#this one i fucking rushed so hard because it was too ambitious for my brain so i just shat it out

[helioshellion]

dreams are all you have, dreams have held you back, dreamers never live, only dream of it, DOROTHY WAKE UP

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

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Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

[amxranthiine]

e t h e r e a l (ron weasley x poc!reader)

ethereal (adj.) extremely delicate light, not of this world Pronouns: She/her

Request: Hiiiii! Can I request a Ron weasley x sweet smart reader (if you do POC can she be black?) and she’s a slytherin and friends with a lot of people and has a huge crush on Ron and she’s pretty sarcastic when she needs to be and hermoine is jealous of her because Ron really likes reader and she’s really pretty and smart and Ron plans on confessing to her but hermoine confronts reader trying to tell her she’s not good enough for Ron but reader is headstrong and doesn’t care cuz she loves ron to much and Hermoine and Ron get into an argument about it with her telling him she loves him but he doesn’t feel the same way and asks reader out later she says yes and hermoine is heartbroken(I’m sorry that’s so long I get pretty detailed😭)

A/n: Ahhhh! My first request!! Thank you so much for requesting this darling! Set in third year, the reader is a Slytherin. I’m so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, I struggled with her being sweet. I had to make it a little angsty, sorry about that! 2.3k words of solid chaos, please enjoy!

Warnings: Bullying? Light swearing? Angst, then a bit of *fluff*, one f-bomb.

Summary: The reader is a POC Slytherin, who is in love with her friend, Ron Weasley. After an awful day, and a run in with his obsessed best friend, can she win the love she desires? (I’m so bad at summaries I’m sorry)

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ Y/n’s POV “What on Earth are you looking at, L/n?” A voice says to my left. A voice that belonged to Draco Malfoy. I snap out of my lovesick gaze and clear my throat, trying desperately not to blush. I had been staring at my longtime crush and friend, Ron Weasley, for the past five minutes. I thought I was being subtle, not that that matters anyway. Ron barely acknowledges my presence and Malfoy notices everything.  I would have been more scared if it were Granger who had caught me. Merlin knows she hates me for no reason at all, other than the fact that, you know, my robes are green instead of red. Oh, and she knows I like Ron. Bloody brilliant. Her catching my heart eyes would send me flying straight off the Astronomy Tower. She would be the one pushing me. It’s not that Hermione is a bad person, per say. It’s just, she’s a little... Possessive when it comes to her friends. Ron, specifically. She hates Slytherins with a passion solely because of Malfoy and his bag of rats, which is understandable. I just don’t understand why we’re hated for being cunning and ambitious, not all of us are dabbling in the dark arts! Malfoy pinched my dark skin, “I asked you a question, blood traitor.” Of course, because I’m friend with Muggleborns and Half-bloods, that automatically makes a traitor. Almost as bad as actually being a Muggleborn. Recoiling slightly, I lie. “I wasn’t looking at anything, Malfoy. I was merely thinking about the Potions essay that’s due on Wednesday.” On the outside, I may have looked annoyed, which I kind of was. But on the inside, I was trembling like a terrified doe. Merlin, why couldn’t he mind his own business? Playing with a strand of my dark hair, I sighed in exasperation. Malfoy snorts from beside me, “That’s a lie and you know it. Everyone knows you could rival that Mudblood Granger with how smart you are.” He spits out Hermione’s name as if it’s poison. I blush at the compliment (at least, I think it was a compliment) and look down and my hands. My green nail-polish contrasted nicely against my chocolate skin and Slytherin robes.  Inhaling sharply, I take a leap of faith and glance over at the Gryffindor table, only to find the man of the hour already looking in my direction with anger and hurt written all over his face. He then looked to my left, where the blonde ferret was sitting, and his hurt turned to fury. If looks could kill, Malfoy would be cremated in a second, just from the look Ron was giving him. My heart jumped to my throat, and I could feel my pulse everywhere. Why is he giving him that look? Why is he angry with me? What did I do?  Draco noticed my attention was no longer fully on him, and followed my eyes to the redhead. A look of realization crosses his face, and suddenly, he’s cackling. “Him? L/n, are you mentally deficient? He’s a Weasley! A blood traitor! He’s friends with Potter!” His words have a sense of venom to them, even if he’s laughing. I glared at him with cold eyes, “Listen, love, I have no reason to dislike Potter, unlike you. I also have no reason to dislike Ron, in fact I quite enjoy his presence. So, if you would please drop the matter and go on with your life, I would be thankful.” Malfoy’s face morphed into one of anger and disbelief. Sure, we may be friends, but I don’t deal with his crap just because he’s rich and a Malfoy. Luckily, or unluckily, Pansy Parkinson saved me from his wrath. “Yeah, okay Y/n, you’ve been in love with him since first year, everyone can see it!” She snorts, and the entire Slytherin table erupts into giggles. “That is, everyone but the Weasel,” She adds on. My face is as red as Ron’s hair and I feel my eyes tear up. Was it true? Did everyone know? I look around the room for a second, only to see Hermione glaring at me with a raised brow. I look away quickly. Malfoy is practically wheezing from how hard he’s laughing, “Honestly, Y/n, do you really think you have a chance with him? He and Granger practically eloped the day we got here! You would be crazy to think you actually stood-” He stops talking when I stand up, tears streaming down my face. “You can burn in hell, all of you.” I whisper, my voice breaking. Everyone suddenly has a look of guilt on their faces, and I look at Ron one last time. I can tell he’s concerned, but I don’t need him. “Wait, Y/n, it was just a joke!” “Merlin, she’s so dramatic.” “Y/n, where are you going? We were just kidding!” I hear yells and shouts from the Slytherin table as I sprint out of the Great Hall. But what really got to me, was the one thing I heard from the dreaded Gryffindor table. “Look at her, pathetic isn’t she? She can’t even take a joke! Ronald wher-” Bloody Granger. Bloody Malfoy. I turn the corner and slump against the wall, sliding onto the ground with my legs straight out in front of me. I struggle to breathe, the sobs are coming out too harshly. I was a liked person in my year, with plenty of friends. At this moment, though, it seemed as if everyone hated me. I tried to muffle the sound of my cries with my hand, but to no avail.  “Y/n! Are you alright?” I eyes dash to the sound of the familiar voice, and quickly wipe my eyes when I see Ron running towards me. “Y-Yeah...” I mutter, “I’m fine.” My lungs hurt from holding back my cries, my lips quivering from the familiar sting in my throat. Ron sat down beside me, my eyes meeting everything but his own. “You’ve always been a bad liar,” he chuckles slightly. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “Have not,” I mumble. As much as I craved his presence, I was not in the mood for games. I looked down at my hands, something that was quickly becoming a nervous habit. Luckily he must have sensed that I didn’t want to talk about what just happened, and stayed silent for what seemed like eternity. Ron examined me for a moment, he was nervous, just like me. I didn’t know what he had to be nervous about, it wasn’t like he liked me as anything more than a friend... “Y/n...” He whispered, I hummed in acknowledgment, looking at him. “I-I just want to say,” He stuttered, “I don’t care that you’re a Slytherin. I know that may seem impossible because I’m a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, but...” He trailed off and took a deep breath, “ I-I care about you...” My head shot up so fast, I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash. My heart was thumping against my ribcage harder than ever, and my stomach felt weak. “R-Ron?” I whispered, not wanting to believe my ears or what my brain was trying to desperately to tell me. He likes you, you idiot! Why can’t you see it?  He bit his lip and closed his eyes, something I would have found absolutely adorable if I wasn’t about to faint. “Y/n, I-” “Ronald!” Yelled a high pitched voice. My heart (and spirits) dropped and I sighed. Here we go. “Where have you been? We’re going to be late!” Hermione yelled. “Coming, ‘Mione,” Ron called after her. He looked at me apologetically, though he also looked... pained? “Ronald! Stop talking to the snake and hurry up!” She shouted again, and my rage levels increased drastically with those few words. Ron squeezed my hand to try and calm me, or to stop me from pulling out his best friend’s hair. “Bloody hell, woman! I’m coming!” He turned to me, “Bye, Y/n, see you later.” With a small wave, he was off. It was later that night, I was walking back to the dungeons after hours in the library, writing my Potions essay. Humming a tune I don’t remember the name off, I was slightly spaced out as I strolled along the familiar corridors. What wasn’t familiar, though, was the wand at my neck. Hermione-fucking-Granger was standing right in front of me in all her brilliant glory. Her perfect defensive stance with her wand right in my face. “Hello, Hermione,” I say, trying to stay calm. She scoffs, a disgusted look painted on her face. “Don’t ‘hello, Hermione,’ me L/n,” She practically spits. I shrug, and try to move around her. “Okay, then goodnight, Granger.”  She still blocks my path. “What’s going on with you and Ron?” There is an edge to her voice that tells me there are no right answers. I am genuinely confused and befuddled, “Nothing is going on between Ron and I?” I state, though it sounds more like a question. What on Earth made her think that someone was going on between Ron and I? I mean... I wouldn’t complain if something was going on, but alas; absolutely nothing. I suppose that answer only made her angrier; “That’s bullshit.” “Is it?” I question, trying to push her buttons. She scoffs again and pushes her wand closer to my face, “Ron is mine. Not yours, mine. Stay away from him, or you’ll regret it.” I was raging at this point, but I couldn’t say anything... harsh to her, because Merlin forbid anything happen to the Brightest Witch of our year. So, instead of potentially harming my crushes obsessed best friend, I settled with, “Yeah, okay, whatever Hermione. Can I leave now?” Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she steps aside and watches as I walk away. “I’ll be watching you, L/n,” She says, trying to threaten me. I just snort. “I’m counting on it, Granger,” I call back and pranced away. Internally I was screaming, what would she do to me? Why is she so obsessed with him? Is she so jealous that she feels the need to threaten any girl that even comes close to her precious Ronald? Yes, she is.  The next few days, I avoided Ron like the plague. He knew I was avoiding him, too. Anytime he was within fifteen feet of me, I turned around and practically ran the opposite direction. It didn’t help that Granger had such a smug smirk on her face whenever I saw her. All I wanted to do was shove my middle finger in her face and call it a wand.  It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore Ron, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up with it. The longing stares when no one was watching, to the daydreams of what we could be during class- I couldn’t stay away. One night, I was- once again- walking back to the Slytherin common after hours in the library. Only, it wasn’t a wand in my face that made me pause. No, it was the distinct sound of arguing around the corner. Curious, I tip-toed towards the noise, trying to be as quiet as possible. Which was hard because of the echoing halls of Hogwarts, but somehow I wasn’t caught. “Why would you do that, Hermione?!” A very familiar voice yelled. “Because, Ronald, she’s a Slytherin!” Hermione yelled back. “That cannot be the only reason! She’s the nicest Slytherin there is! You don’t own me, ‘Mione! You have no right to decide things like that!” Ron was fuming, I could tell just by the sound of his voice. Somehow, I knew they were talking about me. I was the only Slytherin Ron could tolerate. “Fine, you want to know the reason? I love you, Ron! She was getting in the way!” Merlin, I really should stop listening before I start crying. “Getting in the way of what?!” “Us!” “There is no ‘us,’ Hermione! I don’t love you, I love Y/n! And you deliberately sought her out... And threatened her?! Bloody hell, you’re completely mental!” Ron was practically screaming at this point, he was so mad. I was completely shocked, he loved me? He loved me?! Am I dreaming? Apparently my gasp was louder than I thought, because both Ron and Hermione turned in my direction. Well, shit, I can’t run now. “You love me...?” I whisper. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around that fact. My tummy was swarmed with butterflies, my feet tingled and my hands were completely numb. I couldn’t believe it. Ron just stared at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I-... I... Urm... Y-eah.. I do,” I could have laughed at his attempt to speak, but I was completely dumbfounded. Not trusting my voice, I raced over to him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him into a kiss. This kiss... it was something ethereal. It was slow and passionate, but full of love and desire. There was nothing else like it. Our mouths moved in sync for what seemed like forever. I didn’t want it to end. His hands traveled from my waist to my face, cupping my cheeks gently as he towered over me. Alas; all good things must come to an end. Unfortunately we have lungs that feel the need to burn when you don’t breathe. Pulling apart slowly, I smile at him, genuinely smile. His cheeks are almost as red as his robes, and his hair ruffled from my hands running through it. “I take it you love me too?” He asks, smiling just as wide as I am. I nod, and giggles flow out of my mouth from how happy I am. He looks like he’s in a daze, “Bloody hell, Y/n, you’re brilliant.”  “Y/n L/n, will you be my girlfriend?” He doesn’t leave my embrace as he asks this. I gasp, “Yes! Merlin, yes!” Jumping into his arms at lightning speed. A quiet cry is heard from the right of us, and we look over to see Hermione, a hand over her mouth and tear stains on her cheeks. Ron shrugs, “Sorry, ‘Mione!”

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 11

Breaking the group apart, several guards escorted each participant to their rooms. Cara lost the comfort of being in a crowd, feeling exposed like a specimen on a microscope slide being scrutinized. The white sterilized hallways were suffocating, leaving a bad taste in the mouth. The people around her stopped talking to her. Now they talked about her as if she wasn't there, not a human being glaring at them and their fancy clipboards.

She lost track of the many security doors they passed, each one requiring a key card for access. Her eyes kept darting back to the door they came through, painfully aware of how much farther away it shrunk with the growing distance. Her gut screamed. Any further, and she felt she may never see the exit again.

"Boy, this was a bad idea," Cara mumbled under her breath, fidgeting with the loose seams of her collar. Of all the times she was stupidly impulsive, this was the worst. She should have never trusted a shady advert at a bus stop.

Cara never spent much time in hospitals. She was never sick enough for her parents to even consider taking her. God knows she needed it in the past. The point is, maybe this was simply a phobia of the white coats. Fear of the unfamiliar triggering all these emotions and the bad taste in her mouth.

This situation reminded her of when her parents left her five-year-old self in a car on a record-breaking heatwave. She was stuck with the windows closed for over an hour, delirious from the heat and struggling to breathe. Her trip in the oven ended when her parent came finally came, casually going about their business without a look at the back seat. At least her torture ended then when her parents returned. But here, there was no one to help her. She neglected to tell Claire and all her friends what she was up to. Looks like all the lies are catching up to her.

Cara had no idea where her worry came from. She came here by free will and had yet to see anything illegal. The money was within reach, but the nerves couldn't be soothed.

Cara started walking slower than the guards, hoping to give them the slip. Of course, they noticed, grabbing her arm tightly. She was shoved forward hard and almost stumbled face-first onto the white tiles. The hair on her nape stiffened, and she raked her fingers through her hair, clenching her jaw.

"Hey, what's your problem? I was trying to follow you. It's not my fault you were walking too damn fast," Cara snapped, scowling at the men. She didn't like how they manhandled her, throwing her around like an object, physically steering her this way and that like an infant who couldn't take direction. Three grand wasn't worth this treatment, or so she told herself. She was, Afterall, very, very desperate for money.

"Don't you want the money, little girl? It's super easy paper. In fact, the checks are already signed and ready, sitting in a drawer somewhere. They just need to be distributed by the good doctor," Tilting her head, Cara watched the knowing look shared among the three guards. Their smiles were anything but friendly, looking more like a wolf than a human.

Crossing her arms, Cara narrowed her eyes. " If the money was so good, why don't you join the study?"

"Why would I do that when I could be helping poor, unfortunate, folks just like you get themselves out of poverty. I'm all about the charitable work."

"Oh, of course. Thank you so much, sir. I was so desperate for help. I'd be homeless if it wasn't for your generosity." Cara patted her eyelashes, grabbing onto the front of a guard's bullet vest. "It's getting cold again, and I only have the clothes on my back. How could I live-"

"Shut the fuck up and keep walking. Don't even think of causing trouble. We have a special place for such folks." shoving Cara away, the guard placed his hand on his gun holster. She received the message loud and clear.

So much for the charity work.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," her smile turned into a scowl as soon as the men's backs were turned. She dragged her feet as she followed them, racking her brain for some sort of plan, mentally willing time to move slower. She needed time to think.

The alarms in her head rang louder. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead despite the frigid air of the hospital. She needed to get out immediately. But how?

She was shoved into a room and forced into what resembled a dentist's chair. With one final warning look from the guards, they exited the room through the automatic sliding doors. She sprang out of the chair as if it burned her. She felt even more trapped, her eyes darting around for an exit. The door was the only way out, and she didn't have the key card. She was utterly fucked.

A woman's voice sounded over the speaker system sending Cara sprinting to the corner of the room, her back pressed to the wall. Heart hammering against her ribcage, it threatened to jump out of her throat. Realizing the voice was recorded, she still couldn't relax even as the standard messages about handwashing and proper coughing etiquette played.

If only washing hands could get her out of this situation, she'd scrub her skin raw.

Two researchers, a man and a woman in white hazmat suits, walked into the room. Cara inhaled sharply when she noticed the syringe filled with a neon green fluid. It was carefully contained in a glass case held by the woman. Cara's eyes stayed glued to the syringe as they came closer, barely listening to what was said about her and to her. Their questions fell on deaf ears. In a trance, all she saw was neon green.

She absolutely knew that the contents could end everything as she knew it. Death in a bottle, or in this case, a syringe no wider than her pinky.

"It's easy money, kid. Relax, it'll be over before you know it." the woman holding the syringe said, slowly approaching Cara as if she were a cornered animal.

Cara's preparedness to fight for dear life disappeared when a taser struck her in the stomach. Waves of pain shot through her body as her muscles turned to jelly (the liquid kind). She was on the ground, and they were on her before she even realized what happened. she couldn't lift even a finger.

Her mouth refused to work, and all she could do was whimper pathetically. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes pleaded with whatever tiny speck of humanity the two had left. All she saw was desperation for results at all costs, greed, and over-ambition for recognition, a cold and calculating look.

Cara thought it was all over, or maybe it was simply her fear of needles blowing all her emotions out of proportion. Either way, she will find out very soon.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to relax, hoping for a quick end. She tried to imagine herself back at school getting a vaccine like all the other kids in her grade. She was usually called to the nurse last due to her last name. It always left her waiting and dreading until every last kid received the shot before it was her turn. By then, many kids would make up stories about the pain and how they found needles stuck in their bones, inflating her terror.

Cara hissed as the needle broke through the skin of her neck, clenching her eyes even tighter. She refused to look, scared of what she might see. The woman's finger moved over the plunger, ready to apply firm pressure.

A pager went off, screeching. It startled everyone, and the woman holding the needle suddenly jerked her hand. "Shit! The needle broke," she snapped, examining the shortened tip. She not so gently forced the broken tip from Cara's neck, squeezing and pinching until it emerged.

Boiling over, the woman yanked out her pager. She was going to make whoever interrupted her experiment pay very dearly. As she read the message, her face paled, and she stood abruptly.

"Who paged?" the man asked, quickly glancing between Cara and the woman.

"you 'know who', wants to see me, something about a possible security breach." the woman answered with a warning look after giving Cara a once-over. She understood why. Names implicate people, and whoever is on the other end of the pager does not want their name casually used.

"Fine, for now, take the girl to her room until I deal with this. They are too damn paranoid around here."

Only then did he remove the taser, and Cara inhaled with greed. Finally able to use her muscles for more than gasping for breath.

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

Seeing her body quivering as she walked, he didn't see a need to call for escort guards. He didn't see the kid as a threat and was sure he could handle her on his own. He never knew anyone get so lucky, but it won't happen again. The inevitable was temporarily delayed. Pretty soon, her heart will pump not only blood but a very valuable virus. Dying for umbrellas ambitious is an honor.

Taken to another room, Cara struggled to keep up, her body exhausted from the endless shocks she had endured. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the bare twin-size bed and metallic toilet. Cara knew she had to do something quickly. A chance like this won't come again.

With an idea forming, Cara hoped she still had a dab of luck because what she was about to do was incredibly stupid. Leaning against the wall, she clenched her stomach and cried in pain.

"The fuck's wrong with you? The man approached her cautiously, and her eyes flickered to her target.

Once he was close enough, Cara grabbed the taser clasped to his belt and jabbed him in the neck with the highest voltage. His body went slack, and she grabbed his head, smashing it against the metallic toilet with a loud crunch. She repeated it for good measure, watching as the body lay limp on the floor.

She wasn't sure if it was the adrenalin, but she barely remembers donning his biohazard suit and pocketing his key card before rushing out of the room. Cara had to remind herself to behave normally, to slow her breathing to avoid inciting suspicion.

The suit fit her poorly, hanging on her frame awkwardly, clearly meant for someone taller. But the headpiece helped conceal her face a little. If anyone looked at her from behind, they wouldn't immediately think it's a run-away test subject. It was a tiny bit of comfort.

Surprisingly, no one stopped her. The researchers, assistants, and guards ignored her. If they gave her a second glance, she wouldn't know because of the helmet. They were each in their own world, fussing over clipboards and busy yelling at assistants for every little thing. The air was thick of tension, putting everyone on edge.

The place was a maze, full of endless hallways of white. She thought she would fuse with the white walls in her white suit before she was ever found.

"Cara," someone behind her growled her name, and she froze, holding her breath. The voice was thunderous, and she couldn't focus enough to hear their next words.

She didn't need to turn around to know Wesker stood less than two meters away.

The voice was unmistakable. She'd know it anywhere. But how did Wesker recognize her from behind? The suit left only her face visible. She had no idea why he was here and why he was angry. Well, she did steal a biohazard suit and injured a researcher. It wasn't hard to connect his overtime activities to a hospital run by Umbrella. Now he really might kill her, clean up a mess long overdue. Especially now that she likely pissed off his employers.

Cara pretended not to have heard him, attempting to casually walk away with her head down. Hearing his thunderous footsteps behind her, she broke out into a sprint.

She sprinted into a crowd of researchers, taking random turns in hopes of losing him. She ran until she no longer heard his steps and became even more lost in the maze-like building.

The room she ducked into contained several workbenches lining the walls, complete with microscopes and other high-tech appliances. Thankfully, no one was in the lab.

A jar caught her attention containing something between a cross of a human baby and a lizard. It neither moved nor breathed, and Cara concluded it must be a dead experimental specimen. Things like this must be illegal.

Approaching a workbench, Cara peered into a microscope. While she found the cells colorful and interesting, biology was not her strong point. She had no idea what she was looking at. But it definitely wasn't a plant cell. There were too many tentacles. Maybe it was-

Grabbed from behind, Cara screamed as she was yanked hard by her arm. She kicked and pushed but could free herself. Her voice died in her throat when the headpiece of the suit was yanked off her head. She was left gaping at Wesker, barely noticing when the headpiece was thrown across the room, taking down an office lamp with it.

"I knew it was you," Wesker spoke in a carefully controlled tone, but the edges were jagged.

"I-I can explain!" Cara stammered, feeling the edge of the desk cut into the back of her legs as Wesker cornered her, their chests touching.

with a curl of his lips over his teeth, his smile did not match his eyes. "Oh, please do go on. Explain what you're doing here." He seemed like a different person; eyes warped into a miserable pit of ice.

"Why are you so mad?" her voice quivered under his piercing scrutiny. Cara knew she fucked up but didn't want to admit this to him. "They said the drugs should be-"

"Safe?" Wesker said with an ominous smile and threw his head back, laughing without humor. "Half the participant won't make it out of this experiment alive. Even if they survived, there is no way they would be allowed to leave."

"What?" Cara shook her head vigorously. "If they knew it'll kill people from the start. Why the hell are they going through with it? Why? This is a hospital for god's sack."

"Simply because Umbrella can. They do what they want, and the locations of the experiments are irrelevant. It could be in an orphanage or a sewer, and they will still get their results."

"They are fucking monsters. How could someone so evil run a fucking hospital?" Cara swallowed, thinking about how she almost became an experiment. How many of the participants were already injected? Were they already dead? How important were the drugs for someone to be willing to kill unsuspecting people for data? The cure for cancer? What a fucking joke.

Her questions were endless, but Wesker had his own.

"It's called business, sweetheart. Now, why are you here?" He asked again, but she knew he already had an idea. What was the point of putting her stupidity into words?

"I... got evicted. They were offering money and-"

"Why didn't you tell me? you could have come to me,"

Cara gapped at him with wide eyes, feeling a loss for words. "Why would you help me? wouldn't this help you get a problem off your hands?"

"Sherry cares for you." she didn't know if she had imagined it but, something flickered in the depths of his icy blues.

"Sherry, right? Is this really about her? are you sure it's not you feeling something in your cold dead heart? But how could you feel anything? you're a monster covering up the work of other monsters."

"Watch yourself, Cara. I make one phone call, and you'll be the next body piled on the others sent for incineration after the good doctor gets what he wants from you. This could all happen in less than an hour." He hissed

Something snapped inside of Cara, letting loose a current of emotions too fast to control. She was too tired, exhausted from clutching the bar with all the weight dragging her down constantly. No matter how much she had told herself to hold on a little longer, she didn't see an end to the stress. Her problems only seemed to grow heavier. Her blistered hands and broken arms couldn't hold on for another second. she let

"How long are you going to threaten me for? You know what? I am sick of it. I'm done! I'm done!" Cara shoved at his chest, her voice rising in octaves. "I'm here! Come, and get me motherfuckers!" she screamed, Choking on her sobs. She didn't care what happens next. All she wanted was for the stress and the fear to end.

Spreading his fingers through her hair, Wesker pulled hard. He tilted her head up, his eyes setting her ablaze. Cara swallowed, running her tongue over her chapped, dry lips. She felt as if she was looking down a cliff. One step forward, and the jagged rocks below would greet her.

Cara's eyes widened as his chin tilted towards hers in one fluid motion. Her words were lost the moment his mouth came down, claiming hers. Her gasp was stolen, along with her ability to breathe.

In moments of confusion, she would lean into his touch, remembers who he worked to protect, and she would rack her nails over the skin of his arms. He let her hurt him, pulling her even closer, and she would let him.

This was so wrong. So very wrong and so was how much she wanted him to continue. Her lips moved on their own accord, responding to his touch. Her fingers slid over his chest, feeling the engraving of his badge. The moment she kissed him back, Wesker pushed harder into her.

She tried to focus as Wesker's lips brushed her own, hungrily devouring everything. His hand left her hair, sliding down her neck while his other hand snaked around her waist, fisting into up the material of the biohazard suit. She let him lay her back on the desk, his body quick to cover hers like a warm blanket. She anchored a hand into his belt, tugging blindly. She wanted- no needed too many things and didn't know where to begin. She wanted the suit off her scorching body and his damn belt undone, but her shaking hands could do neither.

Shoving her away, Wesker abruptly turned around.

In a moment of clarity, Cara could finally think clearly without the cloud of haze Wesker brings. She couldn't believe what had just happened, staring at his back, dazed and speechless. She touched her swollen lips, feeling them tingle.

Wesker's jaw was tense, and it took him extra moments to steady his breathing. While Cara still sat flustered on the table, Wesker had recovered his well-kempt appearance just as three guards burst into the room, guns raised.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He answered in his usual tone, completely unaffected, and Cara hated him. He was quick to wear the mask, too damn good.

A look of recognition crossed their faces, and they immediately lowered their guns, taking cautious steps back. "Captain Wesker, what business do you have here? Dr. Stanford was not notified about you taking a tour of the wing."

"I sent one of my employees to test the security, and she made it all the way in here and escaped the test room. Let the head of security know that I would like a word with him...soon." Wesker said before grabbing Cara's arm. "Have a good day, Gentlemen. You may go now. There is no threat to Umbrella in this room. Go spend your efforts where they are needed."

Reluctantly, the men followed each other out of the room, leaving Cara alone with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the room shrink. She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, busying herself with unzipping the biohazard suit. The clasps and zipper kept slipping away from her clammy fingers, refusing to open. After multiple failures, she aggressively tugged on the plastic material to rip it off, but its thickness taunted her. Of course, these scientists only worked with high-grade materials.

Feeling long fingers slid up her back, Cara's hands froze. She held her breath, every muscle tense. Warm hands covered her cold ones, dropping them to her side as they took over the task. With a few clasps undone, her neck was exposed. The hair on the back of her rose as the cool nipped at her skin. Something soft touched the base of her neck, and she gasped, realizing they were a pair of lips. Slowly, they spread featherlight kisses towards her throat, then her chin. Her face was on fire, steadily gaining degrees.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat you, dearheart," Wesker whispered against her skin.

Cara pushed him away, desperate for some distance. "We shouldn't be doing this. This was a mistake. I-"

"I don't make mistakes," with one firm tug, the suit dropped to the ground, pooling at her feet. Cara felt all the warmth migrate downwards and shivered, feeling her stomach play host to angry butterflies. She still had her clothes on, but she felt naked in front of him and yearned for the scorching suit to cover her again.

"Come, it's time to go," Wesker turned to leave, and she exhaled, her body losing its tension. She couldn't bring herself to move, glaring at his back. She chewed her lips and sighed at the confusing thoughts now occupying her mind. There was enough stress in her life, and this was the ripe cherry on top.

Noticing her lack of movement, Wesker paused at the door, "I know you want to continue, but this is not the place nor time. wouldn't want anyone thinking they could join in,"

when she thought her face couldn't glow any hotter, it proved her dead wrong. "You go ahead. I'll take the bus. It's safer." Cara rushed to the door, but he hooked a finger in the back of her shirt, pulling her back.

"Nonsense. a young lady like you shouldn't take the bus this late at night. wouldn't want you falling into the wrong hands."

"Like there are worse hands than yours." Cara retorted, slapping his hand away, but they just went on to wrap around her waist. She was ready to munch on some fingers when the hand suddenly disappeared just as a couple of researchers passed them in the hallway. They all greeted him as 'Captain Wesker' before making quick strides out of sight.

"Oh yes, there are. Ones holding scalpels over your skin as you lay paralyzed,"

"Have you... have you dissected before?" Cara swallowed, glaring at his hands as they continued stealing touches. Those hands hurt and killed innocent people, yet she couldn’t fully say they were unwelcome.

"I was a scientist before I was ever a cop." she hated people who dodged questions, skirting around the sinkhole but never falling to the bottom.

"So... you did? Or not?" she frowned, failing to read him. his long strides made it harder for her to keep up, forcing her to almost jog after him.

"Give me the badge you stole from the researcher. I don't want it leaving the building."

"Come on, it's a simple yes or no,"

Stopping suddenly, Wesker extended his hand, palms up. " The badge, now." The order was clear, and she struggled to do the opposite.

Huffing loudly, Cara ignored his outstretched hand and shoved the key card beneath his bullet vest before walking away.

"Cara," He called out to her, and she couldn't help but pause. His voice had a way with people, lulling them to do his bidding.

With arms crossed, Cara glared at Wesker. "What is it? I already gave it back. It's not broken. I just used it."

"Since you know your way around the hospital so well, why don't you give me a tour?" He smirked, leaning against the wall, his eyes following her movements.

"I'm your employee, right? I Gotta do my job properly. I was checking for security threats over there, but it looks like the hallway is clear. I'll be checking this way next" Cara turned around and began walking down another hallway, her hands over her eyes like binoculars.

"you're still going the wrong way dearheart, it's this way. I ought to demote you for your lack of direction," Wesker smirked, nodding in the opposite direction she was going.

Cara followed, admitting that she had no clue where she was going. She pretended he wasn't walking ahead of her trying to focus on everything but him. it was hard, given how she nearly let him have everything. No matter how many times she forced her eyes away, they kept soaking in the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform as he walked. How was she supposed to behave around him now? Pretend it didn't happen?

With his words fresh on her mind, Cara nibbled on her nails. ' I don't make mistakes.'

What was she supposed to do now?

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {5/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly  written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language,  overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: swearing...sexual tension?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!  

<< Previously ○ Next >>

You woke up with a hell of a hangover and a parched throat that tasted sour, like bad vodka.

“Ugh,” you rolled onto your back and looked at the alarm clock. “Shit, I’m late for work.”

You fumbled out of bed and began pulling on your work clothes with a toothbrush tucked under one cheek and a facecloth soaking through your bra strap on your shoulder. Spike watched you duck in and out of the bathroom from the living-room, his hungry growl greeting your stinging ears.

Then, suddenly, you remembered.

“Oh, you’re right, boy,” you plopped next to Spike on the couch. “I don’t have work today.” You slipped out of your work trousers and lounged about for a hot, undecided minute in nothing but the oversized festival t-shirt you wore to bed and your koala print underwear.

Spike growled again, his long tail knocking over a small flower pot. You rolled your eyes, “Right, breakfast, you utter flower fiend.”

Your cellphone rang. Caller ID registered it was the hospital. You turned to Spike, “Maybe they need me back after all.”

You cleared your throat twice before answering, “Hel—”

“Child,” Jan’s chipper tone came racing through your phone’s speaker. She had that whisper-shout octave that told you she was using the receptionist phone for personal reasons. “What have you done to this poor man?”

“Who?” You leaned onto the couch, Spike clawed his way off the couch arms and stomped all over your stomach, reminding you of the alcohol nausea. “Oof, Spike, ow.”

“Stephen, who else?” Jan continued. “He’s been walking about with a permanent scowl all morning. Never seen him look so…constipated. Is it true you two went to Gloria’s last night?”

“How on earth do you know everything that goes on in this town?” You let out an impressed huff.

“Tiny told me,” Jan said. “Well, actually, Tiny told his sister Tina. And Tina’s church buddies with my niece Francis, and she told the group chat. Did you know Tiny’s had the biggest crush on you since the New Year’s party last year? Poor guy. Think he’s seeing someone over a dating app or something. Can’t keep up.”

“There’s a group chat?” You scoffed. “Why am I not part of it?”

“Because you don’t like my cornbread,” Jan retorted. “Anyway, the real reason I called was because my neighbour—Ed—would like to set a date.”

“A date?” Your eyes went wide. Then you felt guilty for not calling Teddy back. Why is dating so hard?

“So you can talk about his Prius?”

“Oh, shit, yes. That kinda date….” You stood up to look at your day planner on the kitchen table. “Umm, next week Thurs—hang on, what am I saying, I don’t have work. I’m free all week.”

“I’ll let him know,” before she hung up, Jan added. “Oh and wear anything with bees on it. He’s into honey farming and bee conservation. May bump down the price if you schmooze him a little.”

“Thanks, Jan. I owe you.”

“Big time.”

The line went dead and you sighed. Spike stepped on your toes, another growl for attention coming from his mouth.

As you sliced up a banana into Spike’s bowl, your doorbell went off. You looked at the wall clock in your kitchen, chewing the inside of your cheek in thought. Everyone you knew was probably at work.

“Who could that be?” You set Spike’s bowl down and the lizard chewed like a baby with no teeth. Without thinking to get decent, you opened the door to a very flustered looking Stephen Strange. He held up the tray of take-out coffee up to his eye-line, but his lips quirked into a secret smirk.

“Stephen—What?—Why?—You should be at the hospital,” you blurted in surprise.

“I—uh—felt like we’d need to…discuss certain—uh…” He cleared his throat. “Would you mind putting pants on?”

“Pants? What…” you looked down at your exposed thighs and blushed. “Pants! Right, yeah, come in. Sit anywhere you like…Errr, just don’t try and pet Spike, he bites strangers.”

“Your son bites people? Can’t say I’m entirely surprised…” Stephen raised a brow as he shrugged his coat off and placed the coffee tray on a table. “Isn’t it a school day?”

“Spike’s not that kind of son,” you shouted out from your bedroom.

“Ouch,” Stephen took a sharp inhale, waving his hand about as if he’d been burned. You went rushing into the kitchen.

“Spike get back here and apologise,” you said to the Iguana. Spike waddled away before you could scold him as blood dropped from Stephen’s finger.

Stephen glared at you with a look of disbelief, “Your son is a fat lizard?”

You bit back a laugh as you placed Stephen’s hand under running water in the sink. “Don’t worry, he’s rabies-free. But if you develop a sudden, unexplained dislike of water, let me know.” You quipped.

Stephen rolled his eyes at you. It didn’t escape your notice that he wasn’t as rigid around you as before. Even with his hand in yours under the rushing faucet.

“So what are you doing here?” You asked. “On a workday no less.”

“It’s a small town, managed to finish my rounds early. Turns out there aren’t that many brain injury cases to deal with,” he chuckled lowly. Your heart picked up its pace. “Besides, I wasn’t getting much done. Too distracted thinking about the…”

You turned to look at him, “The what?”

Stephen’s eyes lingered on your lips for a fraction of a second before he pulled away, “Thinking about your total lack of professionalism yesterday.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, well you deserved it.” You reached up for a cabinet overhead and pulled some emergency plasters from a hiking first aid kit you’d forgotten to put away.

“Here,” you handed him the plaster. He took it sheepishly, making it a point so his fingers never came in contact with yours.

“Listen,” he began peeling off the waxy plastic of the plaster. “Last night, I don’t know what you were thinking—Probably weren’t thinking with all those vodka-lime’s you downed—but I’m not here to be anybody’s, Dr Grey—”

You laughed, “Dr Grey?”

“Yes, from that medical drama series that you and Christine used to watch in college,” Stephen looked up at you as if you grew a third eye.

“You mean Derek Shepard? Because—and no offence—I don’t really think you have the…spunk to be Meredith.”

“Does it matter if the analogy sticks?”

“What’s this analogy implying?”

Stephen took a step closer, his voice going deadly sharp, “That I’m not here to get tangled up in any romantic…drivel.”

“Good,” you smirked and Stephen cocked his head to the side. “Because I never took you for the romantic type.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” you riffled through the bread tin and asked over your shoulder: “Bagel?”

“What?” Stephen’s vein by his temple was beginning to throb, hands akimbo.

You took out the cream cheese from the fridge and smeared some over the ready sliced bagel, “You brought coffee, I’m asking if you want a bagel to go with it…on your way out of my apartment?”

“Think I’ll just have the coffee, thanks,” there was heat beneath his words, no sincerity as he strode over to the tray of coffee.

“You know where the door is. Unless you’re so far up your own ass you need someone to guide you out,” you bit back, feeling petty.

Stephen turned on his heel, finger pointing at you, “You think you’re so high and mighty. Looking down on me because I actually have aspirations I want to chase. So what if I’m ambitious? It’s miles better than being some doe-eyed fellow who passed on their chance at a residency because they’re too scared of the big, bad city.”

You gasped, eyes going wide. How did he know that?

“Yeah, I ran into Arlene during my rounds. She’s quite the talker when not fumbling with paperwork like a little mouse,” Stephen huffed, dropping his coffee cup on the table. Some of it spilled and burned his hand, but he kept a good poker face. “So don’t go acting as if you being here is because you’re some sort of bleeding-heart when you and I both know you’re just scared. Ever since I came into town, I’ve just been a constant reminder of the future you’re too scared to want to want!”

“You really are a piece of work aren’t you?” You folded your arms over your chest to hide the fact they were shaking. “And you wonder why no one sticks around, what with your terrible bedside manner and arrogant as fuck personality—waltzing about like you own every hospital and know all there is to know about how the world works.” You poked his chest several times. “Well, fuck you, your obnoxious brain and that high horse you rode on.”

“Fuck me?” Stephen raked a rough hand through his hair, cheeks going red. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me?” You craned your head back. “No, fuck you!”

You poked him even harder and Stephen grabbed your hand to stop your index finger from bombarding his sore chest. He tugged and you were pulled in.

Breath hot against each other’s cheeks. Lips mere centimetres away. A flush set on both your cheeks.

Then, without warning, he kissed you and there was nothing delicate or chaste about it. It wasn’t like the innocent little make-out session you’d shared on your doorstep. This was different, full of pent up tension and the heat of the argument. It was rough and fast and demanding. Soon, you were clawing at each other’s clothes as you led Stephen into your bedroom.

[guktwt]

steamy. (m)

→ pairing: jeon jeongguk | female reader    → genre: smut → warnings: public sex, dry humping/grinding?, thigh riding, unprotected sex, slight dirty talk, lowkey sub!jk for a few seconds, this is a spontaneous drabble!!, No Plot Just Jungkook → word count: 1.7k 

→ summary: things get a little too heated at the gym, all courtesy of jeon jeongguk. (inspired by jungkook’s twitter video of him working out (you all know which one).

If you had known working at the gym would be this frustrating, you wouldn’t have taken up the offer in the first place. And your source of turmoil? Jeon Jeongguk.

Bratty, shameless, gym-junkie Jeon Jeongguk who you had the pleasure of meeting him a month ago at one of Taehyung’s house party. Who, much to your dismay, succeeded in luring you to his bed only three hours after your first conversation. But in your defense, you had just gotten out of a messy breakup and wasn’t in the right state of mind to resist his stupidly charming smile.

You weren’t inclined on having another guy in your life when the last one gave you a hard time, so when you woke up the morning after with sore muscles and an empty bed, you were slightly relieved. You thought that would be the end of it, but two weeks ago he started showed up here, all messy hair and killer smile, and hasn’t stopped going ever since.

Hasn’t stopped trying to get in your pants, not-so-subtly trying to make you remember the night you two had shared, and asking you on a date any given chance that your co-worker starts to pity him.

You see, you would consider giving him a chance, but unfortunately his behavior is reduced to flirting with everything that has a pulse. That’s what he keeps showing you whenever he’s at the gym, at least. If he thinks you miss the way he lets girls stare and flaunt over him, then he might as well just stop bothering with you. Though you don’t know him well-enough besides being one of Taehyung’s friends, he screams all the things you want to avoid and that’s more than enough to make you stay away.

But now he’s doing this.

Jeongguk’s seated on the Bowflex, his hands clasping the handles hard like his life depended on it, and you hate how he’s directly in your line of sight.

He’s breathing heavily, noises coming out of his mouth that makes your brain start conjuring all sorts of scenarios, particularly ones that are way different than this one, filling yourself with thoughts nowhere near work appropriate. You’re torn between fixating your eyes on his face, jaw hardening every time he lifts the bar, and watching the way the muscles in his arms flex every time he moves. He staring right back at you, the corners of his lips quirking up because Jeongguk knows he looks good. He knows this is killing you, perhaps for many reasons that contradict each other. It’s not fair. The expressions he makes are borderline pornographic at this point, but you wouldn’t be so specific with your thoughts if you hadn’t seen them beforehand.

(—hadn’t seen them one particular night in the midst of a heated year-end party, with him hovering over your bare and sweaty body. You can still remember the way his eyebrows furrowed as he presses his weight on top of you, the way he had shut his eyes when—)

“Can you hand me a towel?” Jeongguk calls out, pulling you out of your daydream. You feel heat rush to your cheeks at having thought about him like that when he’s right there, but you quickly regain your composure.

His attire today is a simple oversized plain white t-shirt that hangs loose on his frame. Sweat has collected on his front, dampening the fabric and making it stick to his skin, outlining his perfectly toned abdomen. You try to look everywhere else as you walk over to him.

You stretch your hand out to offer him the cloth, trying to seem indifferent, but he doesn’t take it.

“I’m a bit preoccupied. Can you wipe my sweat off for me?”

“Can I wipe your fucking—,” you implode, stopping yourself before he has any reason to file a customer service complaint. Thankfully no one else is in today, so you don’t have to worry about making a scene. More calmly, you add, “what am I to you?”

“Anything you want to be.” The smirk on his face was painful to see.

You roll your eyes at his weak attempt to sweet talk you. By this point, you’ve given up telling him to stop having learned that Jeongguk’s quite the ambitious guy. When you look at him again, he’s still smiling at you. A smile that one has when they think they have the upper hand in the situation.

It would be so damn nice to catch Jeongguk off-guard and render him vulnerable. Before you can have second thoughts, you're moving towards him and planting yourself on his lap.

“W-what are you—”

“Wiping your sweat, what else?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. He’s still holding onto the handle. You dab the towel on his forehead trying to seem relaxed when in reality this proximity surprises you too. Unlike that night, his features are far clearer under this bright light. You can make out the faint scar on his cheek that you have yet to hear the story of. His doe eyes are fixated on yours.

“What? Is this making you uncomfortable?” you provoke. You let the towel linger on his neck. Jeongguk merely gulps. You adjust yourself on his lap, purposely grinding against his thigh and making the poor boy squirm in his seat. “Well?”

Jeongguk lets go of the handles, the sudden clang of the metal weights falling surprising you, but you barely have time to react because he’s pulling you into him and attaching his lips onto yours, making you drop the towel.

This wasn’t part of your plan. All you wanted to do was taunt him a little, just to put him in his place, but you're pressed against his body and his lips feel too good to resist so you don’t. Instead, you gently place your hands on the nape of his neck but rake your nails over his skin in a much different manner.

You’re lost in the way his tongue is doing wonders that it takes you a while to be aware of the pressure you’re starting to feel between your thighs. You feel hot. Steamy. You want to clamp your thighs together but you can’t. You hate to admit that you’ve already grown wet just from minimal contact like this but the way Jeongguk mewls against your lips is addicting.  

“If I don’t get to fuck you now—” he breathes, mouth going for your neck and sucking the skin there. This is dangerous. You’re lucky that you’re the only staff in for the night and that no one else is present but that doesn’t mean someone won’t walk in any moment. And yet, you don’t stop yourself from. “Bet you’re already wet, huh?” he murmurs. His hands move to your hips, guiding your movements.

“Fuck you–”

“Aren’t you doing that right now? So desperate for my cock you’re willing to fuck yourself on my thigh like this,” Jeongguk torments. If he didn’t look so damn good right now you would’ve told him to shut up.

You’ve had enough. “Take your fucking pants off.”

Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow. “Here? How dirty.”

“Off or I’m banning you from this gym.”

“The cameras–”

“Are never on.” You should know. The security here barely does anything and you're sure the staff on duty today called on sick for the third time this week. It’s starting to feel like you’re the only one running the place.

You know he’s never going to hold this against you for so long but your hands are already on the waistband of his sweats. Jeongguk lifts himself up when swiftly tug the clothing down to his thighs. Your own shorts and underwear are off before you know it and you can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re naked waist down in the fucking public gym where anyone can see, ready to hop on a boy you claim to dislike like some deprived and desperate girl, but even thoughts like those stop you from lining said boy’s cock with your entrance and gently easing yourself down. A whimper comes out of your throat at the stretch.

“O-oh. Jeongguk–” you stammer. You give yourself a few seconds to adjust before moving. He grazes every inch of your walls, filling up your core perfectly like he’s made to fuck you like this. His fingers squeeze your waist, cautiously riding up your shirt and you shiver from his touch.

“Shit. You feel as good as I remembered,” he breathes by your ear. “Go ahead. Fuck yourself on my cock like you want to.”

It doesn’t take you much of anything else to do so. You move quickly, frantically, letting the sound of your ass slapping his thighs fill the quiet room. He doesn’t say much after, but when you throw your head back when you feel him hit the right spot he takes the opportunity to take over your neck with his mouth again. The added pressure of his teeth sinking into your sensitive area pushes you closer to the edge, feeling the tightness in your core growing. Your breaths are rapid, eyes snapping shut at every ounce of pleasure. You feel yourself getting closer and closer and it only hit you know just how badly you want him to make you cum.  

Jeongguk hisses a curse. He does you a favor by bringing a finger to your clit, gently rubbing the bud and making you let out a whine you failed to suppress. The added stimulation is exactly what you needed. Soon enough you feel your muscle tense, rolling your hips in a much more feverish manner than before and out of your own control, reaching your orgasm with a broken moan.

Jeongguk’s hand are firm on your waist to keep you steady despite your sloppy movements. The sight of him throwing his head back and baring his gorgeous neck when he cum inside you makes your stomach flip. Jeongguk lets you ride out your high and when you’re too tired to do anything else, you slump onto his chest. You feel the heat pooling inside your cunt, knowing how messy and sticky you’ll feel right after, but you feel full and that’s all that matters to you right now.  

Several moments of nothing but severed breaths later, Jeongguk breaks the agonizing silence. “So, is it still a no to that date?”

[wezzaner]

Evie’s and Doug’s relationship develops the best, Pt. 2

So, here I go:

So, picking up from where Pt.1 left off, Evie and Doug made up after the coronation and before the after party.

In Descendants 2, their relationship took the backseat to all the Mal/Ben drama, mostly Mal, Ben was a total idiotic care bear. And that’s okay, I am not complaining at all about Devie being somewhat benched. This is like Disney channel having its own trope of sidelining characters, story arcs and plot lines or just disregarding them completely.

Not the first time, won’t be the last. You get used to it, eventually. (Salty at High School Musical 13 years later, yes, that’s who I am)

You know, as they did with Evie’s intelligence, boxing her into the fashion corner only. Which I enjoyed, but there’s more to Evie than that and she could be both. And they butchered her further in Descendants 3, more on that later as well.

Also, unpopular opinion, Evie and Carlos are much better lead characters with better arcs and Jay fucking deserved better. Mal can go suck it.

Anyway, back to the topic:

Jumping six months later, Evie and Doug are running a business together from her dorm room. Her designing and him handling her finances, you know, like the power couple that they are. Right off the bat, couple goals already.

Which should show how much they both do trust each other.

That should be surprising, given who their parents are. Again, everyone seems to forget that out of all the AKs/VKs couples shown in the movies, only Doug’s and Evie’s actually come from the same story. They should be enemies. They should not be trusting each other so much to the point where they share a business, let alone be in love. That, I suspect, might have slowed their relationship progress a bit. And it’s a very legit reason to be wary of someone.

Scenes breakdown:

Now, their first scene together hits with a banger right away, them sharing an inside joke.

Six months into their (unlabeled?) relationship, Doug is shown to still be insecure about being with her. Actually, about HER being with him. Again, Evie is royal (whether Audrey likes it or not), she is ambitious, hardworking and will go places. And he’s, well...

Doug.

He’s telling her that through her hard work and dedication to her craft, she could be getting everything she had always wanted after all without needing a prince or marrying into it as she was bred and conditioned by her mother to do. That she can get there on her own and she doesn’t need to be a trophy wife. Also, offhandedly telling her that he will help her get there, that they could get there together.

And her tender, reassuring reply is that she doesn’t need a prince because she has him. Like, come on, that’s all the vindication anyone would ever need.

I mean, I would love for someone, anyone, to look at me the way Evie looks at him at that moment. Like, boy, you got nothing to worry about, not one thing. Just look at her face, please.

Honestly, in less than thirty seconds, their relationship progressed more than Mal’s and Ben’s relationship did in that entire movie. I mean they had a conflict and they solved it in half a minute while Mal spent the entire movie erasing everything good about her already-established character. Ben deserves better.

So, moving on.

The next development in their relationship arc comes in a scene with no Evie whatsoever. Doug encounters Jay and Carlos and asks if they had seen Evie. Let’s break this one down, yeah?

Doug is shown to be insecure about being the lesser of the two in his relationship with Evie and believes she deserves better. He is not the most confident individual, directly in contrast with Evie, who has this ridiculously confident aura around her.

And Jay and Carlos lying to him about Evie’s whereabouts couldn’t have helped. Especially because I believe at that point, Doug had become friends with Jay and Carlos to some degree. He wasn’t only questioning his relationship with Evie, but his friendship with Jay, Carlos and by association, possibly, Mal.

So, anyway, the crew got King Care Bear back and they arrive to Auradon prep the next morning. And Doug shows up, bowtie gone, disheveled and sleep-deprived to question whether Evie was seeing someone else or not.

He was in panic over this, and she replies earnestly that she wasn’t, in fact, seeing someone else and she was on the isle with the crew saving Ben. And kind of calls him stupid for ever thinking that.

And Doug doesn’t even care about the whole Ben thing. which I find awfully hilarious.

To sum up:

Slow progress aside, Doug believed in Evie’s business, creativity and ability to be financially stable enough to buy her own castle before it even crossed her own mind. Just because he knew it was something she always wanted. He supported her wholeheartedly, to the point where he was okay working with her, handling finances and deliveries. And probably investing as well. 

The movie did go over Doug’s very obvious insecurities when it comes to his relationship with her. Made it obvious that he was flawed, normal and human, more so than any of the other characters. He gets jealous because he sees himself as the less in the relationship and his reaction is justified, to be honest.

I mean, this is Evie we’re talking about. One doesn’t just LET Evie go, that’s stupid. You don’t lose people like her. No one deserves Evie, she’s too good for all of them. But it’s not about deserving.

I believe they were already in love at this point (such a healthy relationship, too), but reached a mutual mental (or off-screen, really) decision to buckle down, take things slow and see where things go. This is because of who they are and how they came to be, not because of anything else. Actual brain cells, here.

And not everyone is Mal and Ben. Nothing against them, but they are under pressure, with their relationship being public and all. There’s always a sense of urgency with those two.

And with these gifs I rest my case:

Off topic, but please!!

Has anyone noticed that, aside from being a movie musical, Did I Mention and Be Our Guest are the only canon-confirmed numbers? Be Our Guest was performed for family day as some form of (cringe) entertainment.

BUT Did I Mention is the only one that was deadass performed into a legit microphone? And then rearranged for the proposal. Am I the only one seeing Ben rushing out from the dressing room before the game to find Doug to ask him if he could have the band play it after the game? And then a year later gathering everyone else, letting them know he was proposing and then being all like; “Doug, I need you.”

 Doug is Ben’s wing man, and that is that.

[sparrellow]

oops

Rin realised with absolute terror, that by some cursed oddity, the quite-revealing, most definitely embarrassing selfie she had just taken had been sent to Len.

rating: T genre: humour, romance pairing: rinlen words:  2,477

It was a balmy Tuesday afternoon, and Rin was bored, so she went window shopping.

Her favourite thing to do was try on cute outfits, take selfies in them, and then not buy anything at all. It wasn’t like she could afford to buy any of the things she tried, anyway—she was a broke university student, barely scraping by weekly on nutritious meals of cup ramen. 

This day, she felt particularly ambitious. A little sexy, even. So she went to her favourite lingerie store and tried on a bunch of cute, expensive underwear.

Alas, it did not go exactly as planned.

When she unlocked her phone to take a selfie, it did some weird glitch thing, but she simply shrugged it off and went to snap a photo of herself in the pastel, frilly, mermaid-themed underwear she’d picked out. Hmm. Cute. She clicked the confirm button, and went to take another picture, except— 

Except the screen didn’t return to the camera option.

Oh, no.

It didn’t.

It had, in fact, opened up her message with Len. Her uni friend. The cute guy from her Psychology class.

But that wasn’t it.

Because, Rin realised with absolute terror, that by some cursed oddity, the quite-revealing , most definitely embarrassing selfie she had just taken had been sent to him.

The final hit was the little: Read at 2:36 .

“Fuck!”

.

It was a balmy Tuesday afternoon, and Len was struggling to stay awake during his Introduction to Molecular Chemistry lecture. He kept nodding off every few minutes, the lecturer’s voice oddly soothing—both a blessing and a curse in his case.

But then his phone buzzed, and his eyes popped open to read the notification.

(1) Message from Rin Kagamine.

Huh. Wonder why Rin was texting him. They didn’t really talk much outside of their class together, but she was pretty cool. Pretty and cool, that was. He didn’t really think they were on that level for casual conversations yet, so perhaps it was uni-related, or something.

He reached over to unlock his phone to read the message. 

And promptly turned off his screen again.

What… what was that .

His eyes had almost fallen out of his sockets. Had he just seen correctly? Or was his mind playing tricks on him? He wasn’t even entirely sure.

Reluctantly, he opened the message back up.

And confirmed, it was, indeed, not a mistake of his eyes. 

She had, in fact, just sent him a picture of her in underwear. (Very nice underwear, might he add! But also, what the fuck was going on here .)

Before he could even form some degree of coherent message in response to the picture, Rin had begun spamming him in a flurry of panic.

FUCK

I’M SO SORRY

I

I’M SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED OH MY FUCKING GOD

FUCK!!!!

I SWEAR THIS WAS AN ACCIDENT I

I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED MY PHONE GLITCHED I’M SO SORRY LEN FUCK

He raised an eyebrow at the messages, amused. So it was… an accident? How does one send a sexy selfie as an accident? How does one’s phone glitch to the degree of accidentally sending someone a sexy selfie? Had she been meaning to send it to someone else?

There were so many questions. 

Well, the good thing was that Len was definitely awake now.

.

Rin was crouching on the floor of the dressing room, half-naked and freaking out because he still hadn’t replied. But he had read all the messages. Oh god. What happens if he, like, posted the picture to some Facebook group to shame her? What if he used it for blackmail?

Was Len that sort of person? Did he like blackmail?

But before she could jump to any more conclusions, he’d responded with:

Thanks. I needed something to make this lecture a little bit more bearable.

He was at school? Had he opened the message in front of everyone? Had everyone else seen her in the cute little frilly mermaid underwear with her unshaven legs and pot-belly from eating two servings of instant yakisoba for lunch????

Rin sunk further down onto the ground, clutching her head, texting back rapid-fire. 

I swear it was an accident I don’t know why it was sent to you I was literally just taking pics of myself and AHHHHH

Did she really just admit that she had been taking photos of herself, half-naked, in the dressing room of an expensive lingerie store?

Yes. Yes she did.

And Len had the audacity to send back a crying-laughing face.

Well idk if you wanted an opinion, but it looks cute. You should buy it.

Rin buried her face into her knees, utterly humiliated . This wasn’t what she was expecting her boring Tuesday afternoon to be like. Maybe she should’ve just stayed home and studied like a good student.

Well. It was too late to go back now.

I wish I could but it’s way out of my price range

Thanks, tho

She closed her phone and stood up, taking a breath to calm herself. At that moment, the dressing room assistant knocked on her door and asked, “Do you need any help?”

“I’m fine!” she croaked, scrambling to change into her next outfit. God forbid she let anyone else look at her body today.

.

Len couldn’t help but be a little disappointed at the fact that she’d stop replying after that last message.

Of course, it was normal , given that this was all apparently an accident , but he was hoping she’d send another picture or two.

You know.

That sounded dirty of him. But she was cute. And that first picture was—although very much a surprise—somewhat eye candy for him. Plus he was super bored. He still had another hour left of his lecture and his soul was slowly being leached from his body.

So, like the little disgusting man he was, he sent another message.

Is that all?

About a minute passed, before Rin responded with, What?

He internally winced. Was he really going to make himself sound like a major creep?

Yes. Yes he was.

(This was going to make his Psychology class super awkward and he knew it.)

You’re not trying any others on?

Rin’s reply came almost immediately after that. Of COURSE I’m trying others on

What, do you want more pictures of an underdeveloped adult woman with hairy legs and a bloated stomach in your phone?

Len snorted. The picture she’d sent was fine. It was a body. A very nice body he liked to look at.

So he said, I can give you a second opinion?

It was radio static silent from Rin. She’d read his message, but no answer. He waited about five minutes, before he put down his phone with a sigh and tried to tune into his class.

She’d probably blocked his number. With good reason.

God. How was he going to meet her eyes in Psychology class on Thursday?

Providing she didn’t like, sock him in the jaw for being a pervert.

But he couldn’t help it! He needed the thrill! The entertainment! Also the pictures of a cute girl in cute underwear on his phone!

Len was going to hell but he didn’t even care.

.

Rin had stared at her phone for an incredibly long time, not sure how to respond to her classmate.

Look, she got it. It was her fault for being a dumbass and not checking before taking the picture. She technically asked for this roundabout method of torture. 

And yet. He had the audacity to ask for more.

She didn’t know whether to be mad or impressed. Madpressed, maybe.

So she left it to stew on, finished taking selfies of all the cute underwear in her naked glory, and went home very pensive. She thought very hard about it all on the bus, and glared hard at his little, stupid face in his icon on the message app.

Len was a good-looking guy. And , from the few conversations they had in class, he had a good sense of humour. And judging by his messages, he was also a cheeky asshole.

But she could’ve done worse. A whole lot worse. She could’ve sent that picture to her grandfather, or better yet, one of her creepy great uncles. Perhaps it was a good thing she’d sent it to some random (hot) guy from university.

Yeah.

So Rin decided to send the rest of her photos to him, and die gracefully in a puddle of shame. 

He’d already seen one, so he might as well see them all.

.

Len almost tripped and fell flat on his face when Rin suddenly bulk-sent five more pictures of her in various, adorable lingerie.

He wasn’t even in his lecture anymore. He was walking home, feeling sorry for his little perverted self, and the fact that he accidentally slept through the remainder of his class. How on earth was he even going to pass that class.

The blood rushing to his head (and to the south pole), he managed to type out a response that read a lot more underwhelmingly compared to what was really going on in his mind.

Very nice.

Was it something a girl wanted to read after sending multiple pictures of herself in a vulnerable state? No, probably not. But his brain had turned to mush and was starting to seep out of his ears. 

Rin wasn’t impressed.

You could’ve at least said thank you

Len fumbled for his dorm key, hands sweaty. Look, he was inexperienced. No one had ever sent him sexy pictures—or the equivalent of them, at least, whatever these were. He didn’t know how to handle it! Besides, she wasn’t even, like, a girl he was dating. He couldn’t just go full-mcCreep and tell her that he had a boner.

Could he?

No. He couldn’t.

Thank you , he responded, upon letting himself into his dorm room. I like the lavender one btw. It goes well with your hair colour

Was that too… much? He didn’t know if what he was doing was right. What did she expect him to say? He had no idea what on earth this entire situation was meant to be.

Oh really? That was my favourite

Cost like half a kidney tho

Len sank down onto his bed, relieved at her response. Okay. Okay. He was doing better. But now … he had a very important question he wanted to ask.

What’s the name of the store?

.

Rin blinked at his message, wondering why he was asking.

But she decided it was better not to ask. Maybe he had a girlfriend, or something. (Which, if he did, she would be incredibly pissed, because wouldn’t this classify as cheating? If he did, she was going to make sure he couldn’t walk straight ever again.)

She sent him back the store name. And left it there.

Thanks!

I’ll see you on Thursday ;)

Rin stared at his messages. Why did he send that winky face. What did it mean. What did it mean.

She didn’t respond, just tossed her phone aside and flopped back against her couch. She’d find out soon enough if she’d regret her actions.

.

Come Thursday, Rin had all but mentally prepared for her encounter with Len.

He pulled out the chair beside her in their lecture hall, and she stiffened, reluctantly dragging her eyes up to meet his gaze.

“Morning,” he said, acting way too casual given the circumstances. He plopped a familiar bag down on the desk in front of her and winked. Winked.

She felt her breakfast come up a little as it dawned on her, with absolute horror, that the bag donned the logo of the exact same store she’d been trying on underwear in the other day.

“What… is this,” she asked, gesturing at the bag like it was a severed toe.

Len looked smug, resting his chin on his hand. “I don’t know. Take a peek.”

“You don’t know,” Rin muttered to herself, unconvinced. She leaned forward, peering into the bag, catching a glimpse of something the shade of lavender. Uhhhh. She’d seen that shade of lavender somewhere. On her body. In the dressing room.

Hm.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Len said, shifting his gaze away so that he was facing forward. “No, I don’t know your size. I guessed.”

She wanted to send her face forward into the surface of the desk. 

“But if it doesn’t fit,” he added, lips turning up into a smirk, “you can always take it in to swap it for your size. The receipt is in the bag.”

God. What on earth. What the even. What?

“Is this… are you going to like… blackmail me or something, or,” Rin spluttered, eyeing him with suspicion. “What are you going to have me do in return for… this? This brand isn’t… cheap.”

Len glanced back at her, shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you technically don’t have to do anything , but…” He licked his lips. What the fuck? Ew. Gross. “I wouldn’t mind some more pictures.”

She gawked at him, heat rushing to her cheeks. “ Re ally?” She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust this pretty-faced man-boy at all. “So, you want to be my sugar daddy?”

He choked. After recovering from his coughing fit, he sat up straight, made direct eye-contact and said smoothly, “Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

So, he gave her expensive lingerie. In exchange for. Pictures of her. In said lingerie.

Wow.

Rin wasn’t sure whether she was awake anymore, or just dreaming. Maybe she had passed out or something, and was having a fever dream. This was just too weird to even be real. She pinched her thigh under the desk, but nothing happened (alas).

“I mean, you could just go on a date with me instead, and maybe you’ll get to see the real thing,” her mouth said, without any mental input. It just came out. 

It was real clown hours in this Psychology lecture, huh.

Len’s mouth popped open. Then closed. Then opened again. “That could work, too.”

It was silent. No one knew how to handle this situation, apparently. They were both staring awkwardly at the bag of lingerie on the desk between them, like it might eat them at any moment.

Eventually, Rin’s hand reached out and snatched it off the desk, stuffing it down into her shoulder bag on the ground. She cleared her throat, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’ll try it on tonight and see how it fits.”

Len tried not to look too pleased. And failed. “Cool.” He hesitated, side-glancing her. “If it does… ”

“I’ll meet you at Crypton's at seven.”

He blinked, surprised, before leaning back in his seat and grinning with satisfaction. “Sounds good.”

(Spoiler alert: Rin’s underwear didn’t fit, but they still went on the date anyway.)

[teaandatale]

Steggy and 'I Didn't Mean to Turn You On'

86. ‘I Didn’t Mean to Turn You On’

Ummm… You definitely meant to get a 2k+ fic out of this didn’t you? Omg. Anyway.

I’m not sure if you meant to pick a second AU or if this onewas good enough but if you’d like to send a follow up for another “I didn’tmean to turn you on” that you’d like to see paired with another AU feel free tohit me up again 😊

Here is what my brain jumped to and please please thank @dorrinverrakai1 for being a muse extraordinaire and making this become what it did. (There is quite a bit of backstory that goes to this that didnt make it into the ficlet fyi.)

I’m placing it under a cut because again… This grew legs from just being an answer to a tumblr meme…

Phillips’ annual Christmas party is a thing of legend aroundthe office. It’s always a grand affair, hosted at his mansion and everyoneknows that if you want to be someone in the company, if you show up, make agood impression, compliment the host and his wife’s hospitality, you have areal good shot at a corner office sooner or later.

For Steve, who was ambitious enough, but didn’t feel theneed to grease palms solely at a company party for his own selfish benefit, itwas an opportunity to spend some quality time out of the office with the girlof his dreams.

But the evening hadn’t gone on like he had planned, not afterthe flirtation between him and Peggy the day before back at the office. Whereshe had mentioned she had bought a spectacular new red dress just for the occasion,and then inquired about what he was going to wear. And how he promised her adrink. And that if there was dancing maybe a dance or two to go with that. And herlips had turned up and she said nothing for a moment as she regarded him.

“I will see you tomorrow night then Steve,” she said inpromise.

He’d never been so thrilled. He and Peggy had become goodfriends, and he was pretty sure their interactions would be considered flirtingon several occasions, but he’d never really had a good chance at pursuingsomething more.

But then he doesn’t spot Peggy at the party right away. Andwhen he finally does, she’s standing in a corridor whispering hurriedly with Phillips,and at her side holding her hand was a young girl of seven or eight years old. Thegirl teeters on her heels and leans her head against Peggy’s hip. He knows Peggywas close to Phillips and his family, he thinks that her parents were closefriends of his. The scene doesn’t seem like one he should interrupt soreluctantly he turns away and heads toward the catered food.

He doesn’t spot Peggy again for another half an hour, butshe’s over talking to several of their important German clients so he knows hecan’t interrupt that either. A bit disappointed, he decides to take a little tourof the place and heads up the stairs where one of the bar stations was set up,but heads towards the giant Christmas trees that flank a large bay window witha lookout. He’s passing the bar he overhears something that makes him stop inhis tracks.

“Can you believe she would bring her kid to an event likethis?” It’s Thompson, his least favorite guy in the office, talking with DanielSousa, both men holding generously filled glasses of whiskey.

He’s filled with rage at the dismissive and insulting tone ofthe comment.

“It’s a little embarrassing…” Sousa agrees, somewhat reluctantly.

“A little embarrassing? For fuck’s sake, you don’t bring yourkid to a company event period. And you definitely don’t saddle the fucking CEOof the company with your brat because you remembered you have to network with yourmost important clients.” He was ready to punch Thompson right then and thereeven before he hurled another blow that surprised Steve. “Classic Marge. She’s alwaysgetting a little too big for her britches. She should really learn about babysitters.”

He knows Thompson’s reputation for talking shit, so though thesurprise stuns him, he knows better than to believe gossip from his mouth.Still, he’d have felt the same way if it was Peggy’s child or not.

“That’s very wise advice from you Jack,” Steve says, “assomeone who doesn’t have kids, and given the way you talk may never findsomeone who would choose to have them with you.”

Thompson snorts derisively. “I don’t suffer from lack ofinterest unlike some people Rogers. Anyway I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Doesn’t matter who you were talking to when we can all hearyou badmouthing a coworker. Real classy. Definitely the way you’re going toearn brownie points in the office. And don’t pretend you know anything aboutchildcare or shame someone for doing the best they can to take care of theirchildren. Parenthood doesn’t just stop because you have to work. Do you knowhow many times I spent at the hospital when my mom was on shift because she hadno alternative? Parents do what they have to. I’m sure if there was a better orsafer option it would have been taken. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not ourbusiness. It’s not like anyone is asking you to babysit huh?”

“Fuck off Rogers.”

He rolls his eyes. “Original. Do me a favor and don’t let mehear you say shit like that again. I’m prefer not to ruin your night becauseyou can’t shut your mouth.”

He storms past not waiting for Jack’s response. It’s notuntil he’s right next to the ornate Christmas tree that he realizes the baywindow is occupied. On the wide cushioned seat, sits Phillips and at his sideis the little girl with a book. He doesn’t mean to interrupt but Phillips makeseye contact with him and it would be rude not to say hello to the host.

“Mr. Phillips,” he says, voice still a little surprised. “It’snice to see you.”

Phillips smiles at him. They’ve gotten along the few timesthey’ve interacted. “Steve. Are you enjoying the party?”

He nods. “You’ve got a beautiful house. It’s so warm andfestive.”

“I like all the Christmas trees,” the little girl saysproudly. “There are eight in the house this year because I’m eight years oldthis year,” she tells him.

“Wow! You must be very special to get as many Christmas treesas your age,” Steve tells the girl who grins at him. “Which one is yourfavorite?”

She stands up from the seat and bounces on her heels thenpoints below past the ledge that looks down at the first floor. There in themiddle of the large dining room is the largest Christmas tree in the place.

“The big, big one! How tall was it again Grandpa Phillips?”

The man chuckles. “Sixteen footer. The tallest we’ve everhad you my girl.”

She grins at him. And the sight is a wonder to Steve who hasnever quite witnessed Phillips act so soft. It’s sweet. “We’re reading aChristmas Carol. Do you know it?” The girl asks Steve.

“Oh yes! I know it well. My mom and I used to read it everyChristmas together.”

“Used to? You don’t like to read it anymore?”

He hesitates. “Oh no I would. I do. Except, my mom… She uhpassed away a few years ago. I still think of her every time I read it though.”He hopes that’s not too heavy for an eight year old.

The girl’s eyes widen and she nods very seriously. Then she grinswidely at him again and jumps up from the bench. “Well then you can read itwith me! I’m a very good reader for my age.”

Phillips laughs. “Yes you are Maggie girl. But I’m sureSteve is interested in getting back to the party darling.”

He’s about to retort when Phillips’ wife rushes over. “Thereyou two are,” she starts. “Honey, I know you asked not to be bothered but Zimmermangroup has arrived and there’s the toast to be given.”

Phillips and his wife exchange a look while Maggie flipspages in her book.

“I’d be happy to keep Maggie company,” he finds himselfoffering. “She did promise me we could read a Christmas Carol together.”

“Oh that would be lovely! You’re Steve yes? Steve Rogers?”Phillips’ wife asks with a bright, relieved smile.

“Are you sure Steve?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be back in half an hour Maggie my girl, okay? Youthink you can entertain Steve here for that long?”

The girl nods and shoves the book into Steve’s hand. “Is yourname short for anything Steve?” she asks him once the Phillips’ are gone.

He laughs. He likes how bold the girl is. “It’s short forSteven, but no one really calls me that.”

“My name is short for Margaret. Margaret Jr. to be exact,” shetells him with a smile.

Steve freezes for a moment. Can she really be Peggy’s daughter?Had he really never known that Peggy was a mother? He panics as he tries to rememberif she had every told him that information before. But he doesn’t have muchtime to ponder it as the girl demands he help do the voices. So he findshimself crying out “Bah Humbug” at increasingly dramatic tones once he findsMaggie finds it hilarious. Her little sweet giggles are infectious. So theyread, and occasionally Maggie will stop to ask questions about a hard word, orwhat he thinks of Scrooge, or to tell him what she wants for Christmas. He losestrack of time.

It’s definitely more than a half hour that’s passed whenfootsteps approach them. It’s a wild-eyed Peggy and she seems at a loss forwords.

“There you are my darling!” Peggy calls out, and Maggierushes towards her in a massive hug.

“Steve and I were reading together,” she tells Peggy. He noticesPeggy is staring at him.

Before he can say anything or explain, a second womanapproaches.

“Mommy!” Maggie cries out and rushes for the other woman.

“Hiya Margaret my baby girl. Did you have fun at GrandpaPhillips’ party? Oh Peggy I can’t thank you enough again. Wait who is this?”

Peggy, who had still been staring peculiarly at Steve,clears her throat. “Sorry, Angie. This is Steve. Steve Rogers. Steve this is mybest friend Angie.”

“Ohhhh!” Angie grins and throws Peggy a wink. “Steve Rogershuh?”

Peggy ignores her. “Steve was very generous enough to sitwith Margaret.”

Little Margaret bounces on her toes excitedly. “Mommy! Hisname is short for Steven. Did you know that? Steven.” She repeats his full nameas if enjoying the sound of it. It makes him smile. “And he does really goodvoices. Almost as good as yours mommy.”

“Now that’s a high compliment from my baby girl,” Angietells him, this time winking at him.

“That big of a compliment huh? Well I’m honored,” he tellsMaggie.

“Baby tell Peggy and Steve goodnight, it’s way past your bedtimenow.”

She hugs Peggy first, but then Steve is surprised to findthe girl come rush over to hug him. “Thanks for being my friend Steve. Maybe wecan read together again next year.”

“You got it,” he swears, because how could he not?

He notices Angie shoot Peggy another look before the twodisappear. He then notices that Peggy is back to staring at him. And this timehe thinks he realizes what kind of a stare it is she’s giving him. He feels alittle warm in his suit all of a sudden. He needs a way to break the silence.

“I didn’t mean to turn you on,” he finds himself sayinghelplessly.

It’s the strangest, boldest statement coming from him. But onelook at Peggy’s face and he’s a helpless mess. Her stare is so pointed and fullof heat he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. Her interest is so open, and full of…he feels like a fool but he hopes he’s correct recognizing it as desire. Theway that she bites her lip, the way her pupils are dilated and how she keepstracking not only his face but lingering all over his body.

“I—“ he tries to backtrack but his mouth is so dry and hergaze only seems to grow darker, her tongue flicking out to wet her red lips andSteve is unable to breath. He swallows hard. Who is turning who on exactly?

He finally gets a chance to take a good long look at her,something he’s been dying to do all night. Her dress, a deep red that matchesher lipstick accentuates every curve in her body in a way that makes Steve’sbreaths a little quicker. He can’t stop looking her over. She is magnificent. Agoddess. And it makes him giddy, as her presence has always made him. He wantsto feel the fabric of her dress, wants to see if it’s soft or silky.

“Oh you weren’t, were you?” she asks, her voice laced with disbeliefand amusement. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t get dressed in that well-tailoredtux and choose a red tie and pocket square?”

He gulps at the way she looks him over once more. “Well youmentioned you were going to wear red… so…”

“So you took it upon yourself to remember that fact and considerit when getting dressed.”

She looks so pleased that he’s confused for a moment. Ofcourse he listened to her. And if she was going to wear red why wouldn’t hewant to match her?

“And then you didn’t just so gracefully offer to reprievePhillips and watch my beloved Goddaughter and have her so enjoy your companyshe now calls you her friend?”

He clears his throat. “She’s a great kid. I didn’t know shewas your Goddaughter.”

Peggy takes a step closer. “You do realize that only makes youeven more attractive?” Her voice is lower and deeper and she’s close enough nowthat he could count every one of her eyelashes.

He licks his lips. “I um… Well… For a while there I thought shewas your kid. And didn’t know if I had forgotten that you told me you had adaughter.”

She laughs, the sound still low that it leaves him longing anddesperately he wants to lean into her, breathe her in.

“That wouldn’t be because Thompson was gossiping huh?”

He freezes. “How did you know about that?”

“Jarvis overhead him at the bar. He told me you gave him atongue-lashing of spectacular proportions.” He can only shrug. “So you can’timagine that a well-dressed man that I was already fond of, not only deftly defendedmy honor without making it about me, but spent time at a company Christmasparty making Maggie giggle uncontrollably.”

She’s standing so close, as close as he had fantasized abouthappening at this party.

“I…” He bows his head. He wants to believe her, wants to believethat any of that would make him attractive in her eyes. But she’s Peggy and asuperstar in her own right, and she’s oh so pretty he could cry. “If you likethat sort of thing,” he mumbles.

“I do,” she murmurs, tilting her head, her left hand coming upto press against his jaw. He can feel her body against his. “Now kiss mealready.”

There’s no refuting that. He flicks his gaze down at her,the adoring smile, her wide pupils. He places both hands on the back of herneck and kisses her hard, hard enough to make her gasp. The hand at his jawwanders up and cards through his hair. And oh he has never kissed anyone quitelike this. Full of fireworks and wonder and longing for more and more and more.She presses herself closer and they don’t stop kissing. He never ever wants tostop.

Eventually they part, both gasping and catching theirbreaths.

“Well…” she starts, still steadying her breathing, handsstill tracing over his face and neck, “I really thought we were going to needmistletoe to get you to kiss me tonight.”

He grins and pulls her in for another kiss.

[jojinx]

Heaven is Hell with Baby Blues Ch. 5

Chris Evans x OC Olivia Ransom

Words: 3k

Warnings: 18+, aggressive Chris, light DD/lg, mature content, daddy kink, alcohol consumption

**Warnings of insinuation of mature content**

Want to see more of Chris and Olivia? 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

A/N: I know I didn’t post for a few days, but I was feeling a bit anxious about my writing if I’m being honest. I have so much fun doing it but sometimes it just feels like I get lost in my own head and forget to be okay with it not being perfect, which I’m sure is very common with anything you feel love towards. Regardless, here is chapter 5 and I’m excited for you all to read it :)  I hope you enjoy it and as always suggestions welcome!

Series Summary: Olivia is a career driven woman who works for a big shot movie studio as a writer, she indulges in life’s pleasures and takes great pride in doing whatever and whoever she likes. Living with her best friend Poppy, Olivia is ambitious and has an appetite for the unconventional. She is living the high life until there is a shift in the dynamic of her friend trio. This pushes Olivia to find comfort in the only way that she knows how; in the arms of a tall bearded stranger with some killer baby blues. The only thing wrong is that she can't seem to shake the feeling that she knows him from somewhere...

                                                Chapter 5

I slowly woke up out of what could be considered the absolute best nap I had ever had. I languidly stretched, pointing my toes; hands reaching for the sky trying to get my body to wake up. It wasn’t until I went to scrub my eyes with my hand that I realized I was still wearing what was left of my black eye makeup…and that it was still dark in the room where I was currently laying completely naked. The events of the night hit me like a train careening off the tracks. I fell asleep. Fuck. I passed out. How could this have happened?

I slowly reached my left hand over to the other side of the monstrous bed, half expecting it to be empty. No such luck. My hand hit a huge, hard, and warm bicep, and my brain immediately started firing on all cylinders. I had to get out of here. I had to go before he woke up. Something that would’ve been a hell of a lot easier had I not passed out. Fuck.

I slowly turned my head to the gorgeous, bearded, brunette man beside me who took up the majority of what could only be a California king sized bed. He lay there sprawled out, sleeping peacefully, long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, pouty pink lips slightly parted, huge arm stretched off the side of the bed, letting out a soft snore. I had to go. Now. This man lying next to me was dangerous to say the least. Tall, dark, handsome and nothing but raw power. Men like this were the men I avoided, not for lack of fun – believe me, there was plenty of fun to be had- but because of the chaotic nature of these types of dynamics.

I sat up, realizing that my leg was laying on top of his, and pulled it off him as slowly as I could. I brought my legs up to my chest to swing them over the bed, when I felt a sweet ache and tenderness in my lady bits. Flashbacks immediately hit me, being tied up, him spanking me until I was putty in his hands, being made to… oh god, I had to go.

I slowly lowered my feet one at a time to the soft rug that stretched out from under the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. Looking back at him, I tiptoed to the front of the bed crouching down to grab my heels and jeans, when my legs spasmed not being able to hold my weight. I went down with a soft thud and a squeak onto a pile of black which I could only assume was his dress shirt from the night before. I glanced up at my mystery stranger, making sure he hadn’t moved and got up onto my knees to make my way to the door.

“Hmmm, and where might you be off to in such a rush?” said a husky voice, gravelly with sleep.

I froze. Completely naked, heels and jeans in my hands, looking like a crazy person I was sure. I stood up straight on shaky legs, something he found quite funny.

“Now, what I don’t understand is why you’re leaving without giving me a proper goodbye.” He chuckled. “Those legs of yours don’t look to be up to the challenge of walking you all the way to the door.”

I turned slowly on my wobbly legs, hoping he didn’t see just how unsteady I truly was. I straightened my back and stood up as straight as the ach in between my legs would allow.

“I just figured I’d make it easier for the both of us. I mean we had a great time, don’t get me wrong, but the alcohols’ gone, my nap rejuvenated me and inspired me to take my ass home.” I said, trying to sound matter of fact, and direct, ignoring the tremor in my voice.

“And all without saying goodbye to me.” He tsked, sitting up in bed. He slowly moved his legs off the side to stand letting the white sheet fall off him, revealing first his strong thighs and then his firm ass. God, I could bounce a quarter off that behind. Once he was at his full height, the sheet dropped completely from his hips, showcasing his breathtaking…assets. I was embarrassed to admit that even with the ache prominently reminding me that I should head home, I felt myself clench for him. My body remembering all the wicked things he knew how to do with that mouth, with those hands…. That co- No! Oh my god, I was like a horny teenager.

He walked toward me, body on full display. He stood directly in front of me, and without breaking eye contact slowly grabbed both my heels and jeans from my hands placing them on a chair near the corner of the room. I couldn’t move. Did he want to have sex again? Did I want to have sex again? Jesus.

Once my shoes and jeans were safely on the chair, he leaned down and reached behind me coming up with a pile of black fabric in his hands. He held it out, making sense of the bundle and once organized he held it open up to my back.

“Put this on.” It was a command, not a request. Normally, I am not the type of woman anyone commands, not without some well-established rules first at the very least, but for some reason his tone held a finality to it. Like arguing would only waste time because he was the one in charge in this room. I obediently slipped my arms into the much too large black dress shirt pulling it closed over my naked body, enjoying the scent of cologne that lingered on the fabric. He came around and moved my arms from their crossed position over my chest, taking each button between his large fingers and securing them. Once he was satisfied with the number of buttons that were done up, he looked up at me. Baby blue meeting chocolate brown.

“Come back to bed.” He said softly, not an order this time; a request. Something in his eyes told me to listen, something pushed me to want to stay, all my earlier escape plans forgotten.

“Okay.” I replied softly, looking up at him through my lashes, my nerves coming through my trembling reply. I didn’t know what to make of what he’d asked of me; all I knew was that one look into those liquid blue eyes and I wanted nothing more than to give him anything and everything he wanted. This is where the danger lay in these dynamics. This is where I had to be careful, guarded. If I wasn’t careful, tall, dark, and horny would chew me up and spit me right back out again leaving me to pick up all my broken pieces.

I awoke to sunlight beaming in through a sliver between the dark curtains, slowly getting my bearings; squinting my eyes open. I went to roll over and get the sun out of my eye when I realized that I was caged in my two massive arms. The more I became aware of my body, the more I realized that I was pressed against what could only be the blue-eyed stranger form the night before. His face was pressed against my hair, letting me hear soft snores as he breathed. I know I should leave, take advantage of him being out cold and sneak off, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I found my curiosity peaked, and I wanted to get a feel for the man who was able to fuck me into oblivion and also cuddle me this tightly.

I attempted to turn over in his arms to look at his face, when I felt him stir behind me. With a deep groan he turned over onto his back, pulling me with him. Before I could react, a loud squeal left my lips, effectively causing a low chuckle from under me. I lay there, a little taken aback by his easy reaction.

“Good morning to you too, Bambi.” I said in a deep baritone voice. “I was wondering if you’d be here when I woke up.”

“Well it’s kind of difficult to escape when you’re being held hostage by a giant.” I grumbled, trying to push his arms from around me to get up.

I was rewarded with a deep laugh from the giant himself. I couldn’t help but smile as I pushed against his arms. I managed to get free and hop up onto my feet turning to face him in the process, when I wobbled on my still unsteady legs, only causing him to laugh all the more. I was beginning to get annoyed. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t stand properly, something that I was pretty happy about, albeit a little annoyed.

Reaching out to steady myself on the big bed, I finally looked up at him in the morning light. My heart stopped.

“Are you fucking KIDDING me?!” I all but screeched at his face, pulling the white sheet that had been covering us off the bed to hide my bare breasts from him.

“What?” He quickly asked, alarm laced in his tone as he reached for me. “Are you okay, what is it?”

I pulled back, stumbling over the sheet, like he was made of lava. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. The beard, the eyes, the biceps, the pecs… Captain FUCKING America was currently lying naked in bed. Naked. Captain America. Bed. I frantically looked around, anxiety gripping my heart. Was I on some hidden camera show?

“You-you’re-but-Evans-Chris-FUCK!” I finally managed to sputter in between heaving breaths looking into his worried blue eyes.

He closed his eyes and threw his head back as an almost hysterical laugh broke from his chest. It looked like he was struggling to breath when his right hand came up and grabbed his chest. I could see tears streaming down his temples as he fell backwards onto the bed, clearly amused by my reaction to our situation.

“If you don’t stop laughing, I’m going to come over there and smother you!” I fumed. I couldn’t believe this jackass. I couldn’t believe that I was too drunk to realize I dragged Chris fucking Evans out of a club. I was embarrassed, and I have to say a little proud. Drunk me kicked ass.

“Holy shit…” He said, attempting to catch his breath. “I can’t believe it took you this long to notice!” Again, he broke down into a fit of laughter. “We had sex for like 4 hours!”

I stood there with my lips pressed tightly together, wanting to be furious but failing miserably. His laugh was contagious; I felt a bubble of laughter sneak its way up my throat. The more I thought about it, the harder I laughed. The harder I laughed, the more my legs shook. I fell onto the bed in a fit of giggles as the night’s events flashed in my mind. I had to stop drinking with Poppy.

We both managed to calm down enough to catch our breath. I wiped the tears from my eyes as I looked over at him only to find him already staring at me with a grin on his face.

“I just can’t believe I was so out of it that I didn’t realize I took home Captain America.” I said, shaking my head, as a few laughs spilled from me.

“Yeah well, tequila will do that to you.” He laughed with twinkle in his eye. “Can’t say I’ve ever had that happen to me before, though. So, you’re definitely a first for me.”

“I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or to be concerned.” I half groaned into my hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever woken up next to a celebrity before, so you’re definitely a first for me, too.”

I realized that I didn’t even know what time it was, I sat up looking around at the disaster that was at the foot of the bed. His cllothes strewn everywhere, shoes scattered around, and what looked like a dark tie laying at the top the chaos. My cheeks burned with the memories of the night before. Attempting to not look like an obsessive crazy person, I avoided eye contact so he couldn’t see the embarrassment on my face.

“Are you all right?” Chris asked from his side of the bed, leaning up on his elbows to get a view of my face.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” I replied with a nervous chuckle. “I’m just trying to make sense of the chaos on the floor so I can find my clothes.” I popped onto my knees and leaned over the end of the bed, mindlessly pushing my bare ass in the air.

“Hmm, well yes you are.” Came a low reply as I felt a large hand on my ass. I was caught so off guard that I jumped forward, nearly falling off the bed causing him to lean forward and catch me just in time to stop me from toppling headfirst off the edge.

“Might wanna be more careful there, short stuff.” He laughed, pulling me back into a sitting position. “Your jeans and shoes are on the chair over there.” He gestured to the corner of the room.

I quickly slid out of his grasp, managing to find my jeans and heels just where he’d said, and what was left of my panties buried under his clothes. Bummer, I liked those.

“Have you seen my top?” I asked without turning around. I didn’t trust myself to look at him. I ran the risk of either reacting like a crazy person or getting pulled into bed again, and it was time to go. I had never stayed this long with a one-night stand. Not that this was just any one-night stand, but still. I was always out before morning, mainly because this part was always awkward and him being who he was just made it all the more nerve wracking.

“I think we dropped it somewhere by the front door. Here, let me go look.” He got up out of bed and made his very naked way out the bedroom door. All I could do was stare at his perfectly formed ass as he walked away not giving a second thought to being completely naked. Incredible how he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and how when he walked the only thing that moved was his… package. I quickly snapped out of it, slipping into my jeans and heels. The night before rearing its head as I managed to stand up straight. All the dancing and after party antics really took a toll on my poor feet and I couldn’t wait to get out of these heels and into some fuzzy socks.

Thinking of fuzzy socks reminded me of home and that reminded me of Poppy, I didn’t even know where to begin looking for my clutch. I walked out of the bedroom and into the massive living room, arms covering my bare breasts. Chris was nowhere to be found when I heard him yell from what I could only be the kitchen.

“Found it!” He triumphantly cried holding my sparkly top in his hand. “Somehow it landed by the entrance of the kitchen.” He said with a smirk when he caught sight of me walking over to him.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the grin on his face. This was by far the weirdest day of my entire life. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. Here I was, topless in the penthouse suite of an undoubtedly expensive hotel, standing in front of Captain America himself, topless while he was completely naked holding my top from the night prior.

“I’d say you were my hero, but you’re the reason I lost it to begin with.” I laughed as I grabbed my top back. I made sense of the fabric and then slid it on, tying the strings behind my neck and back, finally covering my top half. I turned to walk to the couch where somehow my clutch had landed and started to go through it in the hopes that my phone still had charge.

“So, since you’re dressed, I’m assuming you plan on leaving.” Chris said. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted breakfast before you left. I’m starving and I was kind of hoping you wanted to stick around for some after breakfast fun.”

I was in the middle of unlocking my phone when I finally registered what he’d said to me. I looked up with raised eyebrows, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

“You want me to have breakfast with you?” I asked in a questioning tone.

“I want you to have breakfast with me.” He nodded. “And then maybe be desert.” He finished with a panty dropping smirk. “Only if you want to of course. We had fun yesterday and I figured we should take advantage since we’re both here anyway.” He finished, crossing his large arms across his chest accentuating his muscled upper body, reminding me that he still had no clothes on.

I couldn’t believe my ears. He wanted to have breakfast. And then more sex. I was at a loss, I knew I should be jumping for joy, but I was suspicious to say the least. But I was a woman, and I had needs. Something that I knew Mr. Evans could take care of for me, which clouded my judgement to say the least.

“Fine, I’ll stay for breakfast…” I started, trailing off.

“I sense an ‘if’ coming.” He chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at me.

“IF,” I confirmed, “you agree to that including an Oreo milkshake… and you let me be on top.” I replied with a raised eyebrow. Both his eyebrows shot up at my requests, his right hand coming up to his mouth and tapping as if in consideration.

“The Oreo milkshake I can do… but you’ll have to be an extra good girl if you want to be on top.” He pinned me with his steel blue gaze and I knew today was about to get a little more interesting.

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I hope you enjoyed chapter 5! This story is kind of taking on a life of its own, and it's getting exciting to see these two interact.

As always, suggestions and feedback is always welcome! 

See you in chapter 6 :)

[dungeons-and-divination]

Battle Smith ARTIFICER - Forest GNOME - Inheritor

I think I failed to mention till now that I pick class, race and background with a random generator. I usually read a little bit about them all just so they’re fresh in my mind and I can properly focus on them while I’m getting my deck ready. Then I pick one card at a time and I take very slim notes with impulsive feedback that I get from the energy of the deck. Once I have all six, I sit down to do a complete analysis and, if the need arise, draw more tarots to clear things out a bit. For the backstory, I have good old Xanathar to help with the randomness of a dice roll on things I can’t actually gather from the read, but mostly after one or two rolls, things build naturally on their own and I have enough elements for it. And after that very long intro nobdy asked for, I’ll leave you to this cutey pie.

Name: Hadwin Ahlers (35yo)

TAROTS

Mind: Strength (reversed) Such a good card for the mind of a character that I already knew was gonna end up having a high intelligence. It really is a dead give away of Hadwin big brain; he already has the knowledge to conquer whatever he puts his mind into, he’s just crippled by the lack of confidence in his own abilities. In a sense, his mind is both is best assent and is worst enemy. Because every time he feels inadequate or reconsider his decisions, he’s just ignoring that part of his brain that’s telling him that he know the solution to the problem and that he’s not being cocky, he’s just that smart!

Body: The Chariot (upright) Despite his doubts, Hadwin is still the kind of ambitious person that never shies away from hard work. He’s very much convinced that the key to achieve perfection is to try again and again till you succeed. Even when he feels like a failure, you can bet everything you own that he will not give up on what he’s trying to achive till he actually does that thing. That the Chariot was in “body” had to immediately give this strong feeling of him travelling somewhere and somehow, so I stayed on the lookout for signs that hinted at that in other aspects of the read as well.

Spirit: Page of pentacles (reversed) While this tarot might seem as contrasting with the Chariot, it’s actually very telling that it’s what I drew for “spirit”.To me it just proves that Hadwin is willing to put a lot of work into whatever he’s doing, but on a deeper level he’s actually lost. Sure, his mind is always busy on little project, like he’s a busy bee. But he never really stopped to figure out what he wants to achieve with all of that hard work. It also brings me back to that sense of inadequacy, that makes him sometimes question himself to the point of making rush or foolish decisions. At the core of it all, I see him as someone that believes his worth is just in how smart others perceive him as, and that’s why Hadwin works so hard despite having no clue what he himself actually is supposed to do with that gifted mind. He just knows that people always had expectation because of it and he somehow have to be worth it of their praises.

Past: Six of wands (upright) Well, I was just done talking about expectations, and praises, so of course, here it is, a past filled with them in his childhood and teenage years. I can absolutely picture him being one of those brilliant kids with lots of potential that all the adults around him encouraged to try and cultivate. And nobody really knows the weight those words have on Hadwin, while he slowly is weighted more and more down by them. Really, with such an important card of success, it’s really not a surprise that Hadwin really struggles with his self-esteem. For sure, that “spirit” card now seems VERY appropriate.

Present: Six of swords (upright) I’m happy to see that I had the right feeling with the Chariot about travelling somewhere, cause, here it again! This one is actually more of an escape card actually, but I think that travelling is the very best way to run from whatever is the problem that’s afflicting you. So, it’s pretty much obvious to me that Hadwin is trying to leave his troubling times behind. This tarot also has this undertone of healing and moving forward, it speaks of an inner growth, which is perfectly in tune with that. He probably wanted to leave his past behind, forget the expectation and start to use his abilities more for himself than for anyone else. This usually requires some spiritual guidance of some kind, but in this case I’m almost tempted to think that it’s losing his usual guide that brings calm and a new perceptive to him. Maybe it’s that hint of healing? It might be that at this point I was influenced by my preconception on this, cause I already felt by now that he was gonna lose his mentor... 

Future: Ten of pentacles (reversed) Well, this is very much on the nose. Of course there was gonna be a tarot related to the inheritance. Still, I feel a dispute of some kind because of it, I feel it with the lost family of the mentor, but it’s not a given since this is really up to what a DM might work up with this backstory. Not much else I could add to that, really then. What I could give is my usual suggestion on how to play the character on the future card, even if I think the “spirit” explanation was enough so… I do suggest though to think of little special moments related to the inheritance and the mentor that gave it to Hadwin, and every now and then to sprinkle them in the interaction with other people. Just to really make it something special, so that if it really ends up being used as a hook, it hits hard as a moment in game when the “conflict” comes up.

FULL BACKSTORY

Hadwin is the older son of a couple of drifters that used to live of trade and seasonal work. Despite the very dreary life-style of the very early years of Hadwin’s life, his father, Nester, decided that the family needed to become more stable and they moved into a large city after the third pregnancy of his mother, Quandha. It was obviously a good choice, because the life on the move was way too dangerous for both Hadwin, his two brothers, Xodash and Thamil, and his two sisters, Dapha and Ampash. His mother was mostly busy with being a housewife, but in her free time she kept weaving fabric to sell to the local market like she used to do when they traveled; his father mostly worked at the docks, where his silver tongue sometimes put Nester into trouble and other times was useful for getting work of dubious morals. Even in his early childhood years, Hadwin was always very bright;for one, he liked to build stuff with scraps he found around, but Quandha noticed his fascination with people that had magical abilities too. For this reason Nester decided to pay for the most expensive tuition he could afford for his son at the time (much to his brothers and sisters jealousy), in the hopes that he would get noticed by someone that could maybe one day take him as their apprentice. Despite it all, at the end of the day it was Nester’s silver tongue that allowed Hadwin to become the apprentice of Master Zyphon Volso. Zyphon (a human on the older side), had been travelling mostly alone for years, but as old as he was getting, he was in need of somewhat of a page to take care of the menial things during his travels. In exchange for Hadwin's services, Zyphon promised Nester that he would teach his son what he knew. Hadwin left his family and started following Master Volso in his travels. He mostly took care of menial things, but since he was the son of drifters, he had kind of a knack for tracking and hunting food for them both when they were in the middle of nowhere. There were times when Master Volso would also leave him alone, dismissing Hadwin with rushed excuses; most of those times he would be gone for two or three days, before coming back and pretending like nothing happened. One of those times, after a sudden grumble of “there’s something of the utmost importance I need to deal with”, he left and never came back. The only thing left behind of Master Volso was his precious book with all of the notes of his research, something Hadwin knew Master Volso had never left behind before. Curiosity got the best of him and Hadwin checked the book that had always been inaccessible to him: inside of it there was a note to him. “Hadwin, if I don’t come back in four days, I’m dead. I leave you this as my legacy. I know you can figure out a solution. Make me proud. Zyphon.”. The only problem is that Hadwin really has no fucking clue of what 90% of what is written and drawn inside the book is supposed to mean. But his Master wants him to “make him proud” and that’s exactly what he wants to do!

SUGGESTION CORNER

Suggested features Ability scores: High Dexterity and Intelligence, Low Strength or Wisdom. Skill proficiencies: Arcana, History, Investigation. Musical instrument proficiencies: any kind of percussion to your choice or some kind of flute. Artisan’s tool proficiencies: cook’s utensils. Others: as mentioned before, I suggest the Inheritance from his background to be a “book of projects” his teacher was working on. He doesn’t understand much of it at first, but with time things can change.

Suggested Characteristics Trait: I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick. Ideal: I think often no plan survives contact with reality. Easier to dive in and deal with the consequences. Bond: I owe my teacher everything for forging me into the person I am today. Flaw: I am easily distracted by the promise of a good time.

[theateared]

Don’t Let Me Go. ❜

Summary:  Don’t underestimate a father’s rage.

    Don’t touch my children.  Don’t you dare touch my children.

    Though parenthood was a fleeting point in a lye’s life, it was one that Edgar embraced wholly. In the short time he had a litter to look after and raise, he allowed himself the small pleasure of being a father.  It was a role that he revelled in almost as much as he did his Alpha status;  there was seldom anything more rewarding than being able to morph tiny, clueless creatures into his own image.  The only thing he would change was the fact that they left him so soon.

    He barely hauled Hana aside as an arrow sailed over their heads.  It hit the trunk of a nearby tree with a harsh twang, end quivering like a jackhammer.  The tiny creature hit the floor, barely landing on her feet as she skidded to a stop some distance away from her mother’s legs.  She was the smallest of the batch, and Edgar would be the first to admit that he was babying her somewhat.  She was smaller than normal, so frail and cute…  he couldn’t help but favour her.

    She looked back at him with her large eyes, torn between running away and staying beside her father.  There was no denying that she was a daddy’s girl  -  or as close to one as she could be.  Though lyes didn’t form meaningful relationships with their parents, they certainly had preferences when it came to who dealt with them.  Her father was cool,  scary and tough, and the boss of the group.  To be in his good graces was most definitely a plus.  Even at her young age, her conniving nature was beginning to rear its head.

    I do what’s best for me.  That’s what papa says to do always.

    She flinched as Edgar reared back, spitting venom harshly in the direction the weapon had come.  It hit the floor with an audible tss, his teeth bared in a fierce snarl.  In a voice unlike anything she had heard him use before:   “Go.”

    Her brothers and sisters were already in tow, bundled around their mothers’ feet like an obedient gaggle of ducklings, but she hesitated.  Don’t let me go, papa.  Despite her mother demanding her attention, Hana’s stare lingered on her father.  He looked angry, face contorted into a hateful sneer as he snapped and spat.  I can stay.  I can fight, just like you taught me to. However, when she took a step closer to him, she reeled right back when he regaled her with a guttural:   “Go with your mother, now.”

    His tenacity scared her badly.  She turned tail almost immediately, whimpering quietly as she hastily followed her siblings into the undergrowth.  Their mother was last to go, sparing Edgar but a cautionary:   “What are you going to do, Alpha?”

    She watched as his strong tail intercepted an arrow with clean precision, appendage snapping it in two.  Before hacking poison once more, he responded with an ominous:   “I will deal with it.”

    He was relieved when he heard his temporary mate follow after their offspring, leaving him alone with the hunters that were hellbent on skinning him alive.  Bree wasn’t somebody he held any affection for whatsoever.  They barely even spoke outside of him giving her orders.  However, while she was the mother of his children, she was the most important member of the creed.  When they left in a month’s time, they would go back to being strangers.

    Heat cycles make me do some questionable things.  And people.

    The Alpha hissed as an arrow skirted narrowly past him.  It clipped through his fur, opening a superficial cut.  It stung horribly despite being a minor wound  -  and it only fed his rage.

    I’ve had enough.  This man needs to die.

    As the ambitious hunter reloaded his crossbow, Edgar leapt down to the ground, landing cleanly on all fours.  As soon as he realigned his vision, the lye caught his eye, a terrible pressure beginning to build in his head as he concentrated hard.

    I could tear your throat out.  I could make your death quick and simple, but you tried to harm my children.

    His eyes lit up like windows on a sleeping street, sudden and harsh, and his head slowly began to tilt to one side until it rested almost on a ninety degree angle.  The man was beginning to go slack, until his crossbow eventually slipped from his hands and onto the floor.  His eyes were now glowing hollows too, brightening in tandem with the lye’s as his tail swatted from side to side like an irritated cat’s.  When he was sure he had the man properly in his grasp, it too fell deathly still.

    A wave of heat rolled over him as he thought harder and harder about how he wanted the man to die.  A flurry of unpleasant images began to flit through his head, brain cycling through crime scene photographs as if they were scenes in a movie.  Blood.  I want blood.  I want your heart in my hands.  I want your neck split wide like a fruit sliced in half, blood, blood, blood, mixed with dirt, and gravestone, and agony--

    He hadn’t realised that the man had begun to scream until he witnessed him flailing.  It looked as if he was trying to swat a poisonous insect away, hollering at the top of his lungs like a madman, eyes flickering like broken christmas lights.

    My kin.  My children.  My Augustus--

    “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SHOWING ME?”   It was a harrowing scream, one so charged and maddening that Edgar almost lost concentration.  My head…  feels so full.  As if my anger has manifested into a cancer.  Do you feel that too, you worthless worm?  Are you suffering the cancer too?  Does it make your head split?  Is it tunnelling through your insides so painfully that you feel you could die?  Then die.  DIE.

    Blood spattered across his face as the wailing hunter impaled his neck with his own weapon, eyes flashing a stark white for a final time before they returned to normal.  By then, it was already too late.  His arms moved on their own accord long after he was fatally impaired, shafting the arrow in and out of the gaping hole before he finally fell forward.  His body resembled a plate of jelly, limbs tumbling over one another as he slumped to the ground.  Blood began to pool around his lifeless form like excess icing.  Only when the growing puddle had reached his paw did Edgar think to stop.

    As soon as he stopped applying that pressure, Edgar felt the blood rush to his head, prompting him to sit down before he could fall.  Between his temples, a chronic headache was blossoming, but all he could feel was a deep sense of satisfaction.  You’re dead and gone without anybody knowing, and all because you made eye contact with me.  I didn’t even need to touch you to end your miserable life.

    While nobody was there to see it, the Alpha slumped to the floor.  The ringing in his head felt like electricity, eyes vibrating in their sockets, but all he could focus on was the triumph rising like fire in his gut.  He’d catch up with Bree later.  I win.  You lose.  As it should be.

[thesinglesjukebox]

LADY GAGA - STUPID LOVE

[6.42]

Far from "Shallow" now...

Brad Shoup: Thudding sixteenths and vocal chop straight out of a Todd Edwards remix... it's always great when she visits. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: It must be exhausting to be Lady Gaga. Here's a short list of her accomplishments since 2013's ARTPOP: winning a Grammy for a jazz duets album, winning a Golden Globe for her role in American Horror Story, headlining the Super Bowl, co-hosting arguably the best Met Gala in years, winning an Oscar for A Star is Born, getting a number one Billboard single from the soundtrack, launching a vegan make-up line, and starring in a Las Vegas residency. And yet, the dominant critical narrative has still essentially been: Gaga is absent from pop music. (For comparison, Katy Perry has been a judge on American Idol.) Of course, her self-mythologizing is partially to blame for this, but it's unclear what could have possibly satisfied her critics and die-hard fans outside of re-reinventing music à la 2010. So what's her move given the weight of the world's impossible expectations? To make simple, unpretentious pop music on her own terms. In a recent Billboard interview, she laughed while stating, "I would like to put out music that a big chunk of the world will hear, and it will become a part of their daily lives, and make them happy every single day." My first reaction upon reading this was: yes, we should hold Gaga to a higher standard because she's Gaga, but how can we balance that with the potentially damaging effects for her mental health and sanity? So on "Stupid Love" when she sings, "Now it's time to free me from this chain/I gotta find that peace, is it too late?" I like to hope it's meta-commentary on her rediscovering the joy in her music and being, free of expectation. Gaga tracks are often described as "huge" or "epic", but none has ever so perfectly embodied "fun." I'm definitely excited about how this track sounds -- an ebullient return to her earliest disco pop roots, at a time when radio is dominated by trap -- but "Stupid Love" stands out to me because of her embrace of radical self-love. This is the Gaga that I've always loved -- and she's always been enough. [9]

Leah Isobel: The production filters back an entire decade's worth of Stefani's influence into a three-minute Fruit Gusher burst of tang, but the lyrics are decidedly forward-looking, all declarative statements of "now is the time!" bullshit. In the middle of this past/present/future time-play, as the beat drops out beneath her, she asserts the key line: "all I ever wanted was lahv." If it's a disappointingly shallow retcon for an artist whose initial breadth and ambition was the entire point, the promise of it lingers in my brain. After all, it's not too far from a similar pop megalomaniac realizing that she "traded fame for love without a second thought" about 20 years ago. That rich vein of popstar self-examination writ large is so suited to Gaga's talents as an artist -- a provocateur, fake-deep philosopher, musical theatre nerd, and hook-writing master all at once -- that I have listened to this song five times in a row pretty much every single day since it, uh, appeared on the internet. My paws are reluctantly up, Stef. Don't fuck it up. [7]

Jessica Doyle: Fun, and otherwise unremarkable. If you've been a Gaga fan for a while -- if you're invested in the narrative of this hardworking woman, who has been through downs and ups and downs and then ups again -- I imagine the fun is enhanced by a certain comfort and relief in seeing her have fun; in imagining her feeling strong and secure enough to release a fun song that doesn't have to upend anything. But I am a heartless, acontextual consumer, for whom the marginal cost of listening to something else is zero, and I miss "Bad Romance." [5]

Tobi Tella: For an artist who at her peak overstuffed everything with too many ideas, there's really not much happening here. It's loud and upbeat, sure, but the lyrics are barely the thread of a coherent song, and the production reminds everyone who wants "pure" pop to come back to be careful what they wish for. Maybe that A Star is Born "pop music bad guitar music good" cynicism rubbed off too much? [4]

Katherine St Asaph: Just when I thought Gaga was lost to the land of Real Music™, or worse, flailing attempts to be chill by the least chill performer in pop music (yes, including Taylor Swift), she goes and releases this, 50,000 firecrackers on a Eurovision stage. The thicket of hooks is packed, with Black Midi levels of referential density. The whole thing sounds like "Born This Way," which is to say it sounds like "Express Yourself"; there's a juddering sequencer out of "Do What U Want" (reminds me more of "Weekend" by Class Actress, but which is more likely to be the actual inspiration?) and a touch of, of all things, September's "Cry For You." Gaga fills every crevice of the song with singing, throaty and belty and huge: a relief after years of songs filled only with half-assed #vibes. If it feels frivolous against much of Born This Way and The Fame Monster and some of Artpop, and far less ambitious, it at least pulls her out of the "Shallow" piano muck. [7]

Vikram Joseph: Perhaps a stupid song about making stupid choices is the Lady Gaga lead single we both need and deserve in 2020. The battering-ram synths feel like running down a hill into a gale-force wind; the best thing about "Stupid Love" is that Gaga sounds like she's having a lot of fun, and by extension so are we. [7]

Alex Clifton: "Stupid Love," much like "Born This Way" before it, is ready-made for pride parades, grown from the same mystical lab that gave Lady Gaga her incredible melodic sensibilities. Unlike its predecessor, though, it has more euphoria in it, presumably because it's not making a political point. Gaga's more focused on having fun here, and you can tell. The verses aren't my favourite, but the chorus hits as an overwhelming rush of dopamine, and now I can't stop dancing in my computer chair. Between this and Dua Lipa's album, we're in for a hell of a good time for pop music this spring, and I am extremely excited. [7]

Thomas Inskeep: She was doing this better a decade ago. A lot better. [2]

Joshua Lu: The narrative surrounding "Stupid Love" regards it a return to the Pop Gaga that's been mostly absent since 2013: A revival if you're a fan, a regression if you're not. The issue with this narrative is that "Stupid Love" lacks any key similarities to the Gaga of yesteryear; the only real sonic link is how the bassline brings to mind the since-redacted "Do What U Want" beat. Instead we have something that's somehow not a Kygo song, with vocal chirps that got old last year, serviceable but clichéd hooks (the entire pre-chorus has all the charm of a Taio Cruz album track), remarkably basic lyrics filled with platitudes, and a title that has no bearing on anything in the song -- there's nothing lyrically or aurally stupid about anything here, and Gaga has shown a deep capacity to be stupid in her past pop works. In reality, what we have here isn't a return to anything, but rather the continued flagging of Gaga's desire to develop genuinely off-beat or interesting pop music, whether intentional or not. Gaga's talents as a vocalist elevate the song beyond the usual pop pap, but it's not nearly at the level I once hoped she could remain at. [6]

Alfred Soto: Kudos to Jamieson Cox for catching an obvious forebear: the rattling sequencer recalls 2013's forgotten "Do What U Want," which was all set to do some business until radio programmers remembered R. Kelly had been a menace for years. Amiably confusing lack of affect with simplicity, "Stupid Love" flexes its pop strength with the expectation that fans will admire it. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The synths pack a punch but they never quite get me to where I should be. I wanna feel desperation, exasperation -- that love is worth looking stupid for. All I get is a familiar, quasi-stoic performance that sounds like Gaga's doing some excellent karaoke. [4]

Kayla Beardslee: Sure, it's competent, but Gaga is capable of so much more. Many other blurbs will discuss the song's aggressive datedness and bland lyrics, but what really bothers me is that the two halves of "Stupid Love" -- the dramatic vocals and the unrelenting gallop of the synths -- don't fit together. Gaga is giving her all with those signature "laahv"s, but there's just not enough empty space left for her in the production. Her performance ends up laying flat on top of the track, adding nothing except a sense of laziness from her producers and engineers. [5]

Pedro João Santos: Serviceable Max Martin bopathon scams its way into my brain again -- no matter how direly in need of an incubator this whole structure is. Gaga's weakest lead single feeds you Kygo, threatens to ascend during "All I ever wanted was love", and still can't fight the aura of afterthought. [6]

Jibril Yassin: "Stupid Love" is a giddy rush of EDM-pop fun, but it's the first time experiencing a major Gaga single entirely devoid of surprises. Bracing yourself for a twist that never arrives or a strange turn of vocals rearing its head from nowhere, "Stupid Love" makes up for its unremarkableness with a masterclass in songwriting. What Lady Gaga hasn't forgotten how to do is translate the feeling of having your initial gut feelings completely validated. "Stupid Love" makes its magic in casting the act of love as necessary and dare I say it -- radical. [7]

Jackie Powell: On "Stupid Love" Lady Gaga achieved a corollary. By trying to put her healing process into simple poetry, she also created an accompanying sound that's comparable to an analgesic. The function of the track is to heal and liberate. (Truth be told, Little Monster or not, the song has helped me get out of bed in the morning.) Gaga's latest cut is packaged into a familiar formula, and that's part of the reason why this track serves as a formidable lead single and symbol for the upcoming Chromatica. The equation is one that mirrors the "best of" Stefani Germanotta. What's brilliant about "Stupid Love" is that its visual and lyrical messaging and surrounding sonic arrangement and melody bring what Little Monsters and casual music fans with a Gaga fascination expect. And that's okay. She has told Oprah that her goal now isn't just to shock people but rather to exude authenticity. She stirs elements from all of her pop eras into the most hearty and flavourful version of Gaga soup (and that does include Joanne contrary to popular belief.) Each ingredient works and is soluble. She tossed in the elements of the The Fame that made fans want to Just Dance and sprinkled some catchy Swedish-sounding pop melodies (Max Martin, hello!) and sung onomatopoeia from The Fame Monster, à la the "hey-ah, hey-ahs." A suspenseful build, uniquely potent and soaring vocals are ounces of Born This Way. Don't worry, ARTPOP is doused on this track not only in color, but in sound. There's a reason why that sped up "Do What U Want"-esque bassline works. There's a contrast between her bright vocal performance and the electronic bass' darkness. Joanne comes across in the allegorical concept which once again can be interpreted to reflect the current American experience. Music video director Daniel Askill confirmed that Gaga wanted to portray the "warring tribes as a metaphor for the state of the world today." So, Mother Monster is on a mission to introduce the world to her new brainchild, ever-developing ideologies and honest ways to examine life. "Stupid Love" isn't the end-all but merely the beginning. Paws up and welcome to Chromatica bitches. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: NOPE! WAIT. wait. This is actually a welcome back for... the bass, who is joined by his drumming sister, his synth bros and Lady Gaga, who has come here from the Make A Wish Foundation to take him around New York. They have a wonderful day together, with the synth bros getting their percussive background vocal girlfriend an NYPD hoodie, and the experience convinces Lady Gaga to make bright, happy pop music again! (The bass, in the midst of a happy dance, got hit by her limo and had to go back to the hospital.) [8]

Scott Mildenhall: Between its hyperventilating over-excitement and ever-exciting hyper-sincerity, Gaga seems to have finally created a pop emergency. The false alarm of "Applause" was overstuffed and underpowered, but "Stupid Love" redresses that balance by going harder and clearer, like a newly thawed cut from a cryogenically frozen, course-correcting Artpop Monster edition. Time might seem to have turned in on itself, but no: the greater lyrical directness arrives in a way that feels culminatory. The plainspokenness of that indelible "all I ever wanted was love" makes it almost an epitaph, grounding it in a present in which all experience has been lived, and all realisations are realised. Undeniably, Lady Gaga is not dead, but this is what she knows. [8]

Will Adams: I defended "The Cure" and lamented the immense pressure on Gaga to make every release the Next Big Thing, however even that soured when it turned out to be part of A Star Is Born's ~superficial pop~ world. So where to next, when she's caught between turgid rock balladry and ill-fitting trop-pop? On "Stupid Love," we get the best possible outcome: whizzing past Joanne, making a brief stop at Artpop but ultimately landing on the dazzling excess of Born This Way. Like any good synthpop number, the synths display a wide range of textures: they tunnel, they drill, they poof, they gleam. Gaga is more than willing to match their energy. Noteworthy, though, is that she takes a brief pause only on the pre-chorus's "all I ever wanted was love"; even the way the title scans it almost sounds like she could be singing "I want just to be loved." This is the essence of pop: amidst the big dumb fireworks display, a human message at the core. [7]

[wtf-hollywood]

My first post is a repost. Deal with it.

I wrote this months ago after seeing The Mummy. It was on my main, and I recently have been thinking about other movie rewrites and shit, so, hey, yet another blog.

Lets start with the mummy movie. The antagonist is fucking strong, but the protagonists are lame.

So we’re going to do better. We start by getting a restraining order against Tom Cruise, and a costumer who can do “Sexy, but empowering” for our Egyptian Princess. Then we strike out all references to Set, and instead use Apep, who is basically the evil god of ancient Egypt that these movies keep wanting. We spill some exposition in the mummification scene about how mummification was the ideal method of burial in ancient Egypt, and Ahmanet’s deal was specifically not mummification, but ritual execution and imprisonment, possibly handwaving historical inaccuracy in the law and order part by making it explicit that this whole “bound alive in bandages, put in a sealed sarcophagus, and submerged in mercury” thing was him basically taking his best guess at how to make it as hard as possible for her to come back.

Next, we make our protagonist an awesome archaeologist who isn’t a cis male. Like, maybe we go Lara Croft, but less “tomb raider” and more “properly trained archaeologist who does things by the book but cannot fucking wait to learn shit.” So she finds this site in Egypt, or we can keep the “why the hell is there Egyptian stuff all the fucking way out here!?” thing, whatever, but she finds the site and says “Ho-ly shit, this is a big fuck all prison for someone they didn’t want getting up. I cannot wait to crack it open and see who was such a big bad!” And we get a very speedy montage of her doing basic archaeology, then cut to her cracking open the sarcophagus with a notebook full of drawings and notes about the site next to her.

And I mean, otherwise, we can follow the majority of the 2017 movie outline. We just don’t bring in Prodigium, and we have better characters. And we have actors for any Egyptian characters that are at least vaguely ethnically correct.

Side benefit- we can have some seriously empowering ho yay between the archaeologist protag and the Egyptian princess. Maybe Ahmanet can take a living disguise for a limited time and uses that to try to get close to Archaeologist Chick and we get some very sweet GALS BEING PALS scenes before its revealed that this awesome person is actually the Egyptian princess who wants to unleash Apep on Earth. But would also really like to do that with said Archaeologist chick by her side.

Oh, and we finish up with Prodigium coming in during a mid-credits scene, because lets not fucking pretend we’re not trying to pull a Marvel deal. We could use Dorian Gray instead of Dr. Jekyll, too, because getting some canon bi representation on screen would be kinda cool. So, end of the Mummy, Ahmanet is dealt with, definitely sealed back up and not killed, because we’re establishing an antagonist-based franchise, here, and Archaeology Chick is aware of, but not part of, Prodigium.

Alternatively, we could kick the “Ambition is Evil” trope to the gutter, and let archaeology chick redeem Ahmanet through the power of “Look at this cool new world you could have power over without slaughtering people.” And lesbian cuddles.

For the second movie, we could go with a Creature From The Black Lagoon movie. I mean, Shape of Water just came out, and is essentially an iteration of that creature, but it’s Fox, not Universal, so whatever.

We’re going to keep the Brazilian setting of the ‘54 movie, but we’re going to make a concerted effort to have a primarily Latinx cast. In this version, however, Gillman is some manner of eldritch god. Worshipped by an indigenous tribe centuries ago, but left starved for faith since then. Hell, we’ll throw Western Europe under the bus they oh-so-richly-deserve-to-be-hit-by and say that European conquerors killed the tribe. So the god has been left in a semi-submerged temple for centuries. Alone. And bored.

Now some asshole American has showed up, paying locals to aid their expedition, looking for “aztec gold.” (Plenty of people tell them that Aztecs lived in Central America, and proceed to list off tribes that were located in what became Brazil until they realize the asshole isn’t listening.)

They find this previously completely unknown temple, and the American strides right the fuck in, while the locals are all talking about how important it is, and that they should call the local college, and so on. Then realize that if they don’t do something, Asshole American will strip the place of anything that might be valuable, and destroyed the rest through negligence, by the time archaeologists get there. We could put in a “Blink-And-You’ll-Miss-It” shout out to Asskicking Archaeologist Chick from The Mummy here for a bit of arc welding.

So the locals rush in to look for Asshole American. They carefully shuffle around, and eventually find him.

Or his corpse.

He’s in an obviously ceremonially important basin, with giant fucking gashes in him.

The locals of course decide that there’s some kind of dangerous animal in the temple, and they need to get out. And probably call someone.

This is where they find they are completely unable to find the exit, even though it didn’t seem that big, or that labyrinthine going in.

The movie then plays out like a bit of a slasher, a bit Aliens, a bit Haunted House, while the bored god makes sport of them. Maybe there could be a sort of Saw-like deal, where mostly they’re put in death traps that have an out. Those outs could be various things that strengthen the god, and maybe there’s one big one towards the end where the locals have managed to reunite, and the out is for them to worship the god.

You could even get some Designated Asshole Victims here, maybe through a B Plot about corporate exploitation of nature, or some cartel fucks. This allows the locals to be put in positions where someone has to die, but it doesn’t have to be them. The god doesn’t care who dies, they care that someone kills someone else in a ritual dedicated to him. Maybe one of the locals buys in early because they’re sympathetic to the god’s concerns about the natural world, and a bit radical, and it doesn’t take much for the god to goad them into slitting some corporate exec’s throat.

End of the movie, the locals escape. It’s a personal win. It’s the thing they care about, that they live. The god isn’t dealt with in anything even approaching a permanent fashion, but he’s not powerful enough to be anything more than a monster that haunts that temple. For now.

We could get a mid-credits scene that shows Prodigium monitoring the temple, but taking a “wait and see” approach to it. Maybe they actually care about the lives of the people who live around there and not ravaging the wilderness, and mention that going in would risk undue collateral damage.

There’s no reason you couldn’t make a good, faithful, adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I mean, you’d want to skip the part where Frankenstein’s Monster immolates himself after killing Victor, but otherwise, you could just do a straight adaptation.

But, lets say you want a new take.

Why not make it a love story?

Replace Ambitious Asshole Victor Frankenstein with a med student who flunked out after the death of their beloved. Med Student was already into some pretty experimental shit that the admins frowned upon, and Deceased Lover donated their body to science. Maybe Med Student’s friend sees Deceased Lover being brought in, and slips Med Student in to say their last good byes.

But Med Student has other ideas.

They steal Deceased Lover’s body, or at least their head, or brain, and maybe some stuff for the experimental gene therapy and tissue rejuvenation stuff they were looking at before flunking out.

Or hell, maybe Med Student convinces Friend to help. Actually, that’d be pretty cool, especially if Friend’s name is something that is just similar enough to Igor.

Anyway, they make off with Deceased Lover, and they start the work of applying Experimental Gene and Tissue Rejuvenation Tech to Deceased Lover.

And it works.

Mostly.

There are some complications, and Deceased Lover doesn’t recognize Med Student, or Friend, and isn’t too rational, or controlled, upon waking up. Maybe Deceased Lover’s groaning and such draws attention, and between Deceased Lover seeming to have Come Back Wrong, and Someone Coming, Med Student and Friend flee. Deceased Lover lashes out in instinct at the person who investigated, killing them with inhuman strength, and Deceased Lover is alone. They slowly come to full consciousness, and slowly begin to realize that Med Student left them. They brought them back, and then left them, but not before showing an expression of horror and disgust.

Deceased Lover tries to find old friends and family, but is rebuffed in horror by the people who last knew them to be dead.

Then Prodigium gets involved, because someone reported a person apparently coming back from the dead. They attack Deceased Lover on sight.

Overall, the movie plays out similarly to Frankenstein, except, perhaps, in timescale. At the end, Prodigium decides to let Deceased Lover be, provided they don’t become a threat. Prodigium has Med Student’s research, but so does Deceased Lover, and Deceased Lover has realized that there is something about them that makes the living fear them. Deceased Lover’s best shot at not living alone until they kill themselves is to 1) find other monsters, 2) create more of themselves, or 3) join Prodigium.

I personally like the idea that they decide to create their own society, creating a third faction that can oppose both the monsters and Prodigium in the franchise. This could be presented in the mid-credits scene.

The complication with this route for the Frankenstein movie is that you can’t really use the name Frankenstein, because it’s just corny unless you’re doing a direct adaptation. But you could just call it Promethean or something similar, it’s fine.

This is probably a good point to bring in Dracula, and it could be the Dark Universe’s Period Piece to mirror Captain America. We’ll set it in the early 1900s instead of the late 1800s, though, because I forgot about this as I writing, and cars were decently available in the early 1900s, but almost completely unavailable in the late 1800s. Early 1900s still works quite well.

We start with a narrator who is dictating a report on a case handled by  Dr. Van Helsing. It’s a “How We Got Here” intro. The narrator’s voice is feminine, so audiences may expect Van Helsing to be getting a gender lift in this version, but the narrator never speaks in the first person.

We’re going to embrace some parts of various versions of Dracula, and kind of weld them together. We start by making up some history, saying that a Wallachian prince set out in a deranged, and desperate mission to establish a hold on what would become the British Isles. He managed to build a castle there, but was lost to history otherwise. The reason he wanted to do this is not given particularly straight, but we use some bad christian eschatology, and have it be some kind of religious quest, because we’re totally going to embrace the whole blood drinking/eternal life thing from Christian tradition as an impetus for Dracula’s origin.

So, Prince Dracula is some mad Wallachian prince, maybe he’s actually exiled, and he goes and builds a castle in the British Isles on a shaky religious justification. We get a very bare cliff notes version of this in the intro, and it really just sets up why in our next scene we see a British real estate agent walking up to a castle in bad disrepair, on a small island in the middle of a lake. Hell, we’re going to go super symbolic, and make it a caldera lake. I honestly don’t know how likely it is for a caldera to exist on the British Isles, but, eh, fuck it.

So, the real estate agent is writing to their fiance over breakfast in their B&B, explaining that the castle was owned by some super private individual, and pretty much completely unknown to the outside world until recently, when said owner was committed to an institution and his property liquidated. So now the agent’s firm has acquired the land, and they’ve been sent to determine whether it’s a better investment to tear the castle down, or repair it.

Deep inside the castle, they find a very odd chapel. It looks normal enough at first glance, but a closer look reveals that every saint has a monstrous face, and angels and demons have traded places.

Also, there’s the altar, which seems to be hollow.

The Agent who is completely untrained in archaeology cuts themselves while looking the scene over, deeming it “creepy as fuck,” and making a note of it before moving on. There’s a close up of the blood dripping through a crack in the altar, and a sound that Agent dismisses as just the settling of an old building.

As it gets dark, Agent calls it a night, and heads back to their B&B, where they get various ominous warnings about that island. One of which is that its known for having vicious wolves who only come out at night. Which Agent dismisses as ludicrous, because wolves have been extinct in Britain for a decade at least. The person who mentioned it just gives a knowing look and walks away.

Agent goes back the next day to continue their work. They note that things are slightly different in the chapel, but doesn’t think much of it. Figures a bird knocked shit over, or something.

Time gets away from Agent, and they find themselves walking back to their car after the sun has dropped below the trees of the surrounding forest. And they hear a howl. They dismiss it. Must be hearing things. Then there are more. They hurry back to their car.

It starts to rain. Hard. And the road goes through winding forests, and there are those howls, getting closer. There’s a quick shadow bolting across the road, making them lose control for a harrowing trip across the bridge from the island to the ring, and a sudden peal of thunder distracts Agent just as they make it across, causing them to crash into a tree. They call a tow, but wind up having to walk to the B&B in the rain when told that the area has no drivers on the road and he’ll have to wait til morning.

Next day, he gets a cab, and we get to play a little homage to the carriage in Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 movie. Back at the castle, shit has definitely changed, and now Agent is seeing apparitions. Also, there’s some weird old man there, who introduces himself as a descendant of Dracula, and a relative of the man who previously owned the castle. A relative whom holds a copy of the deed, and persuasive arguments about the ownership of the castle. But he’s less interested in arguing over some small sum of money than he is in purchasing property in London and moving some of his more prized items there.

And then it plays out pretty similarly to the Dracula story, but with more “deal with the devil” and “dark inversion of communion.” Yes. More. Agent’s Fiance gets bit, and becomes a vampire. Van Helsing is called in, and is in fact a woman, but her voice doesn’t match the narrator’s. Dr. Van Helsing can totally be a woman, there were tons of women doctors in the 1800s.

Dracula starts a reign of terror on London, and Dr. Van Helsing has to reach out to others for help. Fortunately, she has a group of learned men and women, mostly women, who gather to trade stories, collaborate, etc. Mostly after going on expensive expeditions that polite society considers extremely wasteful and pointless. Their motto is “Prodigium de monstrum” (ess. “Prodigy out of monsters”), and they’ve proudly taken on the name The Prodigal Circle.

In the fight, Van Helsing dies, but Dracula is defeated, partially because of Mina’s ability to fight on his level as she resists his control.

Finally, it is revealed that Mina is the narrator, who has taken Van Helsing’s position in The Prodigal Circle, guiding their transition into a vigilant order from Van Helsing’s notes and instructions after being inducted by Van Helsing in one of her vigils over Mina when Mina was her patient.

The mid-credits scene shows Prodigium scientists removing Van Helsing’s body from storage, preserved through something between magic and science, as Mina, who doesn’t look a day older, supervises from above..

That is four fucking movie premises. And I think that’s enough for tonight. If there’s interest, I could write up premises/outlines for Wolf Man; Prodigium, the conclusion of Phase 1; and maybe a start of Phase two.

[midnigtartist]

7 with taakitz, which one of them would be this extra???

Thank you Nonny for my life

I gotta a little liberal with the promt here but I think the result is well worth it

7- Kissing the other persons hand before asking them to dance

2145 words because I have no goddamn chill apparently

Finally an excuse to write some wallflower Taako stuff thank thank

Taako is many things, a performer is not one of them. Above all else he’s a brother first, devoted to his sister. He’s a chef second, perhaps not professionally anymore more but cooking is a second nature, and a wizard third. He’s acquired other titles over his years of travel. Ties he would consider more distant, and less defining of himself like ‘mentor’ or “linguist’ or ‘hero’ or other silly shit like that, but performer is a whole nother ballpark. He’s a celebrity, a personality more than anything else. He puts up a good front of a charming socialite, but that’s more deception then performance.  He’s not an actor, and he’s certainly not a dancer.

Tears dried after a sentimental and blessedly short ceremony, the whole of the Fangbattle wedding party relocated over to Merle’s beachfront property for a rouqus reception. Taako’s gotta applauded the old dude’s keen eye for location, the venue is gorgeous. A little pub and grill built on an otherwise untouched strip of white sand beach, Taako can hear the crash of waves against the shore from here. Somehow they’d managed to cram everyone up on the back deck. A band, lead by Carey’s brother and a few of his other bard friends play a loud, jovial tune over the rush of the receding tide, beckoning party goers out onto the dance floor with a melody so enchanting there must be a little magic woven into the measures. Lanterns encircle the whole event, there dim glow casting swaying shadows over the floorboards as the sun starts to dip below the sea, staining the sky deep navy and bright pink. Tables draped in light linen clothes have been pushed out of the way to give the guest more room to dance and golden ivy vines creep up and along the railings of he deck. All in all a pretty classy affair, though Taako could certainly do without the ugly, tacky as hell fantasy tiki torches Merle had insisted on.

Almost everyone has found their way to the dance floor by now, even the most hesitant of guest swayed but the sweet sweet jams Jeremy is busting out on that flute. The brides haven’t left the floor since they stepped on to take their first dance, absolute shedding it out there as Killian dips and spins her newly wed wife with laughter on her lips and tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Magnus is out there too, stomping around with Angus standing on his feet and clinging to his hands like his life depended on it, the kid looking simultaneously terrified and like he’s having the time of his fucking life. Merle, who'd’ previously been sloppily gesticulating and gyrating in a fucking vomit inducing display is now actually dancing quite nicely with his daughter and son. Equally as sticking to Taako but, like, in a sweet, overly sentimental way now. Despite the sirens call of the music however, Taako has remained dutifully seated at a table just outside the welcoming glow of those horrible torches, picking his nails and watching the laughing masses with an uneasy boredom

Lup had sweep in like storm a few moments ago, snatching up his date and dragging Kravitz out onto the dance floor in what could only be described as the power move of the century. How many liches attempt to assert dominance over the goddamn Grim Reaper via rowdy wedding dancing? Not many, he’d imagine. Taako was in goddamn stitches as he watched his panicked boyfriend get towed along by the sleeve of his jacket by his just recently embodied sister. He had to admit, watching Kravitz fumble along after Lup’s commanding lead through a complex, fast paced dance that had lots of clapping and stomping and lifts was exceptionally entertained. He’d howled with the rest when the embassy of death itself found himself being dipped quite extravagantly by the brazen lich, but halfway through the second song, they’d been swallowed up the by the crowd and Taako had lost them. And now he was just board, edging on ready to pack it up and leave. Big shindigs like this are fun for about the first hour, then Taako starts to get antsy, especially when left alone. He can’t even find Barry or Ren. A little voice in his head tells that he’d be having a much better time if he just got off his ass and went to find someone to talk to but, nice try brain he’s not about to be tricked into making himself less miserable, so you can jot that the fuck down. No, he’s just going to sit here and stew, and shoo Angus away if he tries to ask him to come dance, and dismiss anyone attempts to get him to do something fun until it’s his turned to get dragged out onto the dance floor by Lup and goaded into shuffling along to the music before he snatches up his boo and bounces before the slow jams kick on. Maybe stanch some leftover dessert pie and matching bottle of wine while they make their escape. Maybe split the bottle with Krav then fuck on the couch. Maybe drink the whole bottle by himself in the bath, then fuck Krav on the couch. Probably just go the fuck to sleep with Krav and drink it in the morning. Regardless, all future plans at this point require Kravitz,  but he’s gotta find the handsome bastard first.

He spots the aforementioned handsome bastard as he bursts out of the drunken throng, stubbing his way over towards Taako’s perch. He looks windswept. Hair tousled, locs slowly slipping from his ponytail, shirt coming untucked, laughing breathlessly. The lantern light wraps him a warm, familiar, soft orange glow that highlights the peaks of his cheekbones and deep flush of exhersion that adorns them. Taako’s stomach does a meager cartwheel and the sensation manifests itself in the form of a small, affection curl of his lips.

Openly admiring his boyfriend as he leans against the side of his chair Taako hums. “Lost you there for a second, handsome” he says

Still out of breath, Kravitz offers up a wheezing chuckle an shrug. Sweat dews along his throat and the side of his face. He reaches up with one hand and starts to undo the knot of his tie, slipping it from around his neck.

“Looks like somebody had a good time” Taako comment, leaning forward onto the arm propped up on his knee

Once again, Kravitz answers with a breathless chuckle. “Your family can be quite-”

“Exhausting?” he supplies

“I was going to say, lively” Kravitz says, now stripping off his suit jacket.

He hands it to Taako without having to be asked, which Taako is quite grateful for. As stunning as his spaghetti strap, floral print, easy-breezy springtime jumper is, it does little to protect his bare arms from the chilly sea breeze.

“Well I hope you didn’t tired yourself out there, buckaroo, because cha’boi has plans for the rest of this evening” He drapes the heavy jacket over his shoulders. It warm with the body heat of the crowd, Taako’s surprised Kravitz don’t ditch it sooner.

Kravitz nods, taking the half drunk margarita Taako pushes his way. “Should I be worried?” he asks, then knocks back the drink.

Taako shrugs, “Depends on what I settle on”

Kravitz chuckles.  He rolls up the sleeves of his floral print dress shirt, then offers an outstretched hand to him, palm up in invitation. Taako eyes it wearily.

“You better not be tryin to get me to dance.” he warn, setting his hand tentatively into Kravitz hold.

Kravitz laughs. “You? Dance?”  and here he bends at the waist, taking Taako’s hand in both of his and kissing each ring clad knuckle irreverently. “I wouldn’t dream of it” there’s a cheeky grin plastered to his face. Taako rolls his eyes in a well intention way under the other man’s overzealous swagger. “Mind accompanying me for a breath of fresh air, love?” he continues.

Taako considers him a moment, the way the firelight catches the flicks of gold in his dark eyes, cracks from which his molten heart of gold push through to the surface. One thing he really appreciates about his boyfriend is how considerate his is without having to be asked. He better attuned with his needs then Taako is himself, and he admires that about the reaper. So he lets himself be pulled gently from his chair.

“Only if you insist, darling,” he croons, pretending like he doesn’t also need a break from the noise and the light and the people.

He she kicks off his strappy, heeled sandals, Kravitz strips off his dress shoes and wads up his socks into them, and together they sneak around to the stairs

They leave the glow and laughter and cheers of the party to their back and steal into the dark twilight that’s settled over the sandy shoreline,Taako’s arm threaded through Kravitz’. The sand is still blistering hot from the heat of the day, burning the soles of Taako’s feet, enveloping his toes as he wades quick as he can towards the waters edge. Together they step over the precipice of dry beach onto the cooler sand the ocean has left wet. Kravitz takes his hand, locking warm fingers around his own like promise and they set off down the coast, teasing as close to the waves as they dare. Every so often a particularly ambitious wave splashes up around their ankles, turning the white sand caked to the tops of his feet brown.

They walk in a companionable silence for a long while. The party to the right of them, the waves and the seemingly endless sea to their left, and the moon and a million billion stars above them, bathing them both in silvery light. If he listens hard enough, Taako can just barely make out a distant melody over the crash of the rolling water and the whisper of the ocean breeze.“Did you have fun tonight Taako?” Kravitz asks, swinging their hands absently between them.

“Hell yeah, my fella” Taako says. “Hard not to with those guys.”

Taako isn’t one for small talk, doesn’t give a shit about pleasantries. So when he asks Kravitz: “Did you? ” it’s out of a genuine interest, and not just something to fill the void of dialogue.

Kravitz sighs with the breeze. “I had a lovely time.” he says. “I just- I love being around people, I love being around your family.” he squeeze Taako’s hand. “Celebrating with them, laughing with them, spending time with you. It’s been so long since I experienced community and affection like this, of being part of- of something so deeply moving as the love you all have for one another, it makes me feel so overwhelmingly- alive.”

Eventually they pause, not wanting to lose the light of the party entirely, and stare out over the dark sea. It seems endless, too big to comprehend, too deep to ever know. Taako’s stomach drops as the scope of it swallows him whole. All at once, he feels far to small and singular. He shuffles closer to Kravitz, whose body is still warm with exhersion and the collective body heat of a dozen or some drunken idiots, sets both hands of his shoulders and press his cheek into the crook of his neck.

“When Lulu and I were kids, she used to stare up at the night sky, just stand there and, uh, fuckin stare at the stars ‘n shit, like she could see her whole damn future if she looked hard enough.” he murmurs. “I couldn't’ do it though, cause you look up there and all there is is this gaping void of nothing and it was like, if you stared at it too long the world was gonna tip over and you’d fall in and get lost in all that nothing. I used to hold her hand, like I could hold her down or something, so she wouldn’t get lost. Fuckin’ uh fuckin dumb as hell right?”

Kravitz kisses the back of his head. Taako closes his eyes and leaned the full weight of his body into his gradually cooling frame.

After a long while, Taako picks up on the small swaying motion of his body. A musician at heart, Kravitz had somehow picked up the music of the party, still in full swing in the distance, and started swaying in time with the tempo. He hums along, the vibrations in his chest and his throat as he continues to move them. Taako doesn’t stop him. Instead he curl closer to his chest, laying his head against his shoulder as the other man reaches around so that both arm lay across his waist, spinning them on the spot. Not quite dancing, but something close.

[bigskydreaming]

I hate my fucked up brain so goddamn much, ugh. My ADHD is so severe that I’m literally useless without medication, like I can think and process things and all that but there’s just too much stuff, my brain is too busy and spins off in a million different directions with no focus whatsoever and so without medication to focus my thoughts into an order where I can tell myself okay do this first and then this and then this, I end up basically paralyzed, stuck unable to pick between a million different directions and it looks like I’m just being lazy and its like no goddamn it, my brain literally won’t commit to a single course of action unless I have pills to trick it into getting that any course of action is better than none.

Except thanks to my extreme PTSD because haha thanks for that, trauma, I also have near constant hyper-vigilance, like I’m constantly in a state of like, being prepared to be attacked or encounter some fucked up situation so I’m always like two seconds away from an adrenaline rush/fight or flight response, keeping an eye out for possible threats, just general...readiness or on edge-ness or whatever the fuck, which is exhausting enough as it is. But then like, the only medication that works for my ADHD are all stimulants, and that’s like, the WORST fucking thing for my hyper-vigilance, so I take them when I need to work and for a few hours its great, I’m super productive, I get so much done and my brain works like a normal person’s and its amazing....and then I crash and I crash fucking hard and my hyper-vigilance is all HAHAHA PAYBACK BITCH and the stimulation ramps up my already ridiculous state of ‘SOMEONE IS COMING TO FUCK YOU UP LOOK OUT YOU GOTTA LOOK OUT’ and I get to spend a few hours with my heart racing, sweating, jumping at every little sound, with a not quite headache, not quite nausea that’s basically my brain’s way of telling my body hey hey don’t relax, cant let you relax or get comfortable cuz you gotta be awake you gotta be ready for anything. It’s like a several hours long not-quite panic attack I mean lol except for all the times when it decides to go ahead and graduated to an actual full fledged panic attack haha fun times fun times.

So every day its like waking up and deciding oh hey, do I want to be a lazy fucking bastard today and write off any chance of getting anything actually accomplished BUT good news is my brain probably won’t jump out of my skull today and I might actually be able to have a semi-decent day where I relax, eat some good food, watch some TV? OR do I want to you know, pay bills and make money which means work which means hahaha have fun with that systems crash at the end of the day, it’s gonna be GREAT! And the REALLY fucking obnoxious thing is I WANT to work I love acting and writing and creating graphics and all the things I do to make money and wish I could do them reliably, every fucking day whenever I want, I’m so ridiculously freaking ambitious and there’s so many things I want to do and to do them all I have to do is pop one little pill in the morning each day except oh yeah, the trade off is I get to have EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCK as soon as I’m done working for the day.

Don’t mind me, this is just me venting and bitching because I’m crashing hard and I didn’t get as much done as I wanted to and I’m cranky and neurotic and antsy right now and probably will be for about another....oh, three or four hours at least.