, nose, or mouth?”

You chance a quick glance at Bucky beside you. His eyes narrow. “I think I know this one,” he says slowly. “A clock, maybe.”

You read the riddle again, feeling his eyes on your profile. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” You hesitate a second. “Damn, Barnes. Not only all muscle, I see!” You're grateful for the teasing tone that made its way back to your voice and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bucky’s grin lighting up his face again.

“You’d be surprised, doll,” he replies softly, a smile in his voice.

It isn’t quite the answer you had expected.

You thought he’d dig out the fact that you basically complimented his figure and you snapped your gaze up to his, though he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead staring at the letters on the wooden post.

“So, it’s a clock. What do we do with that?” He questions and you slowly turn back, lighting up the wooden flags again.

“There’s more.”

You move your light to the second flag, starting to read what’s written there.

“I’m a number that’s often paired. In harmony, I’m the perfect tease. Together we’re a perfect pair. A balance of Yin and Yang to share. In the morning, I’m bright and bold. By night, I’m soft and gentle to hold. My presence is felt in every way. From sunrise to sunset, every day.”

You hadn’t even finished reading when Bucky began shuffling a little beside you, straightening his spine. He watches you in silence now and you do your best to ignore his gaze.

You had no idea who came up with that riddle, but you feel like slapping that person. The weird tension between Bucky and you only tightens, seeming to snap any minute and this is no help at all.

Those words seem to sear themselves into your brain, echoing with an unsettling intimacy, you either wanted to bask in or get rid of.

You feel yourself wandering down a dangerous road.

You stare at those words carved into wood and it is as if someone had been watching you two, studying your dynamic, and decided to reduce your complicated relationship to a text.

But do you really think so?

In harmony? A perfect pair? Yin and Yang?

You know there was always something. You can try to suppress feelings for all you want but how can you get rid of something you won’t even acknowledge in the first place.

You like him. You like him a whole lot. Damn it, there is just something about this idiot you have to adore. But you can’t tell him that. Not now.

Not when the weight of his gaze hasn’t left you yet and you feel a flush rise in your cheeks.

Finally, you meet Bucky’s eyes, still fixed on you, as if waiting for something. His expression is unreadable and you feel like bolting away into the corn maze and getting lost. Maybe forever.

How can he look so calm and rigid at the same time? You know he is affected by those words but it looks more like he tries to see what they do to you.

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, so intense, your throat constricts and you look away, clearing your throat in hopes it will break the spell.

“Two,” you croak out. “That’s the answer. We have to head towards two o’clock.”

You see Bucky nodding slowly from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched and you begin walking again.

The tension is palpable, like a living entity that wrapped itself around you. Every step feels like a struggle as if you’re wading through quicksand, fighting against the undertow of your own emotions.

The silence grows so thick, you can hardly breathe.

Light.

There is light just around the corner, beckoning you forward and distant voices grow louder with each step you take.

But right after rounding the corner, fog appears, wrapping you in its damp, grey folds. It’s disorienting at first but feels just like the fog you had passed at the entrance so this has to be a good sign.

However, as you spin around, desperate to locate Bucky, he is lost in the mist and you feel the suffocating need to feel him, hands reaching out frantically, grasping at nothing.

“Bucky!” You call out, voice strained and urgent. You don’t even notice the nickname rolling off your tongue, torn from your lips as if ripped from your throat.

In an instant, a gentle touch brushes against your arm. You jerk back at first, startled, but then feel the soft pressure of Bucky’s fingers wrap around yours. His other hand takes hold of yours, touch so gentle and careful as if you are something to be treasured.

Your heart begins to race as you realize he is right in front of you, chest nearly pressed against yours just like earlier, though this time it feels much more intense, intimate, purposeful.

You strain to see beyond the veil of mist, but it’s like gazing into a void. All you can make out is the faint outline of Bucky’s form, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His breathing is growing ragged. He can run however long away from a chainsaw-wielding man but standing in front of you is what makes him lose his breath?

Blood is pumping through your veins and you feel it rushing through your ears. He’s still standing in front of you, hands holding yours, chest resting against yours and you feel his hot breath against your face again.

You try to comprehend what he is doing, why he doesn’t lead you to the exit, but deep down you know. He’s gauging your reaction. Maybe he saw something in your gaze while reading this riddle, maybe it was in the way you looked at him, or carried yourself. But something about the way you had acted seemed to have given him courage. He found something as he searched your gaze at the wooden post.

And now he’s waiting for you.

“Bucky,” you whisper, barely audible but the hitch of a breath right in front of you is an indication he heard you.

His name is a plea, a confirmation, the consent to continue what he started.

Bucky’s fingers caress your skin, moving up your arms in such a slow motion as if he’s mapping and memorizing how every inch of your skin feels under his fingertips. Shivers run down your spine and goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hands and you know he can feel it.

His hesitation tempers down with every second.

The touch of his fingertips is magnetic and although you can’t see it, it draws you in with an almost magnetic force. You feel yourself leaning into him, eyes fixed on the fog where you know his own are, as if willing to clear it, ready to see the exact kind of blue you fell for. But you know he’s looking at you, not seeing, but still looking. And that was enough to make your stomach flutter.

As his fingers reach your face he gently tucks the flyaway strands behind your ear, holding your face in his palms and tilting it just right. His forehead lands on yours and you take a deep breath in until all you consume is him.

You don’t care about the eyesight you are lacking at the moment. You wouldn’t even care about hearing that menacing laughter again, or the roar from the chainsaw, because here in Bucky’s arms you’ve never felt saver.

You feel his presence in every way.

And when your lips meet his, moving in sync, you know.

In harmony. Like the perfect pair. Yin and Yang.

“Hold your horses, people, I hear something.”

You ignore Sam’s voice outside the fog, attention set on Bucky and his plump lips, his tongue gliding in your mouth, exploring its new home.

“Barnes! Hey, man! Y/n! You in there?”

Sam’s shout again remains ignored.

“You lost, guys, everyone’s out here!”

Bucky pulls away at that, resting his forehead against yours. You feel his huge smile against yours, keeping your eyes closed.

“Nah,” he whispers against your lips. “I definitely won today.”

“The road might be long

The stars may not guide me

But if you keep your heart open

I will find you”

- Michael Xavier

[chronic-cane]

It's Not Genocide

I made this for class and I wanted to wait until after I presented it to post it. The assignment was to make a manifesto and this one is about disability. I never see anything angry about disability when we should be enraged, so that's what I tried to point out. It's all text but is emotionally heavy, and long, so it's under the cut.

TW: Death, eugenics, disability c slur used, swearing, knives, murder of disabled people (specifically autistic children), and a lot of anger. There is also passive-aggressive sarcasm.

Pro-lifers DO NOT Interact

Disability isn’t included in the definition of genocide by the United Nations. It’s not included even though disabled people were the first to be exterminated in Nazi Germany long before anyone else, but you don’t learn about irrelevant lives in history class.

It’s for the best, because if it were included, then Iceland would have to own up to bragging about virtually eliminating all cases of down syndrome through abortion. When speaking about a growing fetus who tests positive for down syndrome and the pregnancy is terminated because of such, the rate is 67% in the U.S., 77% in France, and 98% in Denmark (Quinones & Lajka, 2017). The UK would have to acknowledge that from March 2014 to February 2017, over a hundred disabled people died per day when trying to claim for financial support, including around 11,000 who died after being told that they were actually ‘fit for work’ by a government official who didn’t need to have any sort of education about the disability (Berghs, et al., 2020, p. 50). Before they of course stopped sharing the incredibly high fatalities to the public so that way the burdens can be quieter when they die.

The UK only copied from the United States though, the country that could eliminate a quarter of its poverty rate if they just raised the Social Security Income to be above the damn poverty line. Instead, they’d rather disabled people fight for their fucking lives to get a lucrative $841 maximum on SSI a month, never have over $2000 to their name, and never be able to marry unless if they want to lose the healthcare that keeps them alive. Never mind that on average, someone who has a disability that limits the ability to work requires about $17,000 more per year than the average household without someone with a disability (Goodman, et al., 2020).

At least the United States has the Americans with Disabilities Act, which requires you to have healthcare you can’t afford to be protected from discrimination. The employment protections are also a fucking joke in the face of at will employment. The founding fathers told me I can work, and the jobs told me that I’m not competitive enough to work for minimum wage. Capitalism ensures that we will never survive. Disability is a luxury only the rich can afford, and the rest of us must beg for the government to see us worthy of scraps, break ourselves, or die.

But that’s not intentional genocide, I mean, if it could ever be genocide in the first place. Genocide would look more like 34 million adults knowing at least one person who died because they couldn’t afford their medication (Witters, 2019). It would look more like a recorded 2.8 million people dying because they couldn’t afford needed healthcare in 2017. It would look like the CDC telling everyone that only the disabled and poor people will die, so get back to work. It would look like “this elevator shuts down during a fire no matter what” and wheelchair users finding themselves unable to escape from a burning building. It would look like people insisting that disabled people have lives that aren’t worth living, and when we’re murdered, the story let’s everyone know that the murderer found us better off dead, and the public agrees.

I’m told every day by the world that my right to live hinges on whether my mind and body is profitable enough. Every day I am told that my life and the lives of my disabled siblings aren’t worth jack shit. Then I turn around and I’m told that we should explain to abled people that they need to relearn common decency because it goes out the window when they look at a mobility aid. “Noo silly goose, you can’t touch someone’s property and forcibly move them without their permission,” that’s not a teachable moment, that’s the moment you get out a pocketknife.

There is one class that teaches about disability at this University, and it never bothered to mention we’re slaughtered on a mass scale, instead I was given information that was last updated in 2013 that included revolutionary ideas like how autism isn’t a plague coming for your children. I could learn that, but not told how many autistic children were murdered by their parents on the Disability Day of Mourning website. They couldn’t even find the names of some of those kids, and instead of tears for their deaths, there are tears for their killers who must have had it so hard. What is wrong with you people? These were fucking children, they had decades of life ahead of them, life that’s a blessing to the world, and you’re crying for the killer. Why am I expected to be calm, collected, and insightful towards the people who would rather cry for the fact that disabled people are alive more than they would if we’re dead?

If they truly pitied us so much, they would do something besides torture and kill us. I see a system that takes every single marginalized person, traumatizes them, beats them, and throws them into the cripple bin to die. People who are ashamed to become me, to become one of us, because they know how useless we must be to the system that sees our bodies as profit and nothing more.

It’s okay, I’m ashamed of me too, but at least I got to adulthood with the amount of privilege I have. At least we’re still here, you are still here, and you are worth as much as anyone else.

Every day a person who is bedridden and requires assistance to eat and use the bathroom makes it to the next day, is a day of revolution in a world that sees their life as a meaningless burden. Every breath through an iron lung is a breath of defiance. The rambling, hopping, and jumbled flow of my ADHD redefines writing. The slur in my S and my anxious stutter is a miracle to speech. Our bodies, our minds, our lives are priceless.

But that’s all so hard to convince yourself when it’s not even genocide.  

References

Berghs, M., Chataika, T., El-Lahib, Y., & Dube, A. K. (2020). The Routledge handbook of disability activism [PDF]. Routledge.

Goodman, N., Morris, M., Morris, Z., & McGarity, S. (2020, October). The extra costs of living with a disability in the U.S. — resetting the policy table. National Disability Institute. Retrieved April 3, 2022, from https://www.nationaldisabilityinstitute.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/extra-costs-living-with-disability-brief.pdf

Quinones, J., & Lajka, A. (2017, August 15). "What kind of society do you want to live in?" Inside the country where down syndrome is disappearing. CBS News. Retrieved April 3, 2022, from https://www.cbsnews.com/news/down-syndrome-iceland/

Witters, D. (2019, November 12). Millions in U.S. lost someone who couldn't afford treatment. Gallup. Retrieved April 3, 2022, from https://news.gallup.com/poll/268094/millions-lost-someone-couldn-afford-treatment.aspx

[storiesforallfandoms]

vulnerable ~ captain jack sparrow;pirates of the caribbean

word count: 1845

request?: yes!

“♥️Hi, I wanted to request something for Jack Sparrow if that's okay? So, I was watching potc dead man's chest, and noticed how at the end where Elizabeth kisses him, Jack is so soft and gentle with her, he barely moves, he looks so vulnerable and small, it touched my heart. So I wanted to ask something like that, where when the reader first kisses him he's surprised and vulnerable, maybe never thought she would like him back. something with angst, an emotional Jack, but a happy ending, thanks <3″

description: in which he becomes vulnerable when she kisses him and admits her feelings for him

pairing: jack sparrow x female!reader

warnings: swearing, an attack that leads to a sinking ship

masterlist (one, two)

If there’s one side of Captain Jack Sparrow that was never shown, it was his vulnerable side.

Being vulnerable only got you one thing when you were a pirate, and that was killed. You had to be tough as a pirate, especially as an infamous captain. Sure, Jack had his less than serious moments, but no one saw that softer side of him. He wouldn’t let anyone see it as long as he lived.

Until (Y/N) joined the crew.

She had stowed away on the Black Pearl the last time they were docked. Pintel and Ragetti had found her hidden among the barrels of rum below deck. They brought her to Jack, expecting their captain to throw the stowaway into the water and leave her for dead.

“I’m not trying to steal!” she insisted. “I was just trying to get away. Please, I can be of some use. If you don’t want me here, I’ll depart when you find land next. You’ll never see me again.”

Jack studied their stowaway. She was small and he could see in her eyes that she had definitely had a hard life wherever she had come from. She wasn’t a threat, and he felt like he wanted to protect her.

“She’s not a threat,” he decided. “She can stay.”

Captain Jack Sparrow had a way with the ladies, everyone knew this. He could get under the skirt of almost any woman he wanted just with a few sweet nothings whispered in their ear. But what he felt for (Y/N) was different. He found his chest would warm whenever she was around, and he’d easily get tongue tied.

He wanted to vocalize these feelings to her, but every time he tried he would chicken out. Instead he would find some way to open himself to (Y/N) more, to show her the side no one else ever saw. In return, (Y/N) told Jack all about herself, and they became the only two people on the Black Pearl to know so much about one another.

Then came the day of the attack.

They were sailing on a beautiful day. Not a single cloud in the sky, nor anything in their sights. (Y/N) was stood at the bow, watching as the Black Pearl peacefully move through the calm water.

“Peaceful days scare me,” she said, startling Jack who had been approaching her.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. “I just knew.”

He stepped up onto the bow next to her. “Why do peaceful days scare you?”

“They are so few and far between that I always expect the worst to happen,” she explained. “Either the weather is bad, or something bad is happening. We have yet to have such a calm and peaceful day.”

“Maybe we’re just lucky today.”

(Y/N) looked up at him with a skeptical look. “Maybe.”

They were silent then, but it was a comfortable silence. Jack looked over at (Y/N), who was now gazing out over the water. The breeze blew her hair slightly, giving Jack a better look at her face. Despite her feelings on peaceful days, her face looked relaxed and at peace in that moment.

Jack’s mouth moved before his brain could comprehend what he was doing. “(Y/N).”

She looked up at him. “Yes Jack?”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by Gibbs shouting. “Captain! Enemies along the horizon!”

Jack and (Y/N) shared a look before racing for the wheel where Gibbs had been standing. Jack took the telescope from his first made and looked through it at the oncoming ship.

“Not necessarily an enemy ship, Gibbs,” Jack said, trying to zero on the flag the ship was flying but was unable to get a good look at it. “Might just be someone else sailing today.”

But then the sound of a cannon rang out and the water beside the Black Pearl shook violently.

“Shit,” Jack hissed. “Get to the cannons! Return fire!”

“Is that a good idea, Jack?” (Y/N) asked. “They’re so far away, we’ll be wasting ammo.”

“We have to show them we aren’t going down without a fight,” Jack declared.

His men loaded the cannons and fired back at the ship. The giant masses landed just inches from the enemy ship, causing the water around it to build up in massive waves and disrupt the ship’s course.

“Again!” Jack called. “Just one more this time!”

As they fired another shot at the ship, another cannonball landed in the water next to them as well. Anyone above deck was thrown to the ground as the ship tilted due to the waves.

“Jack, we have to retreat!” (Y/N) insisted as she tried to get to her feet.

“There’s no retreat,” Jack said. “They’re advancing on us fast. By the time we even turn to get away, they’d be on us.”

“Well what do we do then?”

The next cannonball hit the ship directly, putting a massive hole in the side of it. The Black Pearl began to sink into the water began to fill the deck.

“Abandon ship!” Jack called. “Go to everyone below deck and make sure anyone who can be saved is saved! Abandon ship and swim to the nearest land or boat you can find!”

He turned to (Y/N). There was so much fear in her eyes and she looked close to tears. Jack cupped her face in his hands, trying to remain calm himself.

“Find land, get help,” he told her. “For yourself, don’t look back for us.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “If I get anywhere, I’ll be sending the first boat back looking for you and the others.”

“We’re pirates, (Y/N). No one will care about us. No one will want to save us.”

“I will want to, and I will save you.”

Before Jack could argue further, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Every ounce of fear or worry slowly dissolved then and Jack relaxed into the kiss. He put one hand on the back of her head while holding her body close to his with the other. They were so lost in one another that they didn’t realize the entire front of the ship was submerged in water until Gibbs called out for them again.

(Y/N) pulled away first. Jack gently caressed her face, his face mirroring the fear in her own. Except he wasn’t afraid of the enemy ship or the attack; he was afraid of never seeing her again.

“I will find you,” he promised.

(Y/N) nodded. “I will find you, too.”

The two of them jumped ship as another cannonball landed next to the sinking ship. (Y/N) reached for Jack, who had been next to her moments before, but found herself thrown around in the chaos of the sinking ship and the still attacking enemies. She tried to open her eyes to look for Jack, but the water stung so bad she was unable to see.

She broke through the water a few times, but continued to be shoved back down by the crewmates or by the force of the sinking ship. Finally, she began to swim away as fast as her body could take her. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew she had to get away before the Black Pearl took her down with it.

(Y/N) swam and swam until her arms and legs grew too tired to swim anymore. When she was finally far enough away from the chaos, she broke through the water and inhaled the fresh air into her lungs. She could no longer see either ship, or her crewmates. She wasn’t sure if she had swam away that far that she couldn’t see them, or if they had all gone down with their beloved ship as well.

Her body ached, but she did everything she could to stay above water. There were no signs of land or another boat anywhere. Not even any debris for her to float on. Just water as far as the eye could see. (Y/N) felt a lump grow in her throat and all she wanted to do was cry. She had lost the people she cared most about, she had lost the place she considered home. She had lost Jack.

(Y/N) was floating for some time when another boat sailing through the water spotted her. They got close enough that one of their members could reach into the water and pull her out. She nearly sobbed with relief when her tired body was able to relax against the ship’s floor.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” one of the crew members asked, kneeling down to peer into (Y/N)’s face. “Have you been hurt?”

She shook her head sheepishly, still regaining her energy. “I...I was on a-on a ship. We were...we were attacked.”

“Another from the shipwreck!” the crewmate called. He turned back to (Y/N) to add, “We’ve rescued a number of your crewmates, they’re all below deck receiving any medical attention they may need.”

It took a moment for his words to get through her head. When they did, she jumped up as fast as she could and made her way below deck. Many familiar faces were sat together or laying in the beds provided, but not the familiar face she was looking for. (Y/N)’s heart squeezed with sadness as she desperately looked for Jack among her saved crewmates.

She tried not to let her disappointment show as a call was heard from above ship. “We’ve got another! Says he’s the captain!”

(Y/N) turned to watch as the crewmates brought Jack down below ship, his hair and clothes clinging to him from the water. She contained herself for just a moment, waiting to see if Jack needed any medical attention. When his eyes locked on her, however, he broke free from the grasp of the crewmates and ran to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her deeply, there in front of all of his men.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathed between kisses.

“I thought I had lost you as well,” she responded. “When I came down and didn’t see your face. I was so sure - ”

“Shh, love,” Jack said, placing a finger against her lips. “No need to worry now. We’re both alright.”

“Oh Jack, the Black Pearl,” (Y/N) said. “I’m so sorry about your ship.”

Jack chuckled. “My ship? Don’t apologize for that. My only worry was you, and you’re okay now.”

“Well,” came Gibbs’ voice, tearing the two away from their moment. “I never thought I would heard the great Captain Jack Sparrow say he cared more for a lady than his own ship.”

“What can I say, Gibbs?” Jack said, putting an arm around (Y/N)’s waist and pulling her close to him. “She brings out the softer side in me, and maybe I’m much better for it.”

[dmc-tings]

If I may. The Four Lords with a reader who is a child of the Bakers who moved to the village, for whatever reason, like a year before Eveline showed up at the house and infected them.

How would they handle the news that their humans parents were infected for years and are now dead? Like would they try to hide the deaths, would they be honest and tell the reader about what happened and how would they go about comforting you? Would they try and track down Lucas and Zoe to bring them to the village?

Long Lost Baker with the Four Lords

(This was an interesting one! Very fun to write!! Thank you for this and I hope you enjoy it! I added Joe cause his dlc was bussin)

Alcina Dimitrescu

She had no idea about your family background

And didn't care to ask you, since you never brought it up

But you where in the library with her

Picking out a book, when you came across a file

"Huh. You knew about the Bakers? They were my family."

"Oh?" Alcina asked, raising a brow at you, "Well they were killed. If they wher-"

You paused, shaking, "What? They... they where killed ?"

Alcina moved to your side, putting a comforting arm around you

"Yes. My Love... did you care for them?"

You nodded, almost choking on your emotions

'Dead.' You thought

You didn't even really say goodbye

Your father, Jack, didn't want you to leave the safety of their home

But your mother, Marguerite, insisted that there was more to the world, than just that old ass swamp

Zoe and Lucas really didn't want you to leave either

But you left, Lucas helping you navigate away and Zoe giving you some money, that she saved up

"The mold... The girl, Eveline, she took over the home... and your parents are gone. But your siblings and uncle live."

You looked at her in shock, you didn't know who Eveline was

But some of your family was alive!

When Alcina saw the hope in your eyes, she smiled, "What would you like me to do?"

"Try and bring them here! Please!"

She nodded, your wish was her command

For months, she had known you might want your family with you

They were being held away from the Castle, so she could surprise you

Though getting Joe and the BSAA soldiers that surrounded said home

Joe was also taken

"Come. I have something to show you." She stood up, towering over you, keeping a hand on your back

You stood, letting her lead you out

Through the Castle and Vineyard, you came up to a house, small enough for a few people

You heard yelling, a familiar voice

"LET US OUT YOU GIANT BITCH!! FUCKIN-"

"Will you shut up? She said, there was someone here we knew."

"HOW LONG DO WE HAVE TO WAIT TO SEE-"

You rushed to the door, kicking it down

"OW!! GOTDAMN IT!!"

Tears welled up in your eyes again

"LUCAS? ZOE!? UNCLE JOE!!"

They were speechless as well

What a happy family reunion!

Tears and hugs were given

Joe stood up, from hugging you three, to look at Alcina, "Thank you from keeping my youngest (niece/nephew) safe."

Alcina looked away, "No need to thank me, human. I didn't care for any of you, but I knew this would make them happy."

Angie and Donna Beneviento

Angie noticed that you had been feeling a bit down lately

So she told Donna about it, whom rushed to your side

"My Dear, what's the matter? Angie says your feeling blue."

You looked at her, a sad look in your eyes

"Ah... its nothing really, Love. Im... im just think about my family. I havent really been able to know anything going on with them..."

It really bothered you, and both of the ladies could see that

Donna looked at you and took your hand

"Do you remember how they looked, the last time you saw them?"

You nodded sadly, smiling wistfully

"Yep, Momma was making me a cake, for me finishing off collage. Pops he was rebuilding the old car, with my brother Lucas. And Zoe, she and I were playing in the front yard, supposing to do chores."

Donna nodded, and a bit of pollen began to swirl around you both

You sat up straight, it was your family

The Baker's, as you knew them

They were happy to see you

It made your heart burst, and you smiled

Tears falling down your cheeks, as your family gathered around you and Donna hugging you both

It felt good to see them, even though you knew it really wasn't them

Donna wiped your tears, and you sighed contently

Starting a conversation with your "mother" and "father"

Your "siblings" talking to Angie and Donna

A few hours later the pollen wore off

But you where happy, and turned to Donna

Giving her a kiss, "Thank you. I dont know what's happened to them... but that was good for me. I appreciate it."

But Donna didn't smile back, and Angie grew quiet

"Your family. They... your parents are dead..."

You looked at her, shocked, "How-"

"Mother Miranda has said that their one with the mold..."

You took that information in, knowing about your parents... was a bit of a... surprise

"And my brother and sister?"

Donna shook her head, smiling, "Alive and safe from that."

You smiled and thanked her again with a kiss

You may not be able to see them, in real life, but you COULD see them all as you remembered them

Salvatore Moreau

You had told Salvatore all about your home life, before moving to the village

He had asked about your family, trying to compare his own with yours

You sympathetically told him that you and your siblings ACTUALLY got alone

And that your family was always tight

Your mother cooked badass meals

And your dad was always the person to run to for the best advice and protection

Your brother was a delinquent genius

And your sister was always happy to just be there for you

While his "family" left alot to be desired

You had pictures of them, which you shared

He looked at them with wonder, seeing how happy you were

This is when he decided to get them, well the alive ones

His Cadou experiments had changed

Making them more human, to infiltrate the regular world and kidnap your family

He surprised you one day

Encouraging you to go for a moonlit walk with him

Yelling was coming from a nearby cave

"Moreau, Love. I dont-"

"Its not, my most Precious. I swear, you will love this surprise."

You gave him a frown and let him continue to lead you on

Inside the cave, you where met with 3 cages

Joe, Lucas and Zoe!

Your jaw dropped, and Moreau clapped happily as you rushed and unlocked the cages

Embracing your family, though Joe pulled away ready to blast Moreau away

After a long explanation, your family accepted the fish man as their own

Moreau was careful to hid your family from Mother Miranda

Sadly, he couldn't save your mother and father, but the rest of your family were safe in his domain

Karl Heisenberg

You both were having dinner when he asked you about your birth name

"Oh. It's Baker... I think. I was adopted by them."

"Adopted? Hope they treated you better than that bitch, Miranda." He scoffed

You laughed, assuring him that they did

Then you went into stories about your family

As you finished up a story about you and Lucas dodging the cops and taking quite the ass whoopin from Jack

You noticed Heisenberg narrowing his eyes at the names in the story

"Jack... Marguerite.... Zoe... Lucas... Joe..." he grumbled letting the names roll off of his tongue

Then he stood up, and looked at you

"THEM BAKERS!?"

You jumped at his outburst, then nodding slowly at him

"HOLY SHIT!! THEIR- Well the kids and uncle still live." He told you

You looked at him like he had gone absolutely mad

"What are you talking about, Karl?"

He sat back down, holding both your hands in his, looking you in the eyes

He was serious when he did this

Karl explained to you about the mold and what happened in Louisiana, a couple years ago

"Miranda had a file on them. I dont know how the hell she got it, but I managed to take a peek at it. I had no idea you were one of them."

You sat back in your chair, processing the information

"My... my siblings and uncle are ok?" You huffed with relief

Karl nodded, pulling you into a hug, comforting you

You fell into his embrace, "Thank you for telling me..."

Heisenberg let out a hum and rubbed your back

You opened your mouth to speak

"No." He cut you off, "im not going. And im not sending anyone. You KNOW what Miranda planning..."

You nodded, and buried your face in his chest

You were happy that they would be safe from her

But sad that you may never see them

Heisenberg had a plan for you to be saved as well

[ilovebeing-weird]

It was supposed to be normal? (I refuse to name this)

It was a calm night. The Waynes were all staying at the manor because Dick insisted and no one could resist his puppy eyes, even Jason who claimed that he was going for Alfred’s food but they all knew the truth. Tim was working on some case files in his old room while Marinette was asleep. He was just about to hop in the bed, because it was a cold night and he missed her warmth. He was just about to go snuggle with her when the lights went off.

Shit. Tim didn't panic much because of the electricity backup and stuff but it didn't come back, he waited for ten minutes standing at the same place frozen. It didn't come back, must be something bad.

Now Tim wasn't a coward, so he wasn't Everything will be fine as long as she's with him. Unfortunately, it didn't help much.

So Tim lied there, trying not to panic. He buried his face in a pillow to escape the dark to forget about his all. He felt something moving, at first he ignored it as his brain was playing tricks on him, but then it happened again.

Tim looked under the cover and there he saw a chick. What the fuck was a chick doing here!? It wasn't just one chick though, there were a LOT of them. They were enough to cover him. Actually they were covering him.

Where did they even come from!? He was so absorbed in the chicks that he almost forgot about the dark. Almost.

"Mon canard." Of course it was Marinette. "Do you like the surprise?"

"Mari what is-" Tim was cut off because a chick decided his mouth was really interesting and started looking inside it.

"I named this one Nugget! It likes people's mouths!" Now, Tim totally forgot about the dark.

"What are you even doing up? I thought you went to sleep?"

"Weeell, you hugged me really tight. So I woke up! Then I realized that everything was dark and you are afraid of darkness so I bought chicks!"

"...you had this many chicks with you?"

"Well, Adrien left them with me because he saved them and didn't know where to keep them." Okay…not the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him.

"What's all this- woah." Jason entered their room. "That's a lot of chicks. Why is Replacement covered in them?" Marinette smiled brightly at him.

"Because it's his species!" Well, at least it was better than when she literally dumped him into the pond to be "with his own kind"

"Okay, that makes sense." Jason just shrugged.

"Why are you awake? Isn't it like really late at night?" Jason gave him a weird look.

"Replacement, it's nine am." Why would anyone wake up so early? That's just weird.

"Why are you making so much noise?" Damian barged into their room.

"Good morning Damian!" Marinette ruffled his hair. And he didn't stab her. Progress. Also Marinette was his favorite. "We have chicks! They're adorable aren't they?" Damian nodded.

"Good morning everyone! It's a beautiful day." Dick came into their room accompanied by Bruce and Cass. Why was everyone here? "Timmy you look so cute!" Dick took out his phone to take pictures. Tim glared at him but unfortunately that didn't stop him.

"Father." Damian turned to Bruce. "This is my new pet, Marinette has named it Batchick." That chick did look a lot like Bruce when he was Batman. He had a permanent scowl on his face and the fact that Marinette made it a little cowl didn't help at all.

Bruce sighed, "Damian you're not allowed to get more animals." Damian scowled at his father.

"What kind of nonsense is this father? Batchick is my child, part of the family."

"That's not how it works."

"Well it sure as hell worked for you when I jacked your tires, B." Jason, who somehow had eggs with him now, said.

Bruce grunted "It's different."

"Jace, why do you have eggs with you?" Jason smirked and threw an egg on Tim. It landed on his head.

"Jason! What the hell!?"

"It's the same thing! You're just gonna discriminate against the eggs because they're not alive!?" He threw another egg. "I didn't expect you to be the discriminating kind Replacement." Jason was sure having fun with this. Just wait till he's untrapped.

"Master Jason, please refrain from wasting food." Alfred was here too now.

Batchick was now brooding in Bruce's hair. Huh? Chicks could brood? Bruce pinched his nose.

"Why can't this family be normal?" He sighed deeply. He truly looked like a tired dad.

"You threw normal out of the window when you decided to become a crime fighting furry." Dick said, looking at him pointedly. Bruce sighed again.

"I am pretty sure you all have other work than gawking at me like I am an exhibition." Tim deadpanned.

"But you look so cute, mon canard." Marinette kissed his nose and Tim short circuited. "Look! You all have your own chicks now!" And surely there were chicks representing all of them.

There was a chick which had a small cape attached to it and was pecking everyone. Not the sweet loving pecks, the hard ones that hurt. It was definitely Damian.

There was one that was looking inside Tim's coffee cup and had a small domino mask like his own. (Marinette hated his cowl) It was also the one that was being targeted by Damian's chick. It was him, Tim was sure.

And there was a chick who wasn't saying anything but observing them all with curious eyes. It also had a small bat logo. That was Cass.

Then there was a chick with a red egg but it actually had small holes poked in it for vision. It was running away while a chick with a small blue bird logo chased it while trying to stop Tim's and Damian's chick from fighting. Dick and Jason.

Tim had to admit that it was adorable.

"Father! I would like to keep all these chicks with me."

"Damian, no."

"Try us!" They all chorused.

"I'll cut off your money."

"I literally work as your Co-CEO, Jason is a crime lord, Marinette is a world famous fashion designer and Damian could probably set up a pet cafe. And Cass does ballet. We don't need your money."

"Wait, am I supposed to handle Bruce all by myself?" Dick was stressing even more now.

"Well, you don't have to."

".....we can move to Blüdhaven together."

"My children don't like me anymore."

"Well, technically I am not your child." Marinette pointed out.

"You're gonna marry Replacement one day, and I am pretty sure Bruce has already mentally adopted you." Jason said, shrugging.

"Bold of you to assume I won't marry Cass instead." Cass and Marinette high fived.

Tim frowned. "I feel strangely betrayed. I let you put little chicks over me."

"So? Cass is far superior." Cass winked at Marinette.

Bruce just sighed. Why was this his life.

[the-devils-girl94]

How Would The Brothers and Others React if MC Was Sick?

Obey Me Headcanon

((I was sick for a bit. Also I centered some of this around the fact that the demons and angels aren't well-versed in human medicine and illnesses. And that what they do know is that when a human falls sick, they think that the circumstances will be dire and that most humans who have ended up in either the Celestial Realm or the Devildom are in the categories of died of old age, sickness, or war. Enjoy!!))

Lucifer:

Although it sometimes doesn't seem like it, he was extremely worried about you. Humans become extremely fragile when they become sick and although he has lived for many years, he has seen many humans enter both the Celestial Realm and Devildom after succumbing to their illnesses. And seeing you so sick and miserable worried him about you leaving this way.

So as soon as he hears you are sick, he will alert your teachers and have his brothers pick up any homework from your teachers for you. He'll check up on you from time to time to change the cloth on your head for your fever and to remind you about taking your medicine. He'll even bring you dinner when you don't have the strength to get out of bed.

The times he has came in to check on you were timed by half an hour, where he would stop whatever he was doing to check and see if anything about your condition has changed. He would stop meetings just to contact anyone at home to remind them to check on you when he couldn't.

Mammon:

You know very well that this greedy demon is always by your side when you fall ill. Since demons can't get sick as easily as humans, he's fine with laying next to you and cuddling when you request him to. He'll constantly tell you to hurry and get better as he's feeding you. (Though you could do it yourself, he insists on doing it himself in order for you to not lift a single finger.) He checks on you periodically and will even spend the night with you, in case your condition happens to worsen over night.

Leviathan:

He gets worried since you can't leave your room, but he takes the initiative to come visit you with games, manga, anime, and snacks in tow. He'll do this the entire time you're sick and probably continue it even after you're better. You guys have fun, wrapped up in blankets and being completely immersed in the world of anime. Of course when you're with Levi, you forget to take your medicine as you're both so into gaming, reading, and watching anime. So, Lucifer scolds you and Levi keeps a timer on him to remind you when you guys get forgetful.

Satan:

Depending on what the illness is that has afflicted you, he's the best at knowing what it is and how to treat you. He's there with you every day throughout the day to help you get better. He reminds you to drink more fluids and to take your medicine as he will scold you if you don't do so. He'll also help you with your homework when you are feeling up to it. He's there during the worst of it, where you just feel the worst you have ever felt and want to cry. And he's lending you his shoulder for you to cry in as he comforts you.

Asmodeus:

He's mostly planning on celebrating when you get better. But...until then, he's lonely since all the things he wants to do with you are postponed until you're better. He doesn't like seeing you so miserable and he joins his brothers in helping you feel better. He takes over the duties of when you are feeling really horrible, he'll rub your back and tie your hair whenever you have to puke. (He does find it gross but by Diavolo's titties, he swears he'll do it again for you as you would for him.) He brings you all your medicine and food. May even put something extra if you want him to.

Beelzebub & Belphegor:

These twins will be by your side throughout the whole time you are sick and bedridden. Again, you are never alone as one of them will always be by your side. It's mostly Belphie as he's sleeping next to you while Beel is in charge of bringing you snacks and food that you can at least keep down. Belphie will scold you if you ever skip out of missing your medicine as both him and Beel want you to be better so you guys can hang out normally again. Beel will remind you about fluids as he goes off the information and instructions he got from Satan that will help you get better.

Diavolo:

He will request the best care for you when you fall ill. He's right there beside you once everyone has found out what's wrong since they don't know much about human sickness other than humans get sick. Unfortunately, since he's the prince and has a lot of work that he can't put on hold, he can't visit often but knows you are in good hands with the brothers since they care about your health and wellbeing. When he does, however, he goes all out in bringing you gifts, flowers, and get well soon cards. (Though he does that while he is away as well.) He even milks all the time he can spend with you as it was lonely without you coming into his office since you've been sick.

Barbatos:

He visits occasionally since he's always by Diavolo's side. Often he comes accompanied with tea that helps with symptoms of the cold or flu. He also brings flowers and cards with him in hopes that your recovery will be speedy as it is no fun to not have you occasionally grace him with your presence on your time off. Secretly, he has planned a special item for you when you are better.

Simeon:

He gets worried as mostly whenever a human falls sick, they don't make it. However, he gets reassured that this sickness is not fatal as human medicine has come a long way from when medicine wasn't so advanced. However he takes every chance he gets to visit you and spend some time with you, much to the brothers' dismay. He even sneaks you some food that he made or occasionally from the cafes and restaurants at night. Even sneaking in late night cuddles because the brothers always kick him out around the evening.

Luke:

He cries because he doesn't know whether or not you are okay. And he gets a little scared about visiting you since Solomon used scare tactics about when a human gets sick, their skin gets pale and the humans start to look like death himself! But he soon finds out that you're fine and don't look like death. You just have a cough, fever, and sinus issues, most of which don't sound very fatal when he looks at you. You swore to yourself to give Solomon a good smack for scaring the poor cinnamon roll. But Luke comes around, often bringing sweets with him to share with you. He even hand makes little cards for you.

Solomon:

As soon as he visits, you smack the magic out of his ass! When he asks why, you tell him, "You scared Luke, you little shit."

But when this sorcerer found out you were sick, he wasn't the least bit worried as he's well versed in the knowledge of medicine, both for himself and his craft. He knows that human medicine has improved from a point from when he was a child growing up. And knowing how painful it was to be sick before, he's not worried that you will die from being sick now in this modern age.

However, he is worried about you being sick in the Devildom, surrounded by demons (besides Satan) who know jack shit about human illnesses and medicine. So he frequents the human world to bring you human world medicine that works for you. He even sneaks you some human world food and clues in Lucifer and Satan about human illnesses and medicine.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

[estrel]

for #spnwomenweek day 3: women of color

↳ kaia’s not okay. after being stuck for two years alone in the Bad Place, she ends up in the same place she started.

The third week in a row that Kaia wakes up sweating in the middle of the night, Claire calls for an appointment with the doctor. 

Kaia’s holding Claire’s hand until she can’t any longer, staring at the hair ties and bracelets on her wrist until Kaia is whisked away and she’s back to square one: staring at the white walls of the psychiatric hospital. 

“Fuck,” she says one night, when Kaia realizes she’s been staring out the window so long that even the sun got tired and left. It’s better to stare at what’s real as an anchor, to distract from the thoughts swimming through her head, than to live in them completely. As a dreamwalker, she learned that the hard way.

They don’t give her a room mate. Kaia can vaguely remember an incident in the dining hall, elbowing and kicking and screaming, because they’d gotten too close, that was her meal, her water, and it was running low already. The last rain was so long ago, who knows when she can get more, if she’ll get more. Kaia needs it for her twisted ankle. For her...

She looks down. She’s in bed, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and she leans forward to reveal her perfectly healed ankle. “Christ,” Kaia sighs, rubbing at her head. “It’s not real.”

But here she is again, alone. Not in the Bad Place, but it was close enough. No Claire, no Jody or Patience or Donna or Alex. Not even her Dark self to keep her company, or a room mate or anything. Not even...

“Jack,” she tries, “holy shit. I don’t even know if you answer to prayers, but, uh...if you do...” Kaia lets out a breath, eyes flitting around her darkened room. She picks at her nail polish, largely feeling like an idiot. 

“You asked me for your help once. I’m...asking for your help now, if you’re willing to...to lend me a hand again. I gotta, um,” she bounces her leg, anxious, “I gotta get outta here, man. I-I know it’s only because my family is worried about me. I know that. But it’s... it’s too much like the Bad Place,” she whispers.

The silence surrounds her. Or, the near silence. Further off in the building, sounds of chatter carry down hallways, faint and unintelligible. The AC hums in the next unit. Kaia’s about to accept that Jack’s not coming, settling further into her blankets, when there’s the pop of the lightbulb in the hall and static in the air that makes a strand of hair stick to her face.

Jack lifts a hand, grinning in the middle of the dark room. “Hello!”

She quickly sits up, holding out a panicked hand, “Shh! Jesus Christ!”

“No,” he frowns, whispering, “I’m Jack....remember?” Jack brightens, “You prayed to me!”

“I know, I know, buddy,” Kaia whispers back, running a hand through her hair, “I just...wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

He walks towards her bed and sits down by her legs. Jack shifts a little to face her better, “Why not?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, “it’s the middle of the night and you have better things to do? Like...sleep?”

“Oh, Cas and I don’t sleep. Well, not really. I prefer naps. Naps are fun.”

Kaia nods like her heart isn’t still trying to calm down from Jack’s jump scare. “Lucky me, then.”

“Yes, well, what are you waiting for?” he stands, “Get your things and we can go.”

“What...just like that?” Kaia pushes the blankets off of her, looking at Jack incredulously, “It was a way bigger deal last time.”

He shrugs, “I’m bigger now. And Cas has been teaching me some things. But,” Jack stops her on her way to the closet, a hand around her upper arm. Kaia stills to look at him. 

“What?”

“I get why you need to leave, but you have to promise me that you’ll talk about it. You can’t keep this all to yourself, Kaia. It’s too much.”

She looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard your prayer,” he insists, “you’re still seeing the Bad Place in your head. This place...I don’t think they can really help on this big a scale. But your family...they can. If you let them.”

Kaia stares at him a moment. Jack’s eyes cry sincerity, all concern and good intentions. Sam and Dean and Cas have taught him well. Eventually, she tears her eyes away, “I...can’t.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t...I don’t think it’s something I can talk about yet. Not with family or even...Claire. It’s just. They wouldn’t understand.”

Jack looks down, eyebrows creased like he’s thinking hard. He lets go of Kaia’s arm, and she slowly moves to the closet to pack, if that’s even still in the cards.

“I think I know someone who would,” he says finally. Kaia turns back around, a soft laugh halfway out of her mouth. “Jack—”

“Cas,” he says. It’s not the answer she’s expecting, so Kaia listens. “You’ve been somewhere where no one has come back from, and you were there alone for two years. The only other person I can think of who might understand that type of darkness and isolation is...Cas.

"He was in the Empty for a while, until I pulled him out. He’s not a therapist, or anything, and he’s not your family. But,” Jack tilts his chin up, “he’s my dad, and I think he could help. I’ll help you break out of here if you promise me you’ll give it a shot with him. Okay?”

Kaia mulls it over, weighing her options. Being stuck here with no friends or anyone to talk to is making her worse, and at least with Cas he might...understand, to some degree. It’d at least be nice to have someone to talk to and...despite Claire not outwardly admitting it, Kaia’s gotten the impression that is a pretty good guy.

“Okay,” she nods, smiling softly, “okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

[@spnwomenweek]

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 4: Company

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Whiskey gets a surprised call and he and Frankie have a long talk.

Rating: M

Warnings: Talks of drug use, alcohol, mentions of character death, mentions of canon typical violence, PTSD, violent nightmare

A/N: I really wanted this conversation to happen between these two given their respective histories. We all know that Whiskey needed therapy and in this verse he gets it. It’s also my HC, from what I vaguely know (I’m not an expert and I could be very wrong), that Whiskey was an officer in the Air Force where he flew/placed in jets and that’s how he knows how to fly an F-22 (The Silver Pony).

We are getting some angst and some fluff this time folks!

Also, yes I do have a specific soap in mind for Whiskey, it's Old Glory by Duke Cannon

Huge special thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the betas and encouragement!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons | AO3

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Frankie pulled his phone out, went to the recent number that was, as of yet, unsaved, and pressed ‘call’. His shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear as the line rang.

Whiskey’s hair was still wet from his shower, and his white t-shirt clung to his damp skin. Eyeing the take out on his counter, he sank into his couch and smiled at your texts:

Whiskey: Thai sound good, sweetheart?

Bourbon: God yes Jack, I’m starving!

Whiskey: I’ll let you know when I get outta the shower, see you soon sweetheart

He was just about to send you a message to come on over when his phone rang. Glancing at the clock on his stove, then back to the unfamiliar Texas number on his caller ID, he frowned.

“Whiskey.”

His greeting was curt. Who the hell would be calling at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday?

“H-hey Whiskey, it’s me, Frankie. Is… uh, is she there?”

Whiskey’s frown deepened, not that he minded Frankie calling him, far from it, but his voice was cracking like he’d been... crying?

“Oh, hey there, Flyboy. No she isn’t, do you need me to get her?”

“N-no, no… I, uh, I don’t want her to see me right now. I’m, uh,” Whiskey could hear Frankie take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “I’m having a bad night, Jack. Could you come get me? I’m at the hotel.”

Jack shot straight up, practically leaping to his feet.

“Did you…?”

The question clung to the air like lead, crushing both of their chests in the silence.

“No, I haven’t… I just… fuck.”

Jack was moving, grabbing his leather jacket, keys, and Stetson, practically sprinting out the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Flyboy. I’m headed your way.”

He shifted his weight while he waited for the elevator to take him to the parking garage, shooting off a quick text to you in apology. Frankie’s words, “I don’t want her to see me,” rung in his ears and he decided to hold off on telling you what had come up, at least until he could see you at the office tomorrow.

Whiskey: Hey sweetheart, sorry something came up and I can’t do dinner tonight. Everything’s fine, see you at the office, sugar. X

Your phone went off and you quickly unlocked it, eager to hear back from Jack so you could head over. A frown pulled the corners of your lips down at his text, but you knew he wouldn’t cancel on you without good reason.

You: See you tomorrow, cowboy. Better make it up to me ;)

Frankie had left the door slightly ajar and was pacing around his room, arms crossed in front of him when he heard a quick knock, then the handle was turning and Whiskey crossed the threshold. He took a cursory glance around the room: nothing but minibar booze bottles, thankfully. Whiskey let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived when he took in Frankie’s demeanor. Frankie’s face was taut with shame, and his gaze refused to rise any higher than Whiskey’s boots.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Frankie choked out, “ Pope, and Hawk… I can’t disappoint them again. I’ve been clean for three years, and I didn’t…”

Jack shook his head and beckoned Frankie over, wrapping his arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug.

“C’mon, Flyboy, this is not the time nor the place to talk about this. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re gonna have some whiskey that’s much better than what you’ve had here, and then we can talk.”

Frankie nodded and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head as Whiskey tugged him out of the hotel room. He was so deep in his thoughts and his guilt for having Whiskey come out that he didn’t realize where he was until the elevator dinged. Whiskey unlocked and opened the door to his condo, giving way to a view so incredible Frankie almost forgot to breathe. Across from the entryway, on the far side of the condo, the gorgeous New York night skyline twinkled back at them from beyond the wall of glass windows. Frankie marveled at the rustic elegance of Jack’s home. It had an entirely open floor plan, giving Frankie a view of the dark cherry butcher block island, the top-of-the-line range top, and other appliances, all immaculately clean. For a moment, he wondered if that was because Whiskey ordered out more than he cooked, but then he saw the bags of takeout on the counter and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, looks like I interrupted your dinner plans.”

Whiskey closed and locked the door behind him, hanging his jacket up on the nearby hook. He glanced over at the takeout, then put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, partner. I just told her something came up. You hungry? I ordered her Drunken Noodles, be a shame to put them to waste.”

Frankie was about to decline when his stomach rumbled, and Whiskey chuckled.

“C’mon, Flyboy, go sit down on the couch and I’ll bring the food and some whiskey round.”

With a nod, he toed his dress shoes off (they were all he had without his go bag) and made for the brown leather couch. He sat down a bit stiffly, feeling awkward given the circumstances. Whiskey brought over the containers of food, handing one to Frankie and resting his own on the coffee table before grabbing them the promised drinks. He sat down, and Frankie took his drink in one hand, relishing in the smooth burn as he took a sip, then set it down to dive into his food.

They ate in a relaxed and cozy silence. Frankie finished first, which wasn’t a surprise. When Whiskey finished, he took Frankie’s empty container with him to toss in the garbage before he made his way back. An awkward silence replaced the previous comfortable one, and Frankie found himself having a hard time pulling his gaze from the amber liquid in his glass. Whiskey took a deep breath, then turned on the couch to face Frankie.

“Santiago said you’ve been clean for three years? That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Yeah, thanks. Doesn’t really feel like it right now. I feel like I failed. I’m worried I’ll slip up.”

“I don’t think you will, Frankie. Neither do Pope or Bourbon.”

Jack didn’t know why, but the words rang true in his mind, even though he hadn’t known Frankie for very long.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to throw three years of hard work away, Flyboy.”

A small smile tugged at Frankie’s lips and he took a sip from his glass.

“Must’ve been weird for Halcón. Last time she saw me, fuck, I was barely with it. The suspension hit me hard. I had been getting my shit together before Colombia and the funeral. I just wanted to be able to fly. I couldn’t and still can’t stand the idea of being grounded. That, and I knew my fianceé would leave me if I didn’t get it together. But then, well, we all went to Colombia.”

“I couldn’t imagine being grounded. I don’t fly often, but to not have the option? I dunno what I’d do.”

Whiskey shook his head and grimaced. Frankie perked up, head snapping to meet Whiskey’s gaze.

“You fly?”

“Mmmhmm, was in the Air Force for a bit, did jets. Statesmen has an F-22, the Silver Pony, that I fly.”

A small buzz of excitement was washing over Frankie, and he subconsciously scooted closer to Whiskey. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to about flying, even if helicopters and jets were two very different means of flying.

“What made you risk it, Flyboy? What happened in Colombia?”

Frankie frowned and let out a deep sigh.

“Pope had been down there for a few years, chasing a narco named Gabriel Martín Lorea. He finally got a break when his CI told him she knew where he was hiding out and where he was stashing his money. He showed up outta the blue asking us, our old team, to come down and do recon, $17k just for a week of recon. If we wanted to stay on after that, we’d be entitled to 25% of whatever we seized, and the rumour was that Lorea had $75M on him. I’m guessing Halcón was busy with a mission for you guys, and I’m glad she was. It ended up being a fucking shitshow.”

Whiskey noted the faraway look in Frankie’s eyes as he sighed and took another swig from his glass, shaking his head as Frankie recalled the events.

“After the recon, Pope said he thought we could do the job ourselves, take all the money and not tell the local governments. We found out that the local agency hadn’t been the ones to pay us the $17k. That had come out of Pope’s pocket. He was so sure that the locals were on Lorea’s payroll, and if he went to the local agency, Lorea would disappear with the money. At the end of the day, none of us could say no. Turned out the rumors of Lorea having $75M were wrong. The house was stuffed, literally, with cash. Tom, our captain, got greedy. He ignored our hard-out time and insisted we take more loads of cash. We ended up stealing close to $250M, then we burned the house down.”

Whiskey whistled. “$250M is a lot of money, partner…”

Frankie barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes rueful.

“Too much. Our helo couldn’t take it all and make it over the Andes. I knew it before take off, and I warned Tom and Pope, but all any of us could see was the money. Tom didn’t want to leave it on the runway. I almost had us over the Andes when a gearbox blew, and I had to get us back to flat. We had to cut the money net, and it was just our luck that it happened to be over a coke farm. It was a bad landing. I honestly don’t know how none of us were seriously injured, but Pope and Tom went to go and convince the farmers to get out of the money. Our comms were out, so we were going off of hand signals. Tom got too trigger happy, and he dropped a few of the villagers. I-I provided cover fire, too…”

Frankie hung his head, no matter how much Will, Benny, or Pope had tried to reassure him, he still held an enormous amount of guilt over what had happened. He felt Whiskey’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch.

“That’s what you were trained to do, Flyboy. You couldn’t have known any different, especially without comms.”

Frankie nodded, taking a large gulp of his whiskey, then continued on.

“A couple days later, we took fire in the mountains, and they got Tom. It ended up being a kid and another guy from the coke farm. We killed them, but there was nothing we could do for Tom. Headshot, he died instantly. 10 years we all served together, and then he was gone, leaving behind an ex and two daughters. It could have been any one of us though, Jack… we all took lives during that mission. Tom just took the wrong ones. It… it could have been me even, I shot some of those villagers, too.”

Frankie felt Whiskey’s grip on his shoulder tighten and looked up to see the empathetic sadness of someone who truly understood how he felt reflected back in Whiskey’s eyes. Frankie cleared his throat.

“We ended up bailing on a lot of the cash, taking only what we could carry in our daypacks and tossing the rest in a ravine so we could haul Tom’s body out with us. At the end of it, we made out with around $5M, but we all agreed it should go to Tom’s family. I got back to find my fianceé had left. She couldn’t stand my leaving with Pope. Looking back, my addiction is probably what really did us in, but I was devastated to come home to an empty house after everything that had happened. Things got… dark after that. I fell back on old habits, fuck, I had barely been clean a few months when we went to Colombia. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done there, didn’t want to feel the emptiness, didn’t want to sleep and deal with the nightmares. I was a mess, and I… uh, I took too much one day. Pope found me unconscious, lying on the ground, and got me to the hospital. When I came to, I realized I didn’t want to end up dead in my shitty apartment, once they discharged me, I checked into rehab.”

Frankie took another drink. No one other than Pope knew that knocking on death’s door had been the turning point for him. Whiskey chewed on his lip, taking a drink and debating whether he should share his past as well.

“Drugs are… a terrible thing to get hooked on. My high school sweetheart, carrying my unborn son, was murdered by two meth head freaks robbing a fucking convenience store. I was on leave from the Air Force, waiting for them to come home when I got the call. I didn’t realize how much it festered in me until about a year back when we were taking down the Golden Circle.”

Frankie nodded. He remembered that he had been glad he was clean by then.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey… I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

Jack’s hand moved from Frankie’s shoulder to rub his back reassuringly.

“Listen, the things you’ve done and seen for our country… and not, well, it’s a lot, and I know it’s not the same as the freaks who… it’s not the same. I almost sabotaged the mission. My hate-addled brain thought it would be justice… It was Bourbon who very literally knocked me on my ass and kept me from making a decision I’d regret. She encouraged me to see a Statesmen counselor, which has been a lot of work, but has been more helpful than I ever thought it would be. Have you thought about that?”

Frankie was distracted for a moment by Jack’s hand. It felt nice, reassuring, safe, things that had been sorely lacking for him today.

“I have and I did, well, I had to as part of the program, and I kept it up for a bit after. It helped, but… I couldn’t really talk about what happened with Tom. Sure there’s confidentiality and all that, but what we did is all kinds of illegal. I couldn’t exactly bring that to a session or group.”

Frankie snorted, a ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“Really though, aside from the program I was in after rehab to get my license back, I’ve gotten some hobbies and some other out-outlets. This was just a lot. I needed to not be alone.”

Jack cocked his head at the way Frankie stuttered and subconsciously fidgeted with the bandage on his right wrist. He had picked up from the night prior that Frankie had a thing for pain, and Frankie’s reaction when he had bandaged him up was further proof of that. But using it as his sole outlet or method of working through his issues was something he wouldn’t enable. His eyes narrowed, and before Frankie could blink, Jack snatched his left hand, mindful of the tender marks as he held fast and fixed Frankie with a hard stare. Frankie flinched at the sudden movement then his eyes widened a little.

“You know this ain’t a solution, Flyboy.”

Jack’s voice had an edge to it bordering on a growl. Frankie shook his head quickly.

“Shit, no, Whiskey, the i-impact p-play stuff, i-it’s an outlet, and it’s not my only outlet. I met my old partners, Sam and then later on her husband, a year and a half or two years ago. I was a year clean before I even had my first session with either of them. I met Sam when she booked a flight tour, and one thing led to another… She’d come back into town and sometimes her husband would come with, but we all kept everything pretty quiet. They helped me relax, and they had their fun.”

Frankie was doing his best to be nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the slight bitterness creeping into his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jack’s tone had thrown him off guard, unexpectedly stirring something in him. Whiskey, of course noticed on both counts, having been trained to do so. He could see through Frankie a mile away. Frankie nervously took another sip from his glass, shuddering as Whiskey’s thumb gingerly rubbed circles over the marks, seemingly accepting his explanation.

“You know, had I known about your… interests, I would have done things a bit differently last night, Flyboy.” He winked at Frankie, then smirked as he examined Frankie’s wrist more thoughtfully. “How are they doing?”

“G-good, thanks. And uh, well, you’re one of 3 people who know.” Frankie murmured.

Whiskey’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise as he nodded and released Frankie’s hand.

“Really? Not Pope or Bourbon?”

“Are you kidding me? Pope would never let me hear the end of it. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.” Frankie chuckled and shook his head. “And Halcón? Well, there was never any reason for her to know. We never did anything together before last night.”

“How long has it been since you last saw Sam or her husband?”

Frankie downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes far away for a moment, remembering their last session, the sharp pain followed by a rush of endorphins and the occasional soothing praise. He shook his head gently, blinking himself out of his memories at the feeling of Jack’s warm hand on his knee.

“It’s been a while, six months? They moved overseas.”

There was a beat of silence, Whiskey could sense there was something up, it was a subtle shadow flitting across Frankie’s face. He decided to push a little more.

“Did you have feelings for them?”

“It was complicated.”

The edge in Frankie’s voice was tinged with pain, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh that came out humorless.

“I guess it isn’t that complicated. After six months, things shifted, and they made it clear I wasn’t part of their long term plan. It became very transactional, which was fine, but there was less and less... care after.”

“Oh.”

The response slipped from Jack’s lips, and he was momentarily stunned quiet before his temper began to flare. His index finger and thumb gently gripped Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Listen carefully, Flyboy. What I did last night was the bare minimum of what someone should do in that kind of situation. Anything less is negligent. Christ, how was this ever stress relief for you if you were left to free fall afterwards?”

Whiskey’s voice was calm and even, but Frankie could see the fury raging in his eyes. Sensing Whiskey’s desire for understanding, he nodded then shrugged.

“I guess I’d try to go on a hike with one of the guys or go train at the gym.”

Silence fell between them, a muscle in Whiskey’s jaw clenching before he glanced at the clock and let out a deep sigh, willing himself to calm down.

“It’s already just about midnight, Flyboy. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll put on a clean bandage for you once you’re done. You can use my bathroom. There’s a clean towel hanging you can use. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll leave something for you to sleep in on my bed so you can change while I set up the guest room for you.”

Frankie was about to protest, saying he could do his own bandages, but Whiskey fixed him with a stare and shook his head.

“Go on Flyboy, get yourself in the shower. Head down the hall, second door on the left. Your room is across the hall. I’ll be waiting there with the medkit when you’re done.”

Whiskey took Frankie’s empty glass and stood, taking their glasses to the sink while Frankie got up and made his way to the shower. A pensive frown tugged at Whiskey’s lips. Tonight certainly explained a lot of things. The sharp fury that permeated Whiskey’s chest when they were talking about Frankie’s previous partners returned. How could someone not be bothered with aftercare? It was also clear that Frankie felt abandoned by them. On some level, the poor man was probably terrified of that happening again, if he even entertained the thought of something between the three of you. Whiskey waited a few moments until he heard the water running before heading into his room. He let out a sigh as he grabbed a white t-shirt and a pair of linen shorts for Frankie to wear, leaving them on the bed before he left to make sure the guest room was all set.

Frankie undressed quickly, folding his clothes and setting them down on the vanity in a neat pile crowned with his hat. Next, he made quick work of unwrapping the bandage around his wrist and tossing the materials in the garbage. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower and the hot water scoured the last two days from his skin. The relief was quickly replaced with a small whine of pain as the water hit his wrist. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the wall with his forearm he breathed through the pain, acclimating to the sensation. Frankie took a minute to just exist, trying to enjoy the quiet that had slowly crept back into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he set to work getting himself clean. The steam made the air thick and heavy with the scent of Whiskey’s soap, something akin to leather and tobacco leaves. It clung to Frankie’s lungs, and he could have stayed there enjoying it for considerably longer. But, he didn’t want to keep Whiskey waiting, so he rinsed off and hopped out of the shower. He toweled off, smirking to himself when he saw it was monogrammed (because of course it was), then headed out and changed quickly into the shirt and shorts that had been left for him.

Whiskey looked up in time to see Frankie stride through the doorway wearing his shirt and shorts, smelling like him, his soap. He swallowed thickly and tried to recover with a smile.

“Feel better, Flyboy? C’mon, sit down. Let’s have a look.”

Frankie nodded, then took a seat next to Whiskey on the bed and gave him his right hand. Whiskey hummed his approval at the lack of resistance from Frankie, something the pilot felt tug at his chest.

“This is looking much better, Flyboy, should be completely healed in a few days.”

Whiskey smiled as he finished tending to and wrapping up Frankie’s wrist. Without prompting, Frankie offered his other wrist and Whiskey couldn’t bite back the smirk that followed. He was glad though, glad that Frankie was trusting him with this and was embracing these moments, even if it was for something small. Frankie’s left wrist was considerably better off, but even so, Whiskey was still gentle as he looked him over.

Frankie’s heart fluttered at the intimacy of what was happening. Here was Jack, a man he’d known for barely 48 hours, who was taking care of him, who had dropped everything to come get him, who had spent his evening letting Frankie talk. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him this way.

There was an overwhelming urge building in his chest, and without thinking, he acted on it.

He gripped the collar of Whiskey’s t-shirt with one hand, tugging him closer as Frankie leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey was shocked for a moment, it had been the last thing he had been expecting, but he quickly recovered when he felt Frankie’s tongue swipe at his lip. His hand rested along the column of Frankie’s throat, thumb grazing over the scruff along his jaw as he deepened the kiss, leaning into Frankie and tasting him.

A small moan pulled Jack back to his senses, resting his forehead against Frankie’s and cupping his jaw with this other hand. They both panted, trying to catch their breath, and Whiskey smiled as he gave Frankie another quick kiss. For a moment, Frankie was worried he had overstepped when Whiskey cut off their kiss, but looking into the other man’s eyes, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve had a long day, Flyboy, we’re not gonna do anything tonight. Tomorrow though, if you want, I could help you get rid of some of that stress and help you come down the right way. No rush, no pressure, you can say no and nothing changes. I don’t want an answer right now either, sleep on it.”

Frankie’s breath quickened and his pupils dilated at the thought, but one thing nagged at him.

“What about Halcón?”

Whiskey chuckled and patted Frankie’s shoulder.

“Well it’s what we both want, in a manner of speaking. She’d be onboard, but she doesn’t have to know exactly what we do for now unless you’re comfortable with it. A lot of this is stuff I know she wants to go over on Friday, but for now, when it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it, partner. If you want to do this tomorrow, then we can do it. If not, no harm, no foul, you’re still welcome to stay here and keep me company.”

Frankie nodded, still processing what Whiskey had said and more than a little surprised that Whiskey was inviting him back regardless of his decision. Whiskey stood up then, squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“G’night, Flyboy. Holler if you need anything.”

Frankie was back in Colombia. He felt sluggish, his feet refusing to respond the way he wanted them to. He saw the villager from the cocaine farm pop up from the rocky outcrop, but Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his gun to take him out. He cried out in anguish as the man fired.

“No! Tom!”

Then he was surrounded by Pope, Benny, Will, you, and Whiskey, statuesque as the man who killed Tom lined up and dropped Pope, moving his way down the line. Frankie was sobbing now, he was being swallowed up by the ground, sinking helplessly as the people he cared for were murdered.

Whiskey woke with a start to the sound of shouting.

Ripping the sheet and comforter off, Whiskey glanced at the clock. It read 01:30 and he sighed. Frankie just couldn’t catch a break.

“P-please, No! Po-Pope, God, n-no, Hal-Halcón! Whiskey!”

He really didn’t want to shake Frankie awake, worried as to how he might react waking up from that sort of dream, but Jack had to do something.

“Hey, Frankie, I’m right here, you gotta wake up. Wake up, Flyboy.”

Frankie shot up, feeling like ice water had been poured down his spine. He was wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but once again, Whiskey’s soothing words served to ground him, and he clung to them with all he had. He felt Whiskey pull him into a hug, and Frankie didn’t care about the awkward angle, he clung to the embrace as well.

Whiskey’s heart ached at the way Frankie clutched at him after hearing him call out Pope’s, his, and your names. He had a vague idea of what might have happened, he still had dreams where he couldn’t save his loved ones every now and then. Once Frankie’s breathing calmed a bit, Whiskey tugged him up out of bed.

“C’mon Flyboy, you’re coming with me.”

Frankie didn’t argue, he just followed, grateful that Whiskey was pulling him by his hand, needing that point of contact. Whiskey pulled back the covers on the side opposite of his and waited until Frankie crawled in before he pulled the covers over him, then slid in on his side of the bed. He scooted a bit closer, not wanting to crowd Frankie unless he wanted the contact, and was pleased when the other man scooted back until his back rested against Jack’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Flyboy. I’ve got you.”

Sooner than he expected, Whiskey heard soft snores coming from Frankie. He smiled then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

If you want to be added to my taglist just head on over here. If your blog is crossed out, it wouldn't let me tag you, sorry!

Taglist: @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @yespolkadotkitty @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @itsme-aj467 @kesskirata @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @driedgreentomatoes @pintsizemama @neganwifey25-blog @wheresarizona @absurdthirst @sarahjkl82-blog @duchesschameleon @sherala007 @beautyagegoodnesssize @all-hallows-evie @a-bang-for-your-bucky @starlightmornings @empress-palpat1ne