#wrote this back in december and i actually fuck with it pretty heavily

[static-radio-ao3]

jarty microfic // words: 478

had this saved as "jarty sports?" which pretty much sums it up

It’s a little heady. A little thick. The smell of sweat clings to his nostrils, fills his lungs. James tries not to seem to eager to breathe it in, but he is. Adrenaline still hums in his veins, the comedown from a win always a little slower.

The bus jostles him where he’s slouched low on the bench, hood pulled over his head and arms crossed over his chest. He’s trying to sleep, or at least convince others that he’s asleep. But that never stopped Barty.

“Psst,” Barty hisses. When James doesn’t respond, he flicks the top of his head.

“Sleeping,” James mumbles.

“Lying,” Barty replies. James cracks open a single eye. Blames the way his pupil dilates on the sudden influx of light.

Barty is leaning over the back of the seat, his too-sharp chin digging into the bright blue vinyl. His hair is damp with sweat and tousled and James clenches his hands into fists to avoid clenching them in Barty’s hair instead. He wants to pull.

Wants to force Barty’s head up so he bares his neck, a perfect place for James’ teeth to sink in.

“Need anything?” James manages. His voice is low, a growl waiting to crawl out of his mouth.

Barty smiles that awful smile at him. One corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other, a flash of teeth and that stupid smiley piercing and James wants to lick. “Whatever you’ll give me.”

“You know the answer to that.” Because there’s nothing James would ever willingly give Barty. Barty, who shows up to practise dressed up in the night before. Barty, whose water bottle is probably filled with vodka at any given moment. Barty, who despite all this still seems to be the best player on the team.

Never mind the fact that James shows up early. That James does the work. That James actually cares.

“Sure do. I also know you’re lying again.” Barty raises his index and pointer fingers in a mock-salute. “That’s strike two, Potter. Don’t make me give you a red card.”

Barty, who gets a red card during nearly every game he plays. Barty, who once got James a red card by being so fucking stupid that James hit this own teammate.

It’s still a sore spot.

“I’m not lying,” James sighs. He lets his head roll against the window, the pane buzzing a little under his head, and trains his eyes on the road. Anything to look away from the drop of sweat rolling down Barty’s temple.

“Maybe not to me,” Barty shrugs. “But you sure are lying to someone.”

When James doesn’t reply, Barty just sighs. Drops back down into his seat. Disappears from James’ line of sight.

James tells himself the feeling in his gut is relief. Because he hates Barty and he doesn’t want a single thing from him.

Strike three.

[hotdamnmadison]

Well geez. A year sure does fly by pretty quick, huh?

I feel a bit rusty - haven't blogged, journal'd, or yelled from a rooftop in quite a long time. Try and stick around for the ride (if you're reading this... or maybe I'm writing it for myself).

For those of you who care to doomscroll - you'll see that I took a hiatus from Tumblr, and from a lot of things. I wrote a pinned post (since swapped for this one), detailing all of the things I intended on working on. Finances, Mental State, Physical State, and Sexual Frustrations.... Here is how I made out.

Number one: I wasn't careful enough with my other self and unfortunately I was caught red handed at the beginning of this year. It got pretty messy and I've essentially tossed out my fem side. the 60/40 split male to female is now 100% male. No more panties, no more wigs.... all gone... more on this later (though if you disappear now I wouldn't blame you).

Finances - ugh... up and down. Currently down but never count me out. I won't bore anyone with the deets. Just know that my job relies heavily on my activity and effort. And I've dumped a ton of time into it. I am hoping to see the fruits of that labor very soon.

Mentally - Day by day I think. Today - not great. When I'm doing the things that I enjoy doing I'm obviously distracted and life is manageable. Pressures from work, bills, money, blah blah blah. Typically human stuff.

Physically - probably the only real bit of good news is in this section. No alcohol since early March, and fuck me has it been hard. Multiple weddings, parties, holidays, and free days where I could've bought a 12 pack or bottle if I really wanted to. But I didn't. And I haven't. And I won't. I've been running, exercising, and even competing a bit. I'm not binge drinking every day, and my body thanks me for it. Sleeping better. Waking up earlier. Not hungover all the time. Feels good.

Sexually - Yeah, again to reiterate the above I got busted stashing clothes and experimenting. Truthfully, it could've gone worse - but it was still ugly nonetheless. I'm really not experimenting at all these days. But every now and then - the days of old slip back into my mind. Hence why I logged back in today. I remember the parts of "madi" that I enjoyed (not the booze, not the secrecy)... I just loved being someone else for a while.

All in all - I'm alive and well for those who care to inquire. I had a lot of big plans back in December of last year. And honestly, I'm heading in the right direction for a lot of those goals... I'm not quite there yet. But I feel like I'm progressing little by little. And that has to count for something.

I felt semi guilty signing on and writing this - because it felt like sexual relapse. But as I'm writing and the thoughts are pouring out, I realized something. I'm allowed to have a fucking journal - and I'm allowed to have a private blog. I'm allowed to have a safe space. And I'm allowed to be here.

This doesn't mean I'm going to be super active on here, but I may sign on and enjoy my blog every now and again. Maybe relive some old posts, discussions, and see how may of you goobers are still active. Maybe I'll see how much of what I used to say and do I still actually agree with. Or maybe I'll be gone for another year. To be honest I really don't have a clue. And that's fine.

One day at a time, Madi. One day at a time. ❤️

[beetlebitchywitch]

So hi! I wrote this fic back in December as part of a Secret Santa with the Dante’s Inferno AU crowd, and I got @neitherworld! And since some people are being RUDE and claiming self-shippers are just too cowardly to ship Beetleb@bes, here’s the fic I wrote of her OC Bambi and Movie Beej on a special night at Dante’s to show how fun of a character she is. Enjoy!

WARNING: Mild nudity, some sexy stuff, I’d say rated M but not fully NSFW

Like any normal night at Dante’s, the bass was thumping so heavily Bambi could feel it rattling her posture collar. Her eyes scanned the show floor, catching Madame’s gaze for only a moment before she was off to scold a random ghoul for getting too handsy during his lapdance. Up on the stage, Mal was winding around the pole in a way that enchanted everyone in attendance, though the way Lorelai’s wings glittered under the spotlight as she danced her famous “feather fan” number drew just as much attention. She grumbled good naturedly under her breath as she turned back to face the bar- honestly, those two had such natural moneymakers, and here she was stuck with a stupid jello neck. Whatever, her tits made up for any lack of “exotic” flavor. Speaking of flavor, the bright pink cocktail on the bartop was calling her name, set down gently by Niphera with a soft smile. Bambi squealed, bringing the drink to her lips before pausing for a moment, sending them a sly smile.

“NiNi, what’s in this exactly?” she asked, thrumming her perfectly manicured nails against the bartop. She knew how much her...electric personality could overwhelm them, so she tried her best to keep her energy to herself while holding a conversation with them.

“Nothing that will get you too drunk for your next set,” they chuckled, wiping down a glass absentmindedly. “You know Madame doesn’t like it when you perform after drinking too much.”

“Oh, what does she know?” she huffed, the cocktail sloshing a bit as she crossed her arms. “I happen to think that a little liquid courage makes my performances even better!”

“Perhaps. Or it could be like the time you yakked in a mafioso’s lap and had to use a week’s earnings to pay for his dry cleaning.”

Just the memory made Bambi pout even harder.

“Stupid prick, demon earns 20 times what I do shaking my ass by dealing in some shady shit and he has the nerve to take money outta my paycheck? And now I have to get cut off like some little baby impling.” She sighed deeply. “Whatever, this shit looks tasty anyway. Thanks, bubs.”

“Anytime,” Niphera said softly, getting back to pouring their next order of drinks. “Besides, it’s the least I could do on your birthday.”

Bambi’s eyes widened above the rim of her glass, which she excitedly put down with a beaming grin.

“My birthday? Goodness, how ever did you know about that?”

“Well, let’s see,” Niphera said with a sarcastic, but good natured bite. “Could it have been the notes under all of our pillows reminding us of your birthday? Or perhaps the sash you’re wearing right now that says ‘Birthday Girl’?”

Ok, so maybe Bambi could be a bit over the top. So she wanted a little extra attention on her special day, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!

“Well, I’m glad my gentle reminders worked! Because today is my day and if I wanna celebrate it by getting wasted on Netherbooze and taking my top off, then that’s how I’m gonna do it!”

“Your top’s already off, Bam.”

She looked down, and then paused.

“...So it is...my bottoms then!”

With a heavy sigh, Niphera moved to the other side of the bar without a word, an unspoken cue for Bambi to leave them alone. Their relationship was odd, but Bambi did her best to make it work and respect their boundaries...most of the time. Sighing, she turned back to her drink, taking a few messy gulps and giggling when she could feel rivulets of booze trickling down her neck and between her tits. If anybody was watching her, they were sure getting a good show.

“Well hey there, little fawn. Ya sure seem to be enjoyin’ yourself.”

Bambi froze, her happy grin immediately turning to a small scowl. Of course he would be the one to show up looking for some tail and interrupting her night.

“What do you want, Juice?” she asked absentmindedly, “Can’t you see I’m a little busy?”

“Oh yeah, sure as hell can, sugar tits. I gotta admit, of all the fine specimens in this place, you sure do have the nicest rack,” he rasped, pulling out a slim cigarette and lighting it by setting the tips of his fingers on fire. He took a deep drag, holding it for a moment before letting out a hard cough, not even hiding his amused smirk when the smoke blew into Bambi’s face, causing her to break into a coughing fit. She glared up at him even as her lungs spasmed, questioning whether a slap to the face or a knee to the nuts would be more fun for her.

“Well,” she interjected, letting out her last few coughs. “You sure know how to treat a lady, don’t you?”

“Come on now, babes, I don’t see no lady here,” he said with a grin, taking another puff of his cig and thankfully blowing it behind him. “But I do see a smokin’ hot broad in need of a good time.”

“Since when do I have a good time with you?” she retorted, sticking her tongue impishly. She was exaggerating, of course- her and Beetlejuice had plenty of fun teasing and playing cat and mouse before retiring upstairs for a quickie, but tonight she was not in the mood. She was tipsy, she looked drop dead gorgeous with her tits out and smothered in body glitter, and she felt like a bad bitch, so she wasn’t about to let some shambling corpse turn her into his pet for the night. She turned back to her drink, fully intent on ignoring him completely until he went off to hump some other unlucky girl’s leg. After a few moments, when she could still feel his presence behind her, she grunted in annoyance, turning back around. “Ain’t anybody ever tell ya it’s impolite to stare, stunad?”

“Ooh, I didn’t know the little deer had claws,” he laughed, only infuriating her more. “Besides, ya ever known me to be polite? Remember who you’re talkin’ too, babes.”

God, she was getting so fed up with this conversation. She was not gonna let some lousy, rancid, good for nothin’ ghost ruin her big night. She turned her stool towards him and shot him with a withering stare, which infuriatingly only seemed to amuse him further. She was about to give her a piece of her mind when- “Well, would ya look at that. Didn’t realize I was talkin’ to the birthday girl.”

Her eyes widened, them flitting down to the sash practically crushed between her tits.

“Yeah…what’s it to ya?” she asked warily. Her and Beetlejuice had clearly never been fond of one another, so she doubted he had anything good up his sleeve for her, and goddammit she just wanted to enjoy her fucking birthday! “I swear to Satan, Juice, if you pull any funny shit I won’t even have to call Ivan, I’ll rip that pencil you call a dick off from between your legs myself.”

While she hoped she sounded even the tiniest bit threatening, she was met with a bellyaching laugh from the ghost with the most, causing her to pout and cross her arms indignantly.

“One helluva performance, dollface, but ya don’t gotta worry. Not even I would pull any tricks on a lady’s birthday. In fact…”

She watched with a difficultly admitted curiosity as he began to rustle around his filthy coat, cringing only slightly when puffs of dirt floated to the floor as he aggressively searched his multiple pockets. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he rustled around for a few seconds more before pulling out-

Oh.

“Holy smokes,” Bambi murmured in awe, staring at the absolutely stunning diamond ring clutched between Beetlejuice’s fingertips. With a high pitched squeal, she bounced up and down on the stool, reaching out to snatch the ring from him and slide it onto her finger. “A little snug, but damn that’s one helluva rock! Juice, what-”

“Least I could do, since it’s your birthday and all, kid,” he said dismissively, looking...sheepish? Bambi smirked, grabbing onto the lapels of his coat and pulling him in close, noticing how his eyes immediately fell to her exposed tits now that there was only a foot between them, wide with shock that she was actually seemingly coming onto him.

“Is that all you wanted to give me for my birthday, BJ?” she asked sweetly, her words so laden with honey that you’d think they were in a beehive. Immediately, his demeanor flipped from shock back to his typical shtick, growling softly beneath his breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin.

“I can think of a million things I could do to that pretty little body that’d make this birthday one you’d never forget, little fawn,” he growled softly. This close, she could smell the musty dampness of him, though it never perturbed her, letting out a tiny squeal of a giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Just one question, Juice,” she whimpered teasingly, letting her tongue drag lasciviously across her lower lip. She could feel the ache in him as he held her close, but it was always her MO to tease before letting him have her...if she would let him have her.

“Anything, doll,” he assured her, clutching her waist tighter with desperation. “Ya wanna go topside and wreak some havoc? Come home covered in blood and fuck while we’re all messy? Come on, babes, say the word and I’ll have ya back before Madame can notice yer gone.”

“Mm, that does sound nice,” she mused, sliding one hand down his cheek and chest before walking her fingers back up slowly, daintily, feeling his need for her increase with every gentle touch. “But BJ, I gotta know…” She cupped his jaw and pulled him in close, her lips hovering above his ear as she spoke with the softest whisper. “...Is the rock real?”

She had her answer just by the way he stiffened in her arms. Fucking cheapskate.

“Now hold on, babes, ya don’t understa-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, she was out of his arms and grabbing the last half of her drink, splashing it in his face without a care. God did it fill her with power to see him standing there, floundering with booze dripping down his skin and suit and taking a layer of grime with it. She smirked, hopping down off her stool with her typical bounciness.

“Find some other pussy to give herpes to, Juice,” she quipped happily, as if she hadn’t just threw her drink in his face. “If ya wanted a cheap slut, you shouldn’t have come knockin’ on my door...I’m keepin’ the ring though. It may be fake, but hey, so is half of me!”

And with that, she was back off to the floor, sliding up a pole without a care in the world as the crowd cheered around her, and Beetlejuice just continued to stare. She knew he’d get her back for this someday, but for now, she had to say that, either living or dead, this was the best birthday she’d ever had.

[pkg4mumtown]

Welcome to Hawkins PD (Ch. 3)

Chapter Title: Men’s Rooms ‘n’ Muffins

Chapter 3 of 9?

Read Chapter 2 / Masterlist

AN: I never really gave you guys a timeline for this fic, so I’m imagining it about a month or so after Season 2. So, it’s roughly two weeks into December. This one is a bit longer, so enjoy!

Warnings: Brief mention of homophobia, police stuff, strong language 

Summary: Your first day as one of Hawkin’s finest could have been worse, really.

Taglist: @kingphillipblake​

Lmk if you want to be removed or added from my taglist

I wouldn’t have minded sleeping on the bare mattress, the first day, if it wasn’t thirty degrees that night. In hindsight, I should have prepared to be on my own in December, but we hadn’t really needed heavy coats in the academy the past four months. A sweatshirt and layers in October and November had been enough with how much we were moving. I had bundled up my sweatshirt to use as a pillow, threw on sweats, thick socks, and my sweater but was still cold due to the thin walls of the trailer. I had glanced at the closet, remembering that Hopper said he had clothes in there. I bit the bullet and pulled one of his large, heavy flannels off its hanger and used it as a blanket. If he ever found out I’d slept with it, I’d be mortified.

As promised, Hopper took me to the dealership and supervised the salesman. It didn’t take much for Hopper to intimidate him, just flashes of glares as the salesman spoke to me about the cars. He would nervously glance at the Chief every now and then, which was amusing in itself. At the end of the day, Hopper’s presence even got the guy to shave off a few bucks. After that, we had bid each other goodbye while I set about buying out all the blankets at the nearest store.

-

Monday morning, I was up by six and out the door before seven. I prayed that the long sleeve I wore under my uniform would be enough when paired with thick socks and gloves for the temperature high of forty today. I turned my nose up at the thought of putting my academy sweatshirt over my uniform, but did it anyway. I’d rather get in trouble with Hopper and not be freezing, than the alternative.

I arrived at the station at seven sharp, seeing an older lady opening the front door as I pulled up. I got out of my car, slinging a small bag with a towel, running shoes, and a change of clothes over my shoulder in case I had time for a run before the others arrived.

“Can I help you with that, ma’am?” I asked, hoping she couldn’t hear my teeth chatter.

“Ah, Officer Y/L/N, I assume?” she questioned and shoved her purse in my arms while fiddling with the keys in her gloved hands.

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, shaking ever so slightly.

“Call me Flo, dear,” she smiled, finally getting the door open. She took her purse back from me, feeling my hand lightly shake as she did. “Oh, you poor thing, come here. The Chief put some essentials on order for you when you got assigned to us.”

Flo led me to a back room, my body rejoicing when I saw a heavy blue jacket with the Hawkins patch on it, among other items like extra uniforms and PT clothes. She handed them all over to me and showed me to my desk.

“We’re a pretty lax station here, but definitely change out of that thing before Hopper comes in,” she patted my shoulder, referring to the grass-stained academy sweatshirt.

“Of course,” I nodded. “I was actually hoping you could show me to the lockers, Flo. I’m itching for a run.”

“In this weather?”

“Nothin’ like a run to warm up,” I raised my eyebrows but she looked unamused.

She scrunched up her face, “Well, we technically only have lockers and showers in the men’s bathroom, but no one uses them.” She thought for a second before leading me over to said bathroom, “I’ll make sure to tell the boys, so they’re not surprised. The other officers won’t be in for at least another hour, and Hop…well…maybe he’ll be on time for once for your first day. You have some time to kill.”

Flo patted my shoulder and left me to my own devices. Near the entry of the bathroom were the urinals, while deeper into the bathroom had four lockers on either side of a long bench and ended with two open showers.

I chose a locker and changed quickly into my sweats, sweatshirt, and running shoes. I elected to keep my gloves on because I’m not that crazy. I walked back out to the bullpen and stretched lightly near the door, preparing myself to brave the cold again.

“I’ll be back by,” I paused to look at my watch, “eight at the latest.”

“Good luck,” Flo murmured as she wrote.

The first few minutes absolutely sucked as my body fought to warm up but I was able to push through it eventually. I didn’t go down too many streets to avoid getting lost on my first day, but that didn’t mean I was stared at any less. As business owners opened up shop, I felt eyes on me from all directions assessing who I was. I smiled as nicely as I could but between running and the cold air, there was only so much friendliness I could accomplish.

I arrived back at the station a few minutes before I said I would, seeing a couple more cars parked alongside the cruisers. The Chief’s truck was still absent, so it was safe to assume Flo was right and he’d be late.

Two officers were inside chatting with their feet propped up on their desks when I walked in. They glanced up at the sound of my entrance, obviously intrigued at the unfamiliar face.

“Can I hel—” one officer with glasses started as he stood up from his desk.

“Officer Y/L/N,” I stuck my hand out.

“Ah, the newbie,” the other officer chimed in while leaning further back in his chair.

“Callahan,” the first officer replied and shook my hand.

“Powell,” the other waved.

“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna shower,” I nodded toward the bathrooms.

“Flo already warned us, you’ve got it to yourself for the next fifteen,” Powell gestured behind him.

The shower was surprisingly not terrible and the water was warmer than the air outside, so I could hardly complain. I kept nervously glancing to the front of the bathrooms, hoping everyone had gotten the memo. I showered as quickly as possible, so I could get back to my desk before Hopper showed up.

As it would happen, the Chief was in at a decent time, for once. He was still late, but definitely not as late as usual. He stormed into the bullpen, making a beeline for the coffee and donuts, and grumbling when he saw a lack of donuts.

“Chief—”

“Flo!? Where are my donuts?” he complained loudly, even though she was right behind him.

She rolled her eyes and pushed an apple into his hand, having had it waiting especially for him.

Hopper turned up his nose at the fruit and grumbled to himself. He spun around while taking a bite of the fruit, eyeing my desk and pointing with the same hand that held the apple, “She here?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good,” he said around a mouthful of apple. “I gotta take a leak,” he took another huge bite and chucked the rest into a nearby trash can.

“Chief!” Flo called out.

“It can wait until after I pee, Flo, jeez,” Hopper mumbled while chewing and walked away.

“Chief, wait!” Powell called after him.

“Am I speaking English?” Hopper called over his shoulder as he took long strides toward the bathroom.

“Chief—” Callahan caught up to him and tried to cut him off but was pushed aside by a single, strong shoulder.

Hopper grabbed him by the shoulders and put himself between Callahan and the bathroom door, “Are you gonna watch me take a piss, Cal?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Good,” Hopper smiled sarcastically. He pushed the bathroom door open and slammed it in Callahan’s face.

“Fuck's sake,” Hopper grumbled as he stood in front of a urinal.

The seemingly quiet bathroom echoed the sound of Hopper's zipper. I panicked as I stared at his back with only socks and underwear on under my towel. I tried to dress quietly as the sound of his bodily function echoed in the otherwise empty room. I managed to get my uniform pants on, but mistakenly left the belt in when I changed earlier. The clank was noticeable enough for Hopper to look over his shoulder.

“Someone in here?” he called out.

I squeaked, shoved feet into my boots, and grabbed my long-sleeved undershirt, barely having it over my head and around my neck when Hopper zipped up and turned around.

“God dammit!” he shouted, “What are you doing!?”

“Sh—shower, Chief,” I stumbled over my words, fumbling with the sleeves as I hurriedly stuck my arms in so I could cover my bra.

Annoyed, Hopper sighed heavily and stalked over to the sink and washed his hands, “Does the one in the trailer not work?”

“No, it does. I just…it's just I got here early and went for a run…”

Hopper came back into view after drying his hands, my undershirt finally in place while I unhooked my uniform shirt from the hanger.

“This is the men’s room,” Hopper stressed, his hands on his hips and his mouth a tight-lipped line.

I held my shirt in front of me, “If we had women’s showers, this wouldn’t be a problem...” I murmured softly, not sure how he’d respond to me effectively talking back.

Hopper sighed once more, running a thumb and forefinger along his brow and gripping tightly. He made no move to leave, however.

I pursed my lips and couldn’t stop the next words from tumbling out of my mouth, “Are you paying for a show? Or…?” I trailed off while sliding my uniform shirt over one arm, then the other.

Hopper dropped his hand in exasperation, staring me down with a, what can only be described as murderous, glare, “You remember I’m your boss, right?”

I let out giggle as I buttoned up my shirt and tucked it in, “I’m joking, Chief.” I fastened my belt, then pulled out a small brush to fix my hair. I walked briskly over to the only mirror in that bathroom, right above the sink, having to pass an agitated, yet amused Hopper. “You should come with me next time,” I offered, while tying up my hair into a bun.

“What are you trying to say?” he pretended to be offended while gesturing to his stomach, throwing his weight onto one leg and tweaking his hip out. His thumbs hooked into his belt loops, framing his crotch without actually meaning to.

I looked at his form in the mirror, laughing and shaking my head. “That you should join me next time. Y’know, lead by example,” I teased. I walked past him again, lifting my foot up to rest on the bench so I could tie my boots.

“Oooh, ouch, yea,” Hopper squinted at me and bit his bottom lip. “I think I like spending my mornings with a coffee and donut, thanks.

I stood up straight, finally done getting dressed given the distraction Hopper provided. I slammed the locker shut and locked the padlock before walking towards Hopper. I used that stretch of space to fasten my duty belt and clip my radio onto my shoulder.

“Plus,” he gestured to the wide-open view of the showers from any angle due to a lack of curtains, “What are we gonna do? Shower at the same time? You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna waste precious coffee and contemplation time waiting for you to finish in the shower.”

“Yea, the invitation did not extend past running, Chief,” I scrunched up my nose. Except, I really wouldn’t mind if it did. I took a step towards the bathroom door and spun back around, nearly getting run over by Hopper as he tried to bulldoze me out. “But, if we hung curtains in here…” I raised my eyebrows, “…it could work.”

Hopper closed his eyes and let out a heavy groan, “Just do me a favor and get to work, please.”

“Yes, sir,” I gave him a two fingered salute and made my way to my desk.

I sat at my desk, inserting myself into a conversation with Callahan and Powell quite easily. Hopper poured himself a coffee and was about to round the corner to hide in his office when Flo called him yet again.

“Chief!”

“For the love of…” He sighed heavily, “Are my mornings not sacred anymore, Flo?”

“Vandalism at Vicki’s Bakery!”

Hopper let out a dramatic groan and spun on his heel to enter the bullpen again.

“Urgent, Hopper!”

Grumbling, he downed his coffee and slammed it next to the coffee maker, “Y/L/N, let’s go!”

I scrambled to my feet, barely catching my new jacket as Hopper chucked it at me from the coat hanger. He grabbed his hat and jacket as I caught up, and put them on before reaching the door.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get free muffins,” Hopper raised his eyebrows and hummed at the thought.

I scrunched my brows at him in disbelief and pushed the station doors open. The ride to the bakery took all of two minutes, then we were pulling up to an empty spot directly in front of the shop.

“Jesus,” Hopper murmured, seeing the front and side glass windows all broken with multiple gaping holes in each.

“What in the world…” I got out of the Blazer quickly, seeing a lady in an apron through the broken glass. She had a broom leaned up against the glass display case, but seemingly had yet to use it. I glanced up, seeing a camera mounted and facing the door.

We stepped as delicately as possible, into the bakery, to avoid making a bigger mess than there already was.

“Hey, Vick,” Hopper greeted.

“Been a while since you’ve been in here, Hopper,” the older lady greeted him.

“Yea, Flo's been on my case,” he rolled his eyes and pulled his notepad out of his pocket. “This is Officer Y/L/N,” he tilted his head in my direction.

“Mornin, ma’am,” I nodded.

“Hi, dear,” she greeted warmly, contrasting the image of the broken glass around her.

Hopper started taking her statement while I examined the broken glass. There were numerous bricks that were assumed to be what had been thrown through the windows, but one of them caught my eye. I noticed paint on one side and tipped the brick over with my foot, before crouching down.

“Shit,” I murmured, reading the homosexual slur deliberately written on it.

I curiously revisited the rest of the bricks and found more slurs. I glanced at Hopper to get his attention but he was still talking to Vicki. I looked around the bakery, seeing clusters of pictures throughout. I examined each one carefully, finally walking over to a wall near the front counter, seeing pictures of Vicki at Pride marches. I was interrupted by Hopper’s heavy footsteps coming up behind me.

“Thoughts?” He questioned me while sliding his pen back into his shirt pocket.

“Hate crime,” I answered, turning to face him.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, just go look at the bricks, Chief,” I pointed with my thumb.

He stood over one of the bricks and squinted at the lettering, “Yea, sounds about right,” he sighed. “Too bad we don’t have hate crime laws, we’ll only get them on criminal mischief.”

“The damage is pretty significant though,” I glanced around the shop, “Easily a ‘Class A’ misdemeanor.”

“This much glass isn’t cheap,” Hopper agreed.

“Do you have the tapes for that camera outside, ma’am?” I turned and asked her.

“Of course, come on back.”

She led us to a back room and played through the footage from last night. I watched in amusement as Hopper had to bend over to get a better view of the screen.

“Pause it there,” Hopper pointed to the screen.

The screen paused on a figure approaching the bakery with an armful of bricks at two in the morning. Hopper squinted and told her to keep playing the video, trying to see if he recognized the man. At some point the man looked down the street, in the direction of the camera.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Hopper said quickly. “Got him.”

“You recognize him?” I squinted.

“The town asshole,” Vicki muttered.

“Mason Thomas,” Hopper finished. “You’ll get to know his face. He’s in and out of prison all the damn time. He was in middle school right before I graduated high school, always had a rep for bad behavior. Teachers caught him smoking all the time, even pulled a knife on a kid once or twice in the schoolyard.”

“What the hell?” I wondered out loud.

“Yea,” Hopper grunted as he stood up straight, “and apparently homophobic.”

“Let’s go get this jerk,” I tapped the desk and started walking out of the room.

We walked back out to the main area as we wrapped up with Vicki. I was already making my way to the front door when I didn’t hear Hopper following me.

“Can you ring me up a muffin, Vick?” he asked her as I turned around, looking at him like he was insane. “Muffin?” he asked me, pointing at the assortment.

“Criminal,” I pointed at the Blazer with my thumb over my shoulder, really wanting to just leave so we could get this guy.

“Throw another one in there, I’ll convince her,” he said matter-of-factly to Vicki and gave her an exaggerated wink.

Hopper pulled out his wallet as he waited, caught off guard when Vicki slid a box of four muffins and two coffees in front of him.

“On the house,” she pushed Hopper’s hand away.

“Nah, Vick, come on. The damages are gonna cost you,” he pointed to the windows.

“That’s what insurance is for, Hop,” she waved him off. “Just go get the guy, that’s payment enough.”

“You got it,” Hopper smirked, flipping up the lid of the box, and shoving a muffin between his teeth.

“Thank you,” I smiled at Vicki, taking one of the coffee cups.

Hopper shoved the box of muffins in my arms and turned me around with two fingers in my back, “Let’s go,” he said incoherently around the bread.

When we got inside the Blazer, I watched him eat the entire second half of the muffin in one bite. I stared at him in horrified amusement as he chewed on the dense bread. I pulled the tab back on my coffee lid and sipped it delicately to judge the temperature. Hopper grabbed his, roughly ripping the tab off and bringing the coffee to his lips without any sense of caution. He closed his eyes and let the coffee wash the muffin down, finally noticing me staring at him.

“What? Three bites of an apple was not breakfast,” he defended himself. He brought the cup back to his mouth, licking the coffee near the opening and stopping, “Eat one, seriously.”

I almost didn’t hear him as I focused on his tongue lapping the coffee on the lid before finally taking a gulp. I nearly choked on my own coffee at the sight. He raised his eyebrows at me as he grabbed a second muffin, so I humored him and grabbed one as we drove off. I finished it by the time Hopper pulled over on a residential street and took a swig of coffee to clear my mouth.

The Chief jumped out of his truck with a grunt, hiding a soft burp behind his palm. We strode up to an unkempt house with our hands braced on our belts out of habit.

“Police!” Hopper pounded on the front door with a closed fist and upon no answer, he repeated the action again while trying to listen intently to what was happening inside.

“Mason! Open up!” Hopper beat against the door harder.

I heard a scraping sound from the side of the house, making me lean over the side of the porch to take a glimpse. I watched Mason fall to the ground from his window and scramble quickly to his feet in a full sprint.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Hopper sighed as he watched Mason take off.

I vaulted over the railing, nearly tripping from the momentum forward as I landed.

“Y/L/N! Wait!” Hopper called after me as he took the easier route down the stairs of the porch.

“I got it, Chief!” I yelled over my shoulder.

I chased after Mason, considerably easier for me in actual treaded shoes while he attempted to run in flip-flops. Before I could gain too much on him, he tripped over a crack in the pavement and rolled. The forward momentum helped him to spring back on his feet quickly but by then I was right behind him.

Mason threw a wobbly punch as he turned around to face me, thankfully still recovering his balance from the fall. I used his own energy to guide the punch and turn him around while grabbing his wrist. I pulled his hand behind his back, twisting his arm when he resisted and tried to pull out of my grip. I couldn’t hear Hopper yet and Mason had yet to stop fighting me, so I jabbed the back of his knees with the toe of my boot and yanked down so he’d fall on his ass. I maneuvered him onto his stomach and was finally able to get my cuffs out as Hopper approached in a jog, slightly out of breath. I had just finished spouting off the Miranda rights as Hopper stood over us, hands on his hips and chest heaving while catching his breath.

“Good thing one of us runs, huh, Chief?” I grinned while slapping one of the cuffs on.

“Shut up and cuff him,” Hopper rolled his eyes.

“This mean you’ll run with me in the mornings?” I asked while fastening the last cuff.

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, holding out a hand to help me up. He pulled me until I was standing, hurriedly grabbing my upper arms as I swayed forward from the force. I grabbed his forearms as an immediate response, trying not to imagine how they’d feel without his heavy jacket and long sleeve. I cleared my throat and stepped back, narrowly avoiding stepping on Mason.

Mason mumbled angrily, under his breath, as Hopper yanked him to his feet and shoved him forward as an indication to walk. We took a leisurely walk back to the Blazer with Mason being dragged along. Hopper tried to burp discreetly but underestimated the force and glanced sheepishly my way.

“Shouldn’t have had that second muffin, Chief,” I laughed behind my hand as I verbally jabbed at him, feeling his glare instantly.

“Oh, this’ll be the last time I share anything with you, ya brat,” he scoffed and bumped me with his large arm.

We loaded Mason into the back seat of the Blazer through the passenger side, shoving him not so gently all the way in. I flipped the seat back to its normal position and climbed into the truck, landing in the seat with a heavy sigh. Hopper was already in the driver’s seat with his hat sitting on the dashboard as he waited for me. He started the truck and took off while I pondered over a silly idea that popped into my head.

I stuck my tongue out slightly, glancing at the side of his face. I snagged his hat off the dashboard and plopped it on my head, grinning as he scowled at me.

“I think I earned this now, don’t you, Chief?” I bit my bottom lip, trying to hide my giddy smile.

Hopper’s eyes dropped down to my mouth and back up to my eyes quickly. He squinted at me but couldn’t hold his demeanor together and chuckled while looking back at the road, “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter 4

[geekgemsspooksandtoons]

The Journals Of Derek Grady Part 1

This is a story set within my Bioshock Rebirth AU. A reimaging/reboot of the Bioshock franchise. https://geekgemsspookyblog.tumblr.com/post/626141727587270656/bioshock-rebirth-timeline-this-is-a-timeline-of-an Just as a heads up if anyone is wondering about the context. I’ve had some stories in my drafts for a long time now and I’m finally publicly sharing them.

I made a post talking about this. There is this character named Derek that was in one of my pilot stories for this AU. But I felt strangely ashamed of how I wrote him. But I’d feel it’s best to use him in better context. In something very intriguing. Mainly the point of view of the Rapture Civil War from someone who fought in it. 

There is this silly theme of certain characters being named Derek in some AU’s of mine. Usual they are men that seem well intentioned, but their mind isn’t always in the best place. I’m just gonna make this because this is something I wanna make.

This was first started/made on December 23rd 2020. I’m not gonna have this beta read. It’s time I just upload this shit. I got the two tags done with. But I would like to mention I was heavily or so inspired by the Star Wars Battlefront 2 Classic story. Especially with the first journal from this character being inspired by the, “Knightfall” level. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lgG2ENW5Ac Spoilers ahead.

12/31/2001. The attack on the Kashmir restuarant.

I was a young kid when I first arrived in Rapture. I was naïve like many others. Many of used to believe in Andrew Ryan’s so called, “Great Chain”, until things started to fall apart. Especially after the death of scumbag Frank Fontaine. I find it funny he tried to put on a nice guy act whenever he met someone new or when he was in public, but I’ve heard the stories. The stories of the type of man he was.

But after Ryan nationalized Fontaine Futuristics in January 1999, a lot of people weren’t happy. It was surprising how long it took something to happen. So much dividing of social classes, so much shit that had happened during those years. What was gonna happen tonight would change everything forever...

I’ve been on Atlas’s crew of bandits since July. I felt joining Atlas was the best decision I made in my entire life. Because I felt I fighting for the right thing, a good cause. But what Atlas had planned sounded to me almost like terrorism. 

Yet when I thought about it, I really thought hard to myself. After everything we’ve suffered, how Ryan started to push everyone away, how he tried keep himself in power. Even though Rapture was supposed to be the perfect paradise...Andrew Ryan, Brigid Tenenbaum, Augustus Sinclair, Sander Cohen, Yi Suchong, Sofia Lamb, and so many others...how they treated us.

First it was just riots, but now it was time for Ryan and everyone who supported him knew what we were. What we stood for. They were gonna find out we weren’t some bandits who kidnapped some rich assholes to get payback or robin hood archetypes helping poor folks. 

There was no more talk for peace. Because Ryan never gave a damn...he never did.

1/31/2002. The Civil War starting. Apollo Square. Atlas and crew.

It’s been a month since we launched an attack on Kashmir. Things started to really change because the war for this city finally had truly begun. I have never been in war, but with the skills I’ve learned from Atlas and Daisy. I’d felt I was ready, because I needed to be. Not many of us were actual soldiers. But that didn’t matter to us. We knew what had to be done.

But we didn’t knew that Ryan would try to make Apollo Square a prison camp. Yet that didn’t matter, when those so called security officers first started to set people ablaze when they tried escaping. We shot any who would tried to do such things again. When they were hanging people, we fought back because we got tired of their bullshit. We didn’t fuck around. I felt proud when I shot one of those damn officers in the head. 

Apollo Square was practically our paradise. Sure Ryan’s army kept trying to get in, yet we always defended it. Yet even without Ryan, we still had others to worry about.

I feel pretty damn grateful a lot of our weapons were smuggled from the surface. We kept some of the weapons Ryan’s men had as well. 

But I think what I felt more grateful was our leaders. Daisy Fitzroy was practically Atlas’s 2nd in command. She was a tough woman, she didn’t take shit. Considering she worked for that weird kinky lady known as Ava Tate, I can’t blame her becoming that. She’s one of the bravest and smartest women I’ve fought with. I’m surprised she didn’t form our rebellion first.

Bill was lucky enough to be convinced by Atlas to join us after he resigned from the council. But Bill was like us. Even though he believed in Rapture, he was just an old man who wanted the best for people. I found that admirable of him. I also think he’s grateful we hid his ass after he left Ryan. Considering how Ryan gets upset with whoever betrays him, he’d rather want them dead...yet that might of been different considering he was best friends with Ryan himself. 

Diane was new, she was a hostage once with Julie Langford. But when Ryan never paid her ransom and practically didn’t care for her. But I do think she noticed those Jasmine Jolene posters throughout the city, making Ryan’s betrayal seemingly more worse. She originally came to Apollo Square to yell at us of how we possibly ruined her life. But when she saw the shit we were going through, she soon understood even more of the situation. Especially when we heard it wasn’t made better when hearing Ryan’s thoughts on people like us.

She joined us rather quickly, she was like Bill in a way. Diane was honestly a kind woman, it always felt nice to have more supporters. I do find it surprising from what I’ve seen that her and Daisy seemed to have developed a thing. Yet I found it surprisingly adorable...mainly because it was so strange to see Daisy seem soft to another person. But I think it gave the ladies more of a reason to keep fighting on.

But Atlas...he was something else. There was a reason people followed him. I followed him for plenty of good reasons. He seemed like a action hero you see out of those films from Hollywood. But I have never met a man so kind, yet so humble. He was the best of us...or that’s what I thought. You can have a good laugh with him too while having a drink. The man had a family, but he didn’t spoke of them much to keep them safe. I also remember hearing he was a captain in the Irish army. Which gave us an advantage in some ways over Ryan’s men.

He was the perfect anti-thesis to Andrew Ryan. Atlas was someone many genuinely respected and loved. Men wanted to be him, women loved him. To me and others. He wasn’t just a friend. Atlas was sometimes like a brother, or even a father.

Sure he wasn’t perfect and did some questionable things. But we knew it was for the best. Atlas is our best shot at winning this war. And I’m proud to fighting side by side with him, no matter what. 

2/1/2002. Johnny Topside.

I never met the man, but Atlas knew him only for a year. The way he talked about Johnny. I’ve heard stories of him, well that’s because Atlas didn’t want his memory to die. Atlas said Johnny Topside was a diver who had discovered Rapture years ago and for sometime was forced to live in Rapture until he finally had enough. 

Johnny Topside was the start of our rebellion. He was the one that planted the seeds. Johnny was the first to stand up to Ryan, but it resulted in tragedy. No one knows fully what happened to him. But Atlas said Ryan had tried to erase Johnny’s memory from history, and that it was very likely he may of been turned into...a Big Daddy...the idea of that horrifies me.

When Atlas spoke of him, he spoke of him so highly. Saying that Johnny was like a younger brother to him. You could of even seen at times Atlas nearly choked up when talking about him. I can’t blame him, losing someone that was like a brother to him. I’ve would of been nearly tearing up.

The story of Johnny Topside was something that kept us going, it inspired us. Hell, it even inspired me. Atlas didn’t want his memory to die, because what he was doing wasn’t just for everyone. But it was also justice for Johnny...justice for everyone that had enough of Ryan.

My only disappointment is that I never got to meet Johnny...because when Atlas says he’d would rather had him lead us...that says a helluva lot about Topside.

2/3/2002. Booker Dewitt and Ryan’s personal guard.

I’ve heard the stories of Dewitt...he merely sounded like a ghost. But he wasn’t. This was the man that shot down Fontaine, and most likely helped captured Johnny Topside.

Captain Dewitt was known to the citizens as, “The Grim Reaper Of Rapture” and he damn well earned it. But he was also Ryan’s new best friend after Bill left. Dewitt kept Ryan’s enemies in check. Whether by killing them when no one was looking, or capturing them. 

Security was fine, but Ryan’s personal guard and when Dewitt was leading them...that was scary. I think what scared us rebels was whenever he showed up. He always wore that mask...which gave him more of a reason to call him a grim reaper...because he damn sure was.

Ryan’s personal guard weren’t just police officers enforcing Ryan’s rule, they were literal soldiers. They were formed when Johnny Topside had discovered Rapture. The guard was basically a better version of security.

They were made up of men who either genuinely believed in the, “Great Chain” or just were looking to be paid by Ryan. Some of them were ex soldiers, mercenaries, and they were all just horrible people. 

The guard weren’t pushovers, they had years of experience or training by Dewitt. They were merciless, brutal, and effective. The fact Ryan had now decided to use them even more now showcased he truly wasn’t fucking around anymore. He wanted to win this war. But we weren’t gonna let that happen.

I think we were just thankful they didn’t really use Plasmids...if they did...then I felt this war may be over already. But it also gives us a easier chance to kill them all.

2/15/2002. Splicers.

Over the years since ADAM was discovered. Splicers became thing. Poor folks who used too spliced too much...they were once people...but they were sadly monsters now. I think what surprised us is how some of them were on our side...but not many. Unless they controlled themselves.

The Splicers of many types were a pain in the ass for Ryan and Atlas. Killing the rebels or Ryan’s personal guard. They had no allegiance...all they wanted was ADAM...they were basically drug addicts. I remember seeing one time a woman shanking a man for his ADAM, we had to put her down.

I didn’t really use Plasmids much, or some of the others like Atlas, Daisy, Diane, and Bill. It seemed good for Atlas that some of the rebels didn’t try to splice up. Which meant we can deal with less people turning into those...things.

There was one time I had to put down one of them. The man was just 21, but he had spliced up so much that he had gone insane. He tried attacking Daisy and Diane, but me and Daisy took him down shot him in the chest. But he was still breathing.

...I shot him in the head...I hesitated at first for about five seconds...he was younger than me. I wanted to make his death as quick and painless...it gave me a haunting reminder of why we were still fighting. All this pain and suffering...it started with the discover of that damn thing called ADAM...

I’m surprised I haven’t spoken about Tenenbaum yet...I feel like she was 2nd in place for me to kill after Ryan.

3/15/2002. Big Daddies, Little Sisters, and Brigid Tenenbaum.

I think the other thing that haunts me a lot and so many others is these two...I’ve seen them countless times and I have fought them when I joined Atlas.

Big Daddies are practically these...monsters that used to be people...slaves to protect what were once literal children...

These monsters looked like literal giant diving suits at times...some had drills, some had guns. They were tough sons of bitches. These things could kill a man easily, or even a group of a men if you weren’t careful. 

But it’s the Little Sisters that horrify me and other rebels...not because they are dangerous or that they are killers. It’s the fact of what they are. They were children...or possibly still are...forced to collect ADAM because they were implanted with some...damn sea slug Tenenbaum discovered...

There is no known cure for them. I think many of us want a cure. But the only way to help these girls is something horrific...harvesting them. Atlas said it was to put them out of their misery. They had ADAM in them.

From what I’ve seen, some rebels harvested them, some didn’t. Daisy didn’t do it. Neither did Diane or Bill. I remember seeing Atlas making the most sickened face after harvesting one, he didn’t enjoy it at all.

I think it may of bothered Atlas some didn’t harvest them...but it’s understandable why some wouldn’t. Because I remember seeing one 37 year old man, after he had harvested just one Little Sister. The man about 5 minutes later literally put a pistol under his jaw and killed himself.

We all understood why he even did that. Because after you witness a child being horrified by you about to harvest them...it’s a sight you’re never going to forget.

I can still hear those girls screaming. Daisy and Diane do too...it’s in our nightmares. For some reason...the harvesting of a Little Sister scars me than seeing a Splicer or whatever else...I don’t know why...I think it’s because all that innocence was lost...or actually taken. Because there was no other way to help them.

It was all because of one woman, Brigid Tenenbaum. I heard she worked with Frank Fontaine to help make those girls into what they are. I’ve heard she’s had a hard life, but that doesn’t excuse what I find one of the most horrific crimes I’ve ever seen. She’s been in hiding for 4 years after being exposed for what she did.

If we ever find Tenenbaum...I want to put my foot on her throat...whatever what we want to do to her. To be honest, I think I want to kill her more than Ryan...because I don’t know how you can be forgiven for doing that to a child.

God forgives, and whenever I have to put down a fellow rebel because they spliced up too much, I make it quick and painless as possible...but Tenenbaum...quick and painless is not gonna mean anything if we ever find her. 

6/3/2002. SOS and Archie Wynand.

After six months of war with Ryan’s personal guard and the Splicers. Whether some were controlled or not...things were going south for us. We fought hard, we planned as best as we could. But nothing was working, because Ryan was nearly winning.

There was panic among us, we were fearing that all of this could be for nothing. But Atlas revealed something, which he said was a risk in case. He somehow gave an SOS message to the surface to whoever would get it. Because he knew we weren’t gonna win this on our own anymore. We needed help, we needed the surface to discover Rapture. But also, we needed someone to help us take down Ryan. It was on Sunday Atlas gave out the message for help. We prayed someone would answer it. Luckily for us, someone did answer it.

Despite his aircraft was shot down by Ryan, and being the only survivor of his squad. Someone had arrived. That someone was a young man named Sergeant Archie Wynand. An Army Ranger sent by the US Government to discover where the SOS came from. 

To be honest, I was worried by the fact only one man had survived. I’d feared we still didn’t stand a chance. But after I saw that man enter combat and killed so many Splicers, I have never seen a man fought hard like that. He was still young like me, but he was like a commando in his way. It was as if someone like Atlas again had come to save us. 

Me and him never really talked, but from what I’ve seen. That man is the bravest soul I’ve ever seen. He’s loyal to a fault and unbreakable, it was like seeing a warrior unlike any other. I will admit, I felt a bit jealous when Atlas has giving him a lot more attention than me. 

But Archie was important. Atlas sent him commands and he followed through. But I think what confused me the most was something Atlas had revealed earlier. Which resulted in ordering Archie to go to a certain building, a tower in the middle of Rapture. 

6/4/2002. Elizabeth.

A day before Archie had arrived. There was this strange new information Atlas had discovered. That there was some girl in this tower in Rapture. Her name was Elizabeth. Atlas had discovered it when raiding a building near that tower. 

We were so confused on why Ryan had a girl in this tower. In fact? Why was she there? Who was she really? Even Atlas was confused, but she seemed important.

But I feel our questions were answered when Archie saved her. I didn’t get to talk to her personally, but I have seen her in action with my own eyes. Along with some footage. 

Somehow, this young girl had some powers of an unknown source. She was able to summon old sentries, and other things. It felt unnatural. Sure the Plasmids and other discoveries in Rapture were very special...but what this girl could do...it made us question even more who the hell she was and why Ryan had her locked away.

Gonna admit though, she was honestly adorable.

6/5/2002. Elizabeth’s purpose, and what the Hell is Archie? What the Hell is going on?

I think it horrified me and the rebels of what Elizabeth was supposed to be. Why she was kept secret from Rapture. What Atlas had discovered more is that she was secretly a weapon Ryan would use in case against someone like us. A sleeper agent that would of slipped through our ranks or anyone else...almost like a female fatale Ryan wanted to make personally...it confused me because from what I’ve seen, she’s nothing like that.

But I think we surprised us more is that she had been in Rapture since 1983. For about 19 years, Ryan had her in there, with hardly anyone knowing. I think it sickened me a bit more hearing Ryan was gonna use a young woman as a secret weapon in case someone like Atlas came along. It was almost like what happened with the Little Sisters.

Yet the other thing that’s been on my mind is Archie. I’ve talked about how much of a warrior he was. Ever since he rescued Elizabeth, she’s been by his side ever since. I haven’t seen such a effective team. It was like they were perfect for each other.

But again, it’s Archie that has me thinking. Sure he’s a soldier...but compared to any of us...and even compared to Ryan’s personal guard. I have never seen a man be so efficient in what he does. This was a young man, yet he fought like he was like some sort of super soldier. Hell, I don’t even think Atlas and Daisy are that efficient. He’s fast and strong.

He was also using so many Plasmids without mutating. I couldn’t get it? He wasn’t becoming spliced up. I couldn’t believe it? I had lost count of how many times he injected a Eve Hypo into his wrists.

I think the scary part is how many Big Daddies he’s killed...how can one man kill so many. I didn’t understand it? But from what I’ve seen from footage is...him curing the Little Sisters...I couldn’t believe it.

Where were he and Elizabeth staying at? I heard Atlas yesterday say they were at Tenenbaum’s...I couldn’t understand...I’m confused...

6/5/2002 A bigger Big Daddy.

I didn’t understand nor could I comprehend what I had witnessed. Ever since Archie arrived...things were changing. What made me think this way was when I saw...something I didn’t think was possible.

Out of all the Big Daddies we’ve killed. I had never seen one so big. He was about 12 feet tell...he looked older than any of the Big Daddies. He looked similar to the Alpha series Big Daddies...I couldn’t understand. I was lucky to have lived, but I witness it killed so many rebels, Splicers, and Ryan’s army. This Big Daddy was vicious. It seemed like he was on a mission. As if he was tracking down Elizabeth.

I’m just in disbelief...I don’t understand.

I was a witness also to see Elizabeth teleport it somewhere...I think it’s dead...I’m not sure.

6/6/2002. The war soon coming to an end.

To be honest, I was fearing we may never win. But somehow we made it. Captain Dewitt was beaten yesterday, and now Ryan is soon to be dealt with. 

I’ve learned from Atlas that Tenenbaum had created a cure for the Little Sisters...I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I asked him again if he was telling the truth, and he was. That’s why Archie and Elizabeth were staying with Tenenbaum somewhere. 

It still sounded so crazy. But the next piece of news is that these three would be coming to Atlas’s headquarters, our base of operations. I couldn’t believe I was seeing Tenenbaum...I had...weird feelings.

The plans were while Archie and others went to Ryan’s office to finally take him down. There was hardly anyone left to defend him. While Elizabeth and Dr. Tenenbaum stayed at Atlas’s headquarters. It...an experience meeting this young girl...even after everything she’d been through, but so kind. 

But I wasn’t gonna be staying for long either like Archie. Atlas sent me and some men to take over Fort Folic considering Archie and Elizabeth’s recent visit there. As if the freak that was Sander Cohen had finally left somewhere. It was no longer locked up.

I felt genuine hope for the first time. As if this whole nightmare will finally end. But I will admit, I wanted to kill Ryan as much as anybody else. I had my orders, and I listened. Besides, taking back Fort Folic was a huge win

I do recall Ryan playing golf at times. Hopefully when Archie gets to his office, he’ll beat the Walt Disney lookalike of a fuckhead with his own golf club. It’s what Ryan deserved...it’s what many of us wanted.

6/7/2002. Atlas...and the end...

...I don’t even know what to say...the war is over...it’s actually over...

But it didn’t end with Ryan dying or getting captured...

Atlas...our leader...my hero...my best friend...the anti-thesis to Ryan...was Frank Fontaine.

He’s dead...he was brutally hung...by Archie...his corpse is hanging for everyone to see...he...looks like half of a monster.

Everything we’ve done...everything we stood for...I feel betrayed, but I feel relived. I think others are feeling a similar way...I need no I want answers...

6/8/2002. The birth of the Vox Populi. Tenenbaum discovering these journals.

I think what happened on Thursday and Friday...changed so many of us...even myself...I thank Daisy and Diane for explaining it to me.

There was a huge meeting with the remaining rebels. Archie, Elizabeth, and Dr. Tenenbaum joined in as well. So many discussions were had. Rapture was finally ours...

While Splicers were still a thing, and some rich assholes were still around. Considering half of the city was still going, but we came together to formulate a plan. 

There won’t be another Andrew Ryan, or even another Frank Fontaine. The end of the Rapture Civil War was only the beginning of something much better. 

We weren’t just called rebels anymore, we were officially given a name now. The Vox Populi. It was Daisy’s idea for the name. We were basically the reformed version of Atlas’s rebellion. But now, we had genuine people who actually gave a damn. Who wouldn’t use us as puppets. That we will strive for a better tomorrow. 

For peace, a better community. So we can help out every Little Sister we can find out there, and help whoever else is in Rapture. We’re gonna make this shithole of a city a better living place. No more tyrants, no more conmen, no more rulers, just people wanting to make this place a better place for everyone.

Justice, peace, and all that...I think many of us are still getting over what happened with Atlas...I’m still getting used to it...I’m just grateful it’s over.

But before this the huge meeting, Dr. Tenenbaum discovered my journals...she read what I wrote about her...our struggles. I apologized to her, but she said it’s okay. She said she doesn’t blame me for being angry. I think what surprised me more was the one person that her the most was herself...

For some odd reason, I forgave her...she just stared at me with surprise. She gave me a small smile...and then I said I think I could forgive her after everything she’s tried doing to fix her mistakes. Because I told her trying to fix your mistakes is better than doing nothing.

[radramblog]

Linkin Park Retrospective Part 6: The EPs

I can’t listen to One More Light yet. Don’t have it in me to tackle that. So instead, we’re going to cover the two EPs released by the band, Collision Course and Songs from the Underground.

Collision Course

…who’s idea was this?

Apparently MTVs, as part of an “Ultimate Mashups” series, though their involvement seemed mostly hands off. A 6-track Jay-Z/Linkin Park crossover album isn’t an idea I would have tried to sell, but Mike and Jay seem pretty into it based on the snippets of studio chatter you get in between tracks. The album opens with that, in fact- Chester (?) going “I ordered a Frappucino where’s my fuckin Frappucino?” is certainly one way to start things off.

I’m just going to make it clear now that I’ve never heard most of the Jay-Z tracks being mashed up here, so I can’t really comment on that end. As these tracks are mashups with songs I am quite familiar with, though, I can at least give some degree of assessment. And unfortunately, I’d argue Collision Course compares unfavourably to Reanimation as far as crossover albums go. Largely speaking the remixes done to the Linkin Park instrumentals are uninteresting, though they do match the new vocals done over the top of them, and Jay-Z is basically fine but not overwhelming.

I think my biggest issue with this album is that a bunch of the songs just drop just about everything new about them and are just the Linkin Park track for the last like minute or so- Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You, Jigga What/Faint, and Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer are all pretty guilty of this. That isn’t to say that the rest of these tracks aren’t good, but this in particular is a sticking point I couldn’t ignore.

Track-by-track, then. Dirt off your Shoulder/Lying from You is the most straightforward track on the whole project, and probably the biggest sufferer from eventually just being Lying from You (seeing as that’s kinda the worst of those three LP tracks). I have no idea whats going on in the instrumental from Big Pimpin’/Papercut, but the Papercut verse on top of that sounds just sort of weird- Jay-Z’s verse fits better, but also, that’s probably the one written for that instumental isn’t it. Jigga What/Faint is interesting, with the first half’s backing being a heavily remixed version of the verse instrumental from Faint, but a minute in it’s just Faint oops. With that said, Jays bars over that instrumental actually does fit pretty well.

I don’t know rap that well, I can’t really comment on the flow or anything, but while the vocals are new recordings, they are the same verses from the songs being mashed up, so some originality is lost there.

Numb/Encore is the one single from this album, and it’s definitely one of the better ones, yeah. You’ve got Mike and Jay both working together in bits, the remixed Numb instrumental feels like exactly the extrapolation you’d want for a track like this, and that “what the hell are you waiting foooooor” is super satisfying. Unlike some of the other tracks, the final bit (with Chester, yknow, doing Numb) maintains that remixed instrumental, making it stand out a bit better from the original versions, which is nice. However, Jay-Z basically just isn’t on the latter half of the track, making it extremely awkward when he did a live performance of it after Chester’s passing.

For a song called Encore, however, it’s a bit weird that it’s not the last track on the album.

Izzo/In The End opens with this really bright instrumental and Mike, thanking a live audience like it’s a concert, sure. It’s just super odd that this is the same song with the In the End vocals, the emotions not really fitting the fun of the instrumental and previous verse. It is performed significantly more light-heartedly, but it still feels like an odd fit. To be fair, though, I’m not sure what Hybrid Theory/Meteora era track would have worked better there, so fair play. The album ends with Points of Authority/99 Problems/One Step Closer, ther first half of which I actually think is better than Numb/Encore. It’s got an actual fresh verse from Mike over Points of Authority, and him doing the cop bit from 99 Problems’ pull over bit actually works super well. Unfortunately, when the instrumental switches over to One Step Closer, the song gets a bit worse- the mix on Jay-Z’s vocals is way too low for a lot of it, being drowned out by the instrumental most of the time, and the last minute is just One Step Closer again but also Jay-Z is occaisionally repeating the 99 Problems line. It’s a weak finish to an otherwise solid song and album.

 Songs from the Underground

Released in 2008, Songs from the Underground is a collection of tracks from Linkin Park Underground collated into an EP along with a couple of unreleased live recordings. Linkin Park Underground, or LPU, is the official fan club, which gets a yearly CD as part of membership that has assorted demos and live versions on it, which is where this EP pulls its tracks from- its also a set of CDs I desperately want to get my hands on but their limited nature makes their price obscene. I have managed to get LPU 9, which is the one I wanted most, but the remainder have eluded my grasp.

My precioussssssssssss

Side note, this album isn’t on spotify, and the only Youtube upload I could find was a shit recording, so you’re best off looking for each individually.

This compilation opens with Announcement Service Public (from LPU6), a pretty decent instrumental with Chester screaming unintelligibly in the background. This is more of a joke than anything- as the name suggests, it’s a PSA reversed, and reversing Chester’s vocals reveals he’s yelling a reminder to brush your teeth and wash your hands. I mean, I’ve been in an LP mosh once, and I can confirm that this was an announcement that needed making.

The second track QWERTY (LPU6), sounds like it wasn’t even written by Linkin Park, rather, one of their contemporaries. Allegedly, they wrote it on a long, long plane flight, which I could see- a non-studio environment leading to a more different track. Honestly, this could fit right on to Meteora, as much like Faint or Nobody’s Listening it’s a different take on the sound they’re known for. This one’s a lot of fun- the riffs are sick, and the chorus, if simple, is solid to sing along to. This deserves main album status.

And One is one of the tracks on this album that’s actually a rerecording off of the EP made by the band when Hybrid Theory was their name and not just their first album (though the EP was self-titled, so it’s pretty confusing). This album would later be rereleased as the first LPU, and then again (with an official video) along with the 20th anniversary edition of Hybrid Theory. And One is interesting, as it’s the first track recorded after Chester joined the band back in the day, and it’s so fucking edgy holy shit. I think it’s pretty decent, but unlike with QWERTY I’m kinda ok with this being a little by the wayside. With that said, I really like the little breakdown at the end, and the verse Mike is doing over it.

Sold My Soul to yo Mama (LP4) is a real track, huh. It’s a short, heavily electronic piece, ganking lyrics from Points of Authority and Papercut, but like, it’s mostly just Joe Hanh fucking around for 2 minutes. Not a huge fan of this one.

Dedicated (LP2) is another of this album’s better songs. It’s very Lose Yourself, that sort of emotional rap track about doing a rap track, and while obviously it’s not at the same level as that one it’s still excellent on its own. This is just such an excellent demo, one of Mike’s best performances- and considering he’s carrying it on his own (I’m not sure Chester’s even on this, unless those background aaaahs are him) that means a lot.

The next track is Hunger Strike, actually a live recording by Chris Cornell (of Soundgarden and Audioslave fame) with Chester as a feature. They were good friends, which is going to come up tragically when we get to One More Light. To be honest, though, this track kinda sucks dick. It is far from Chris’s best performance, nor Chester’s, and the instrumental is fucking boring. It picks up around the two minute mark, but at that point it just sounds like a bad Audioslave song, and I’m not really down for that, yknow. Just go listen to Like a Stone or Black Hole Sun again.

Another live recording is next, My December (a B-Side from One Step Closer, also on LPU2). My December is far from my favourite track- I think it’s kinda overdone, and this live version is so much worse. Look, it’s just Chester singing over someone (maybe him?) playing the song on piano? It doesn’t work, man. Not a fan.

The album’s final track is called Part of Me (HTEP/LPU1), and feels a lot like a better version of And One, if I’m honest. Mike’s actually going hard here in the verses, especially in the pre-chorus, and said chorus is actually pretty solid, even though the instrumental there is a little weak. It’s a slow, chugging song, heavily affected through Hahn’s DJing, that does do a nice little build to the track’s ending.

Except it doesn’t end, because there’s a hidden track in it. I don’t think this one has an official name anywhere, but it’s an electronic instrumental. It’s basically ok. Tangent, but I remember thinking when I was younger that if I was ever in a band, I’d want to write an electronic instrumental named Oxymoron- because of course, it wouldn’t have any real instruments in it.

That closes out Songs from the Underground, and I’ve never really broken it down in my head before, but it’s a lot more mediocre than I thought. The live songs are not good, and several demos or rarities that should have been on it absolutely weren’t- Across the Line, Drawing, A6, and where the fuck was High Voltage? Honestly, more of a miss than I remember. If I’m low on ideas, I might break down LPU9 individually, but I probably won’t spend any other time on LP demo stuff- I’m sure you’re sick to death of me talking about Linkin Park by now.

[charmingturkeysandwich]

fireworks (that went off too soon)

Hey there! This is a CS one shot. An AU in which Killian is the lead singer and songwriter in a band that sounds suspiciously like Fall Out Boy...

Summary: Emma and Killian were friends in college, but haven’t spoken in 9 years. Killian’s band’s new single changes everything.

Words: 4400ish

Rating: Teen? (Swearing, References to Sex)

Also on AO3

Big thanks to @awkwardnessandbaseball​ for reading this over, correcting all my dumbass mistakes, and helping me polish this up pretty :) (The title comes from my favorite Fall Out Boy song, Fourth of July. It’s heavily featured in the story sung by Killian’s band.)

---

It was 3pm on Friday the 13th – also a Full Moon – when Emma Swan finally had the meltdown she’d pressed “pause” on about nine years earlier.

(Nine years, three months, more accurately, but who was counting?)

The work week was winding down. The get this done today or be fired tasks had been completed and all the emails had been answered and it was about time to start doing the bare minimum to run down the clock to 5:01 when she could, without regret, run screaming from the building and put her god forsaken job out of her mind for two days of rest, relaxation, and rum.

(Definitely the rum. Or maybe it had been upgraded to a tequila weekend.)

It was Pandora’s fault, really. (A fitting name for opening up an emotional box inside her soul that had been sealed for quite a long time and with very good fucking reason.)

Usually Emma listened to wordless music – movie scores, Vitamin String Quartet and the like – so as to keep the creative juices flowing without breaking her train of concentration. But having reached the procrastination part of the afternoon, she thought, what harm could there be in listening to a little regular music?

Emma had always had a soft spot for pop/punk/emo music. It brought her joy even when it wasn’t joyful, which is either a sentiment only shared by lonely foster girls or perhaps all emo kids, but did it matter? It was her kind of music. Long before she met Killian Jones.

But then she met him. He was an insufferable ass at least 2/3 of the time, but for the other third of his life, he was sweet, funny, and musically a goddamn genius. His voice was smooth and warm, he could play guitar like it was in his DNA, and his lyrics were both relatable and completely original. She was half in love from the start, so of course she pushed him as far away as possible.

(Love is patient; love is kind. Love is slowly losing my mind)

He was aloof. At best. They were college kids who shared a dorm building and not much else, not until their roommates fell in love with each other. That’s around the time they started spending an inordinate amount of time together. He was fucking anything with brown eyes and tits and she absolutely did not care and everything was fine. They were friends, kind of. She was a fan of his band, but not in the groupie way. She had no intention of being just a notch in his bedpost or a line in his song.

(As it turned out, she ended up becoming both. Eventually.)

When he wasn’t playing shows in dive bars (or fucking freshmen girls in a shower stall of their dorm hall’s shared bathroom), he spent a lot of time in Emma’s room. Mostly to avoid Mary Margaret and David in his room who were, as he called it, “the most sickly sweet love story this side of the Atlantic” and “a complete buzzkill to complex song-writing.” And she was OK with it. She loved when he would compose while she read. And they had the best conversations. They challenged each other on everything from politics to pie flavors and she’d never been so stimulated by someone of the opposite sex in her life.

Intellectually stimulated. In the brain.

By junior year, the two pairs of roommates had moved off-campus, opting to share a three bedroom house while they finished up school. Killian’s band was starting to actually make something of themselves, but he vowed to get his degree (this pretty face won’t last forever), and Emma played tutor for him when he skipped class for weeks on end so he could play some gigs on the west coast.

They were friends. They were equals. They meant so much more to each other than “just” friends or study buddies or housemates or anything, because the past three years had been the most stable years in either of their lives and it was all because of the support they received from each other in the darkest nights and the brightest days and seriously.

Fuck Pandora.

It had distracted her when she was in the middle of perfectly pleasant procrastinating. Now she was getting off track. Frazzled. Fucking pissed.

With her work mostly finished, she had decided to listen to Panic! At the Disco’s station. It was a safe zone – the best of two different genres: emo and pop. She bopped along to Blink 182 and “the Ballad of Mona Lisa.” She swayed and swooned a little when “Secrets” by One Republic played. And she got a good laugh at “I’m Not OK (I Promise),” remembering the days she’d scream “I’m not o-fucking kay! [trust me]” every time she got into a fight with the foster mother she now loved so very much.

But then there was a dramatic twist and a cinematic sweep and that voice and before she could switch the station, some warning popped up at her, removing all the buttons and controls and displaying the error message of SOMETHING WENT WRONG and all she could think was no shit, Sherlock.

Killian’s band got big when they were 21. And stayed big. The band broke up once, briefly, but they’d been dancing around the American Top 40 for at least 6 of the last 9 years and as much as it hurt her to hear his voice through a radio and not through a wall of their shared house, at least the lyrics of the songs never stung her before.

Because they’d never been about her before.

It was the summer before senior year, late that June, and Killian had just returned from a little pop-punk festival in Seattle. She’d picked him up at the airport in Portland (Maine) and had been chatting his ear off about how much better “our” Portland was from “theirs” (Oregon), but Killian had been largely silent.

Which was out of character to the extreme, his little creative writing/song composer mind always racing and his far too pleasing voice always spilling from his stupidly attractive lips.

“What is up with you, Jones? I just said that they have better lobster in Oregon and you didn’t even react.”

From the passenger seat, he played with the window controller, the air whooshing in and stopping to the rhythm of Seven Nation Army AKA the world’s most overplayed song that wasn’t sung by Ed Sheeran or Taylor Swift.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, Swan. A problem for a different day, to be sure.”

His voice had been quiet, unsure. That wasn’t him either. This was the asshole who could start a trend with a typo and who claimed to have made a girl come with nothing but his voice. His level of confidence was infuriating, but unshakeable.

(He made forgetting the words to his own songs look attractive. And that was an eventual Buzzfeed headline, not Emma’s own assessment. Obviously.)

“Killian, what’s up? Did the festival not go as well as you wanted? From what I saw on YouTube, it seemed awfully successful.”

“Aye, love.” He perked up just a bit, finally turning toward her and smiling. “It was grand.”

“And you’re brooding because, what, you’re worried that feeling happy for too long will sap you of your emo energy or something?”

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t seem to take, though, and Killian turned back out the window like he was practicing for his very own music video.

When they got back to their house, Emma grabbed his clothes and Killian lugged the musical equipment and neither of them said a word.

Fog had rolled in, or maybe it was on its way out, and if it weren’t for the green leaves, it might have felt like October. But there was something about his expression that was a hell of a lot more December. Something ending.

They were lingering almost awkwardly in their kitchen, Emma trying to casually wrack her brain for how to pull Killian out of his little funk, when he interrupted her with an overdramatic clearing of his throat.

“Ahem! Fancy a drink, Swan?” Killian extended a shot glass to her, a dark liquid inside that couldn’t be anything but spiced rum.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked hesitantly.

“Perhaps… perhaps it’s a celebration.”

“…of?”

“Your business sense, of course!” He lifted his glass toward hers for a clink and then downed the shot faster than she could even raise hers to her lips.

“What kind of business are we talking here? I’m not sure if this is the setup for an idiot joke or a reference to lyrics you swear you told me you wrote but never actually did.”

“Ah, love, no. Not that, this time anyway. Actually – actually, it’s about the band. And ‘Grand Theft Autumn.’ They loved it like you said they would.”

“They being?”

“The record company. They loved it. And they want it. And us.”

Holy shit! She knew it. They were going to be famous. Killian deserved it so much and they were going to be huge and everyone was going to love him just like she did and –

Wait.

“When you say they want you… do you mean, like, deferred acceptance so you can finish college or…”

“No, love. The boys and I … we’re packing up and moving to LA.”

She was dumbfounded.

“LA?”

“Aye.”

“When?”

“Monday.”

That’s right about the time her stomach dropped to her heels and the rum threatened its way back up her throat and perhaps onto Killian’s perfectly rumpled white shirt.

She just – wasn’t ready to let him go.

She could hear his honey-smooth voice drift through her head, his own lyrics seeming oddly relevant to this dramatic turn in her life.

Maybe he won’t find out what I know; you were the last good thing about this part of town.

So they drank. And drank. And drank some more. They were more honest with each other than they’d been in three years. She told him how much she hated that he thought setting his clocks early would keep him from being late. And he told her that he didn’t truly think that… it just had fit as a song lyrics and he felt like he needed to “make it authentic by living it.”

She called him pretentious and he called her painfully adorable and neither were true and yet somehow they felt like the perfect identifiers for the characters they were trying to be when they weren’t with each other.

So of course she fell into bed with him that night. Her bed. The twinkly lights hung around her ceiling were flickering as he kissed a trail down her neck and she tugged off his way-too-tight jeans and dear fucking lord if she thought the only thing he could do with his tongue was sing, she was officially wrong.

But come morning she was officially gone. As the sun rose on a rainy June Sunday morning, she slipped out of her bed, slid into whatever clothes she could reach without making noise, and jogged all the way to David’s brother’s frat house to hide until Monday came and went and when exactly did her life turn into an emo song?

When I wake up I’m willing to take my chances on the hope I forget

September. Friday the 13th. Pandora malfunction. Her brain was reeling and her heart was shattering all over again, because the song pumping through her pathetic tinny Dell speakers was, on first blush, just another of his melodramatic fictions, a series of sentiments that sounded good together but that he’d never actually experienced (he’d admitted the best songs were much like Hey There Delilah… a lovely story and 0% real).  But she could hear something genuine in that still so attractive voice. And then… a few familiar thoughts.

I’ll be as honest as you let me

I miss your early morning company

If you get me

You are my favorite ‘what if’

You are my best ‘I’ll never know’

She’d turned off her phone the morning she’d left him in her bed. Kept it off until Tuesday. And blocked his number the minute she turned it back on.

Goodbyes were bad enough. To have been reduced to his very last college-one-night-stand? She couldn’t face it.

(Especially because she’d realized mid-fuck she’d kind of always wanted to be his forever, or whatever overly-romantic hyperbole he’d scoff at before writing it down in his notes.)

She hadn’t let herself think of him for longer than the span of one of his songs since that day. Even then, she’d usually change the channel. It was just too hard.

But could this one actually be about her? And if so, what the fuck was she supposed to do with that? Cry? Scream? Sue his sorry ass for slander?

(Not that one.)

She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life. He’d never been one of them, not until the end. Is it possible that didn’t need to be the end at all?

My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars

Again and again til I’m stuck in your head

He’d probably had a lot of almosts. Maybe he’d just gotten better at faking genuine emotion in his songs. There’s no way he still thought about her. Even for lyrical dramatics.

I wish I’d known how much you loved me

I wish I’d cared enough to know

I’m sorry every song’s about you

The torture of small talk

With someone you used to love

Well there you had it. Small talk? They hadn’t talked in years. And she already knew every song was total bullshit, made up longing. Some of his best lovelorn pandering (that she admittedly loved) had been written when he claimed to be incapable of actual love. When he would only sleep with dark-haired, dark-eyed girls who didn’t want anything more than a good breakfast the next morning.

(I’m not looking for a soulmate, darling, just a beauty without a gag reflex, he’d repeated on many occasions. Sometimes literally to the women he was hitting on. And yes, they did usually blow him afterward and he would inexplicably tell her and she Did. Not. Care.)

(Until the day she realized she always had.)

A week after he’d moved to Los Angeles had been the 4th of July. It being summer and most of her friends working various jobs, she didn’t think there would be a huge party. James had insisted, though, that they needed to celebrate the fact that their friends were getting famous. David had pointed out the irony that the band – Killian, Will, Robin, and Graham – were all from outside of the USA. And yet they were being celebrated on America’s birthday.

“Stealing things from others is the American way. Now drink, little brother!” James had shouted just before his frat brothers lifted him into keg stand position and he chugged.

Emma wasn’t one for keg stands, so she’d opted for drinking straight liquor instead, and from what she could extrapolate from the massive headache the next morning (in addition to the vomit in her bedside garbage can), she had likely drank that bottle in its entirety.

After the opening of Pandora’s box that fateful Friday the 13th, Emma couldn’t think of much else but her almost-maybe-something Killian Jones. Suddenly his stupid band was everywhere and that stupid song was everywhere and she was feeling a deep longing to connect with that girl who had two whole albums by two different bands written about her to see how the fuck she coped with old wounds being opened every fucking visit to the grocery store.

(Then again, Brand New and Taking Back Sunday weren’t quite so mainstream. Maybe that’s how she survived.)

(Is that what you call a getaway? Tell me what you got away with, cause I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish; I’ve seen more guts in 11 year old kids.)

She’d taken to keeping the radio off at all times, and humming the Star Spangled Banner when she couldn’t escape Killian’s stupidly attractive and all-too-familiar voice gracing the airwaves.

Ruby asked her out for drinks, and alcohol was exactly the cure for her current tumult, so she agreed on the very specific request that they hit the country bar downtown instead of their usual Rabbit Hole escapades. Which worked out great for avoiding song-specific reminders, but sadly didn’t keep all Killian talk at bay.

“By the way, how have you been holding up?” Ruby asked, probably in response to Emma’s downing two shots – one of which that had been intended for Ruby – in the first minute or so at the table.

“What do you mean, holding up?” She wasn’t that transparent, right?

“Well the song… the one Killian wrote about you. It’s, like… huge. Weird how he waited this long. Did he warn you first or anything?”

… what? It wasn’t about her. Sure, it kind of, a little bit, had some moments that seemed like they could be inspired by her. But it had been nine fucking years and she hadn’t seen him since the morning she slinked away from their house and it’s not like he’d ever reached out or anything (or at least he didn’t try very hard, because blocking a cell phone number wasn’t like blocking a whole-ass person),  hence her nine years of denial and shoving down her feelings like the very opposite of the emo kid she once was.

She probably looked like that stupid meme of the lady thinking about math and her heart was beating nearly out of her chest, but somehow the only sound that made it out of her mouth was, “huh?”

Ruby, bless her heart, was much better at dealing with, you know, life than Emma was. And sorting through feelings and coping with unprecedented situations that Emma had so far only seen odd iterations of in Hallmark movies or … emo music videos, probably.

“The song. Fourth of July. It’s been a while since he wrote a song about you and I mean usually they were about pining for you, which is a little more tolerable, probably. But this one… I don’t know. I just figured you probably didn’t appreciate it, and that’s why you were drinking my shots.”

Another lame, dumbfounded response: “What? Killian’s never written a song about me.”

Ruby’s eyebrow shot up to her hairline (the way Killian’s always had when she said something silly). “So all that shit in college was…?”

“Made up! Ruby, he was a creative writing major. He just made up characters and then wrote songs as if he were them. He never actually wanted to date anyone. Just fuck anything that resembled Megan Fox.”

Ruby didn’t say a word. She stood, walked to the bar, ordered two drinks, and sat back down with Emma a few minutes later.

“Sweetheart. You sure are dumb for a smart girl.”

And that’s how Emma’s Enlightenment began.

As it turns out, Killian’s creative writing skills were great, but not quite as great as his love for his best friend.

Yep, love. Apparently he’d loved her.

There was a reason he’d really only fucked girls that looked nothing like Emma.

There was a reason he had valued her input so much in his music.

There was a reason he’d hung out with her so often and it had nothing to do with Mary Margaret and David’s grossness.

Keep quiet; nothing comes as easy as you. Can I lay in your bed all day?

Fuck.

“Why didn’t he tell me?!”

Ruby laughed at her, which was totally uncalled for, but also kind of made a lot of sense if she had the ability to think of any of this objectively.

“Oh, honey. He told you every goddamn day in those songs. And how he acted. You’d have to be blind to not realize how much that boy loved you. So he assumed it was a ‘no’ from your side. And then after you slept with him and then he poured his heart out to you and still nothing? That was kinda it for him. But I mean, it’s been so long. I can’t believe he released a song about that now.”

At that, Emma’s jaw dropped. Hard. There was an audible pop and damnit, she was going to have to ice that later, probably.

“How do you know I slept with him?!”

“… because you had a fight about it literally in front of every person you knew?”

HUH?

The buzz of the alcohol was nothing compared to the stinging behind her eyes and the pain in her gut and seriously had the past decade actually been a very different reality from what she’d been living?

And how had Mary Margaret, AKA the Secret Spiller, never told her that A) Killian loved her or B) that Emma had apparently had a blacked-out fight with him in front of everyone?

Emma’s Enlightment continued.

Apparently no one spilled the secret because no one knew it was a secret to start. Much like Killian had, everyone thought that Emma knew his feelings, but that she just wanted to be friends.

And after the blow up on the Fourth of July, they just assumed she didn’t want to talk about it.

While David and James and a bunch of their friends were playing beer pong and Mary Margaret and Regina were trying to find another pair to play cornhole, Emma had been nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels from the roof of the frat house. She’d crawled out of Jefferson’s window, much to his annoyance (he worked in the morning and needed to sleep), and she just watched. Everyone was having a good time. The best days of their lives were now or even tomorrow.

But hers were yesterday.

So she drank and she drank and she drank until the boys were lighting off fireworks and Belle had started a chant of USA! USA! And out of nowhere she saw the floppy brown hair and scuffed-up leather jacket she’d been wishing for every minute of the last week.

“Swan! I need to speak with you!” he’d called up at her, perched on the Lion statue at the front entrance.

But, of course, he’d been pulled in a thousand different directions as soon as everyone else saw their about-to-be-famous friend. So Emma drank and drank and drank some more, not prepared to actually have to say goodbye this time.

Ruby wasn’t sure how long it took until Killian made it onto the roof with her. She did know they’d only been talking a few minutes when Emma started screaming at the top of her lungs about thanks for the memories, even though they weren’t so great. That seemed to have really upset him, because then he started screaming about why the bloody hell did you sleep with me then and Emma had cried but ultimately said she didn’t mean to and he needed to just leave because that’s what he was going to do anyway and there was no reason to feel sorry for her.

There had been more screaming that wasn’t quite intelligible (thank goodness), but when all was said and done, Killian had told Ruby that he laid it all down on the line, how much he loved her, how he wanted her to go with him to LA, how he really would burn down the whole city just to show her the light, but she’d said no. Emphatically.

Before crying so hard in Jefferson’s closet that he threatened to take her to the ER.  When Emma passed out, Killian had carried her to his car (the only sober one) and carried her into her room when they got to his now-former house, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek and his later assurance to Ruby that at least he had tried.

And Emma didn’t remember.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Emma muttered to Ruby.

Was there anything worse than finding out something that could have changed your life nine fucking years too late? She had never loved anyone like she’d loved Killian. It had been the easiest relationship of her existence. She’d never felt more safe, more valued, more… loved. But she’d thought it was friend-love.

(Even after the amazing sex.)

What a fucking dumbass she was.

Ruby left her to gather her thoughts/sulk in the corner for at least three line dances before she came back over to their table, bringing Emma a nice tall water as she cleared the un-drunk Long Island Iced Tea from next to Emma’s slumped head.

“I don’t think I can ever un-fuck this up,” Emma whined into her elbow before sitting up to chug the glass of water.

“I do have his number,” Ruby offered.

Hey um Ruby gave me your number and apparently I have a lot to apologize for

Congratulations on the fame also by the way I loved you every minute of every day

This is Emma, remember me? Apparently your song about me is doing really well

Hey Killian, I was wondering if you ever made it to this side of the country any more

I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry

After about 15 failed attempts to send him a message that would convey the depth of her regret, she nearly gave up. Hands shaking, legs bouncing, lunch threatening to make an encore appearance, she pulled up the lyrics to his new song, took a screenshot,

And all my thoughts of you

They could heat or cool the room

And now don’t tell me you’re fine

Oh, honey, you don’t have to lie

And added:

I’m not fine.

It was a very painful 26 hours before she received a response, a screenshot with an addition as well.

I said I’d never miss you, but I guess you’ll never know

Where the bridges I have burned never really led home

Can I come home?

They met outside the old frat house (now shut down) a week later, staying awake until sunrise just catching up on all that had happened since they last saw each other (and a little bit of what happened when they did). She brought sparklers and he brought nine years of unreleased song lyrics.

And when his band’s next single was called Opening Pandora’s Box on Friday the Thirteenth, well, everyone but Emma just thought they were being their usual melodramatic selves.

Yeah, songs about her weren’t all that awful after all.

[strangerontheotherside84]

Wild Child (Billy Hargrove x Reader) part 5

Hey everybody thank you all so much for your nice feedback. I originally just wrote this story for a friend and didn’t think that anybody else would give a shit about it tbh. Which is also the reason why there is no regular uploading schedule and I am super shit at this whole tagging stuff…

Tagged-list: @speedmetalqueen @charmed-asylum

Warnings: language, mention of abuse, blood, mention of drug use

„Honey, I’m home.“ you shouted dramatically as you entered the small house, kicked of your boots and walked down the hallway into the kitchen.

You had actually been surprised to see lights burning inside the house as you arrived, your uncle didn’t mention that he was going to be home for dinner. Well now you at least had someone to share that frozen lasagna with. „Woah uncle Lou what’s that smell? Did you find out about the magical effects that spices have on pre-cooked food or-? Oh…“

You stopped at the sight of your uncle sitting at the kitchen table with your next door neighbour Ms Johnson, both of them looking very caught. And what you had mistaken for a very upgraded frozen lasagne seemed to actually be a real home-cooked meal. Well….you had definitely crushed their date.

„(Y/n)….I didn’t expect you to be home this early…I met Helen uhm Ms. Johnson at the garage and she suggested to cook dinner for us.“

„Yeah no worries.“ you laughed. You knew very well that Helen and your Uncle had a thing for each other. Nobody needed their car to get fixed that often. She would also regulary pretend to check up on you to see if your uncle was home. Once you even caught her, leaving the house through the backdoor early in the morning. They were acting like teenagers which to be honest was kinda cute.

„Wait a minute..“ you began, suddely realizing something, „Why did you think I wasn’t going to be home for dinner? I only had class until 2.“

„Well…school called.“

Oh fuck. Shit shit SHIT. Of course they did. How could you be so stupid?

„Well about that….“ you began laughing nervously, „I can only say it propably wasn’t as bad as it sounds.“

„What exactly?“ your Uncle was raising his voice at this point, but no matter how hard he tried…he was really bad at this whole strict-parenting-thing, „The part where you got sent to detention for almost getting into a physical fight with a boy OR the part where you got expelled for, and I quote their words: innapropriate actions with the exact same boy.“

„Well what can I say….I might have lost my temper a bit.“

„A bit?“ he was raising his eyebrows at you.

„Yeah ok maybe a little bit more than that. But I can assure you that I’m fine again. Also, innapropriate actions sounds like we were sacrificing children. It was just…oh nevermind. I’ll leave the two of you alone now“ you smiled at him and Helen, who was visibly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

„Where do you think you’re going?“

„To the lake. To think about my mistakes and nothing else of course…maybe god will end my suffering and let me drown.“

„(Y/n)!“, your uncle moved his eyes towards Helen, indicating that she wasn’t used to that level of sarcasm, „Also don’t you think, that after being expelled from school not leaving the house would be a more fitting idea?“

„Oh come on Uncle Lou…we both know that you don’t know how to punish me for something like that. And trust me I am already punished enough since I will forever have to remember making out with the biggest dickhe- uhm jerk in town…also…don’t you think it would be better if I was gone so the two of you can continue to do whatever needed to be done before I got home?“

„Fine fine fine. Get lost you little shit.“

„As you wish, sir.“ you grinned, „Bye Helen, feel free to use the front door this time.“

„(Y/N)!..I’m sorry Helen..she is….an idiot.“

„True. It runs in the family though.“ you yelled as you grabbed your stuff and made your way towards the front door.

-

You lit a cigarette, deeply inhaling the smoke only to release it into the crisp air within seconds later.

You had always enjoyed spending time at the lake.

Especially at night, there was something very soothing about this kind of solitude.

You were the only one present, as usual. Which might have been due to the fact that it was already december and pitch black outside.

But actually people didn’t really go here anymore no matter what time of the year it was. Not since they found that body which turned out not to be Will Byers, last summer. People thought the lake had been infested with some kind of supernatural bacteria, some even claimed that it was haunted.

„Well if you’re here lake-demons. Now would be a great time to drag me into the water and let me vanish from the surface of the earth.“ you mubled while flicking a stone into the dark water, watching the circles it created on the black surface.

The sound of a car stopping and a door being slammed shut in the distance suddenly pulled you from the thoughts circling in your head. Pretty weird that someone would be out here at 9pm on a monday night. Might be Chief Hopper? He would regulary pick you up at this place, when you were trying to get away from your mom and her shitty boyfriend.

But nothing followed that noise, which left you diving deep back into your thoughts once again.

You just couldn’t understand what had happened only a few hours ago.

Why WHY would you decide to kiss that walking trashbag of a human? And why the fuck did it have to feel so damn good? Worse enough that Billy already thought of himself as the hottest shit in town…why did it have to be true?…Well only kinda. It was just a few seconds of making out, which fair enough even the biggest looser would have been capable of.

Holy shit you didn’t even want to think about what you would have done if Mr. Jenkins hadn’t stopped you…but on the other hand you had the feeling that you would think about that a lot in the next few days.

Ok you really needed to stop that. NOW.

In order to not act like some horny piece of shit anymore you decided to walk around for a bit. Sitting on the freezing stones in front of the water was getting way too cold anyway.

You moved slowly on the slippery pepple stones, your eyes trying to focus in the foggy darkness. How good that you knew this place by heart and didn’t park your car too far away. You were already pretty close to the road as your eyes catched the sight of an unfamilair figure. Looked like somebody had parked their car right here in the middle of nowhere.

Please don’t let this become the next underage make-out hotspot. Isn’t Lovers Lake enough?

There clearly was somebody sitting on the hood of the car, looking rather wasted to be honest.

„Hey is everything alright?“ you asked as you approached the dark figure.

„Yeah..everything is just great.“ even though his voice sounded exhausted and faint you realized immediately who you were talking to.

„Hargrove? Are you following me or what?“ you groaned, „Is there really not enough space in Hawkins for the two of us not to meet every other day?“

„Look (y/l/n),“ Billy began, his husky voice sounding even weaker than before, „I appreciate your overall dedication to being an annoying bitch 24/7 but please, not now. Leave me the fuck alone.“

This made you very suspicious. „You sure you’re alright?“ you moved a few steps closer towards him „Holy shit dude what happened to your face?“.

It wasn’t a secret that Billy would regulary get into fights, but he would usually emerge from those as the winner. But today? The whole left side of his face was bruised, blood dripping from his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth.

He quickly faced away from you, wiping his palms across his face. „I said go away. Everything is fine.“ he growled, his voice now almost back to it’s usual low thick sound.

„I would believe you if your face didn’t look like it was hit by a fucking truck. And trust me I don’t like you enough to pretend that I care. But you look rough.“

„Well you seem to like me enough to not leave me alone.“ Billy taunted you with a grin on his face which quickly turned into a painful groan.

„Alright that’s enough let me see that.“ You took a seat next to him, carefully touching his jaw, turning his head towards you. He flinched as your fingers moved across his black and blue cheek. „Doesn’t seem to be broken..but still…who did that? Did you screw somebody’s girlfriend?“

„Doesn’t matter.“ Billy mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

„Well I’m not a big fan of the cops but don’t you think your parents will call them when they see you like that?“

„Nope.“

„..or maybe at least want to know what happened?“ you continued.

„Nope.“

“..or wanna know who did that?”

“Nope.” Billy seemed to be getting more and more fed up with you at this point.

„Well can you at least tell me then?“

„YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?“ Billy suddenly facing towards you, screaming at the top of his lungs, made you jump a little, „I GOT EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID BITCH AND THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR NOT BEHAVING AT MY HOUSE! AND NO THEY WON’T CARE WHO DID THAT BECAUSE THEY ALREADY KNOW!“

Billy was looking furious, breathing heavily, his whole body shaking with anger. His breath created little clouds in the cold december air and you thought that you could see tears shimmering in his piercing blue eyes before he turned away from you again, smashing the hood of his car, screaming with anger as he jumped onto his feet.

„Fuck…I’m sorry…I didn’t know.“ „Oh really? Thought you knew absolutely everything about me and how much of an asshole I am.“ Billy growled, still facing his back towards you as he lit a cigarette.

Yeah you deserved that one.

„Well I seem to be just as big of an asshole at this point.“ you mumbled as you reached into your pocket, „Here…guess you need that more than me.“ without waiting for a response you placed the joint from your pocket inside Billy’s left hand. He looked up to you slightly confused. „For the pain…if you need anything else..my Uncle’s secret girlfriend is a nurse. I’m sure I could get you some harder drugs.“

“Thanks…but please (y/l/n) leave me alone now.” the curly haired boy’s voice was back to that faint husky state from before, his body still visibly shaking.

“Yeah whatever I was just trying to be nice.” you mumbled not really knowing what to do. You really didn’t like him enough to be any more supportive than gifting him your last bit of weed.

“I don’t need you to be nice to me.”

“Don’t be such a bitch, Hargrove.”

„Leave me alone. And don’t even think about being nice to me just because you feel sorry for me.“ Billy snapped, pushing you aside as he walked back to his car and drove off into the night.

What a dramatic bitch.

[thekidultlife]

Aww yall are the sweetest! Missed u too! 🥺💖 Can u guys do leanne's illicit affairs and hyeri's jihoon steampunk au for the wip game if you haven't already? (im a sucker for mafia aus they're so 🥵🌶) Don't forget to stay hydrated and smile today 👁👄👁 Thanksies! 🤸‍♀️

HELLOOOO, ANON! Thank you so much for asking for this!!! "Illicit Affairs" will probably come out in November or December (no promises--the number of WIPs I have is astronomical, I kid you not, and I don't know how to get to them all in time LMAO), but this is a snippet of what you will see in this fic! Also, please look forward to "Run, Run, Baby" and "Protect" (snippets of Hoshi's arc) as well, because they are parts of one big Mafia AU using different members' arcs and perspective. So, yeah, "Illicit Affairs" and "Run, Run, Baby" are parts of a Mafia AU! 😊

“We are currently searching for the gunman and one other confirmed accomplice who pretended to be the wedding officiator. As of now, however, we have no solid leads, no clues at all—we…we are still trying to get our bearings and are as of this moment figuring out a way to make sense of this attack. We are also confirming that we are taking into consideration the possibility that this might have been an inside job,” Chief of Police Kang Sejung states during the press conference held earlier this afternoon. “It is one of the most plausible theories that we have right now as to how the gunman and his accomplice could have entered and left this place without a trace.”

When asked about whether this case might have ties to the infamous Brotherhood, of which Congressman Shin’s family has long been suspected of having ties to, Chief Kang tersely responded, “The City has been safe from such violence for years now. There is no more Brotherhood. There is no more [mob-related] violence. Our City has never been safer than in our times today. This is an isolated case with possible designs of an inside job. And as we thoroughly investigate this tragedy, I am confident that the leads and results will show as such. That is all. Thank you."

More in-depth reports about this case will follow as details become clearer.

⧪

As the Officer pushed away the very thin case file, he closed his eyes and leaned back on his chair. 

Many things have happened tonight. There were too many questions and too many uncertain answers. But there was only one thing on his mind that rang true. 

"Fuck you, Kang Sejung," he growled underneath his breath as images of bodies mangled by fire and bullets flashed across his mind. "Fuck you and your lies. The Brotherhood is very much alive, and I say fuck you once more for trying to cover that up." He slammed his fist onto his desk. Pictures of the cathedral which had burned to the ground flew around him.

Breathing heavily, he got up from his seat and walked around the empty room of the Heinous Crimes Division. Computer screens lit up occasionally with the insignia of the City Police Department. 

He was alone. 

He was the only one who was truly searching for answers.

But he should have known that he would not find it within the databases of this City. 

Something darker and deeper was at work the moment that gunman burned the cathedral to the ground. Perhaps even before that. 

But there was one thing the Officer was sure of: the Brotherhood has not disbanded. And this atrocity was the very proof that they were still, very much alive.

I hope you liked it!!! 😊😊😊

HYERI’S WIP

AS IT TURNS OUT, I HAVE TWO STEAMPUNK AUS FOR JIHOON ASJHDDJFHAD I NEVER REALIZED IT;;; LIKE I TOTALLY FORGOT I WROTE THE SECOND ONE BUT GOOD LORD IM LIKING IT;; PROBABLY SOMETHING I’D LIKE TO DO PRETTY SOON!! so i guess i’ll just put two here skksksks

Steampunk AU 1:

“Knyazhna.” He hissed through teeth, exasperated that you never did try to be as malleable as other girls out there; and you could very well imagine the look of contained rage on his face. “I’m trying to protect you. And please, watch your language.” 

“Don’t play mom with me Jihoon. I hear you cuss day in and day out,” you arched a brow, even though he can’t see you. “Besides, I bet you just want to chase crooks around too. Controlling dolls can be as boring as hell.”

Too annoyed to respond, Jihoon cut off the communication. He knew you were stubborn and if it were a normal day, he wouldn’t have any problem with a rebuttal, yet he was unwilling to bicker with his boss especially on an important run. Instead, Jihoon leaned against his seat and ran fingers through his bleached hair. The darkness of the room made his Cyrillic circle enchantment, with its cerulean glow illuminating his cheeks, obvious to the eyes. 

He swept his finger in a deft curve along the outer ring; arranging the dolls to form a three-line barricade on your four sides in real time. It was simple information manipulation, but you couldn’t help but widen your eyes at what he did. The lines of dolls made you look like you’re the one needing protection from the criminal you were currently chasing after. 

“Jihoon!”

You groaned, teeth gritting because of his passive-aggressive retaliation, unable to do anything but go with it. It was more than entertaining to push his buttons, knowing that he’d rather have you behave like a sweet little girl, which you aren’t; thus creating ripples of havoc in his head. However, you knew more than to childishly fight back; it was important that you catch this guy and you needed your right-hand man for it to be possible. Jihoon can kiss my toes later. 

FREAKIN LOVE THIS ^^^^^^^ (Knyazhna i think is ‘princess’ in Russian;; so it’s more like a title than YN’s actual name!)

Steampunk AU 2:

“You don’t look so good.” He sighed.

A voice—slightly annoyed, but mildly worried—reached your ears as you sought where it had come from. Training your head, you saw a figure beside you as he observed your countenance for any sign of major discomfort. 

You gazed at him with dazed eyes, and noticed that he had soft platinum blond hair, chocolate brown orbs for eyes and plump pink lips, often in an adorable pout. He had a look of concentration, wrecking his brain for any ideas on how to take care of someone who seemed so weak. 

It might’ve worked, you guessed so, as he raised his hand to feel your forehead for any heat way above the usual. You would’ve jerked aback only if you weren’t so uncalibrated and frail. 

He hummed. “You don’t seem to have a fever…I guess all you could do now is rest.” 

The young man sighed once more and stood up, the sleeves of his white button up shirt falling past his arms, seemingly too big for him. Yet he doesn’t seem to mind, and carried the pail of your vomit somewhere. You watched him go; his back the final image you saw when your eyes fell like heavy curtains. 

[fuckyeahqueermusic]

FY!QM’s Favorite Releases of 2019 Part 1

I know you were all waiting with bated breath for my annual list of favorite releases from the year and I apologize for the delay. December and January were trash months at my job and I had zero energy to write, but as of today that is all over! So as a gift to myself I finally finished writing this up. Let’s pretend I just had to think really really hard about my favorites and that’s why it took so long.

Part 1 is all the releases that I really liked, but either a.) are kinda honorable mention material or b.) I couldn’t think of a ton to write about it lol. They’re in no particular order because I do not care! You should go listen to all these! The usual disclaimer applies: these are just my favorite records from this year, I am no authority on what is the best and what isn’t, I just am an expert on what I like, and it’s this shit. All album titles link to my favorite song off of each record on bandcamp because I hate Spotify a lot even though I begrudgingly use it.

Part 2 will come out tomorrow because I really want to capitalize on the Super Bowl, y’know?

The Menzingers — Hello Exile I think it is safe to say at this point that The Menzingers is one of guitar music’s most consistently good acts. They are passionate sing-a-long creating machines, and with Hello Exile they gave us a new heap of them to yell along to at their shows. And having seen them play some of these live, I can confirm they are perfect for that setting.

My only criticism of Hello Exile might be that it doesn’t go anywhere unexpected, and the band is maybe a little too comfortable in the niche they’ve found for themselves. Though I guess there is something to be said for doing what you know and doing it incredibly well. But these guys are great songwriters, and I’d love to see them push themselves a little harder to evolve.

Empath  — Active Listening: Night on Earth I saw Empath open for Touche Amore and La Dispute a few months back and had no idea what to expect, but they fucking RIPPED and were far and away the best band on that bill (no offense to LD or TA. Actually maybe to LD; one of them had a fucking himalayan salt lamp sitting on their amp).

But anyways, Empath is fucking weird and chaotic and so much fucking fun, with bizarre synth textures, harsh guitar, and absolutely frantic drumming. And this album is all over the place, holding itself together with a through line of nature samples, bringing small moments of calm and a chance to breathe before everything comes crashing down again. I’d love to see them at a headlining show full of their fans, because this is music that deserves that kind of energy.

Catbite — S/T I love ska and I will never apologize. Catbite is one of the most exciting new ska bands out there. They’ve only been around for two years, but they’ve already found their niche and solidified their identity as a heavily second wave influenced band that grew up in the third wave, who are the forefront of the fourth. They’re the future of ska and I am so pumped to see them eventually get the full recognition they deserve in this genre.

Future Teens — Heartbreak Season I truly cannot believe “Frequent Crier” bops as hard as it does. This song about all the places to cry while you lament a relationship that ended years ago will have you dancing while you weep, and that pretty much sums up Future Teens’ whole deal. This album can gut you, but you’ll be so busy bopping along you won’t even mind.

Aaron West & the Roaring Twenties — Routine Maintenance  I know it’s cheating, but you should just read what Spencer wrote about this album; he put it perfectly. While I don’t immediately love this one as much as We Don’t Have Each Other (I love a divorce album and it is a top tier divorce album), it is the better record, and I’m so glad Aaron has started to figure out his new place in the world and that Dan Campbell is telling us his story.

Aly & AJ — Sanctuary  The cover of this EP is truly one of the worst album covers I have ever seen. I like to describe it to people as “naked opera gloves milk bath. Also they are SISTERS.” Every art direction decision they have made for this EP has been truly bonkers! But despite the horrendous, horrendous cover, Aly & AJ have come through with a tremendous set of jams once again! I am not sure how it happened, but between 2017’s Ten Years and this EP, they have become one of my favorite pop acts, creating mid-tempo synthy jam after mid-tempo synthy jam. They are far from reinventing the pop wheel, but they have figured out their niche and perfected it. If you haven’t listened to Aly & AJ since “Potential Break Up Song,” it’s time to dive back in, because you’ve been missing some of the most solid pop made in the 2010’s. (Also, they believe in evolution now it’s FINE). 

Sleater-Kinney — The Center Won’t Hold Okay, so this one is a cheat, because The Center Won’t Hold is not one of my favorite albums of the year, but the more time I spend with it, the more it has become my most respected album of the year.

I don’t really like this record, but I do think it is a great album. It is ambitious and surprising, a huge departure from their previous work, which critics and fans much smarter than me have examined at length. Sleater-Kinney could’ve easily crafted another album like No Cities To Love, which itself was an evolution from the sound they departed with on 2006’s The Woods, but it was an evolution that felt natural. It was easy to see point A to point B. With The Center Won’t Hold, point C is way on the other side of the map, and there is no easily discernible direct route. And while whatever is happening on this record isn’t totally my thing, I respect that they took a big swing. It’s a huge shame that it cost them Janet Weiss, though, and I don’t know if that is a loss they’ll ever truly recover from

[callunavulgari]

Year-In-Fic | 2019

How many fics did you write this year? What was your total wordcount?

This year I wrote 41 fics (technically 40 as the last was published today, but I wrote it in December so I’m counting it), for a total of 96,689 words. For even more interesting numbers, of that 96k, a little over 70k of them were written in the month of October alone, so I’m pretty proud of that.

Fic Roundup!

children of dust and ash | Bartimaeus |  Bartimaeus/Kitty(/Nathaniel) | 1,801 words |  Kitty summons Bartimaeus on a chilly fall day in her thirty-eighth year.

sweet music playing in the dark | DBH | 1,102 words | “I noticed some time ago that you seem to have an appreciation for jazz.”

Radio Ga Ga | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,143 words | There’s always another party in Hawkins, Indiana. It would be almost boring if it weren’t for Steve Harrington.

Sunlight | Marvel | Loki/Thor | 765 words | They aren’t quite out of the solar system when Loki appears at the arm of Thor’s chair, hair shorn short and a furious snarl on his face.

like the bough of a willow tree | Detroit Become Human | Hank/Connor | 1,214 words | There’s a human lost in his woods.

knocking on heaven’s door | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,748 words | “Just, get in the fucking car. I’ll drive you home.” Billy looked at him, very seriously, and said, “What if I don’t want to go home?”

no more dreaming like a ghost | KH | Axel/Roxas | 813 words | He is in the kitchen, the stove top still warm under his thighs, and everything smells of cherries. The pie is cooling on the windowsill, the sun slanting in warm and buttery, and it is like a dream. A memory. A wish.

Cheers | DBH | Hankcon | 6,368 words | “Are you coming in or not?”Connor blinks, jerks his eyes up and away from those hands and-The bartender has blue eyes. They match the spinning LED at his temple perfectly.

bury a friend (try to wake up) | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,587 words | Steve digs up Billy’s body on a Tuesday.

won’t be too soon ‘til I say… goodnight moon | KH | Riku/Sora | 4,549 words |  The house was built in the fall of 1882.

you’ll never know what hit you | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 5,379 words | “C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

make this chaos count | EOS 10 | Ryan/Akmazian | 724 words | “You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

eat you up whole | The Witcher | Geralt/Regis | 2,527 words | “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

forget the horror here | DBH | Hankcon | 4,390 words | “Hello,” the android says, it’s chest heaving, the gleam of its heart brighter, bluer than before.

summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas) | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 3,868 words | “If I let you out of that circle,” Ryan says, slowly. “Are you going to eat me?”

Itch | The Magnus Archives | Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims | 1,440 words | The boneturner takes from him two ribs - one for him and one for Jon.

the salt water sting | Dishonored | Corvo/Outsider | 2,163 words |  The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca.

a skeleton of something more | SGA | Rodney/John | 3,072 words | “John?” he murmurs, still coasting on the pain. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, if cotton were also made of glass.

in the woods somewhere | Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles | 4,570 words | Stiles buys a house in Virginia.

Wake Up | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jon | 550 words | “If you wake up,” Martin tells him, experimentally. “I won’t go through with it. You can tell me what a stupid idea it was, and we can laugh about it, and everything will be normal.”

Pas de Deux | KH | Axel/Roxas | 506 words | Roxas doesn’t remember what the sky looks like anymore.

try to wake up | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 1,226 words | They do not, in fact, bone down and praise Satan.

too late to come on home | LoZ | Gen | 1,391 words | “You look familiar,” the boy says in his strange, haunting voice. “Are you lost?”

patron saint of the lost causes | Harry Potter | Draco/Harry | 4,203 words | “Can’t you just, y’know,” he waves a hand and makes an obscene gesture, his cheeks flaring red. “Shag it out?”

wouldn’t you like to see something strange? | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 1,571 words | “I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

the night is softly, sweetly calling | Teen Wolf | Sterek | 2,938 words | Here’s the thing that Stiles never tells the Hales: his mother was strange too.

Haunt | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 1,486 words |  Ryan couldn’t remember a time when the world didn’t believe in ghosts.

bite my tongue, bide my time | PJO | Nico/Percy(/Annabeth) | 1,376 words | “What’s wrong with you?” Nico asks, cowering when Percy places a gentle kiss on his collarbone.

Bird Song | Raven Cycle | Ronan/Adam, Gen | 1,445 words | On a dreary Sunday in early January, Ronan dreams himself a pair of wings.

kiss me hard until you’re done | Star Wars | Reylo | 3,082 words | He looks up at her from under heavy lids, dark hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

beauty in the dissonance | Marvel | Tony/Loki | 1,411 words |  When Tony dies, it isn��t for forever.

like real people do | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 2,808 words |  “I’ve got the sight, man,” he says with a small shrug. “And look, I feel for you. You’re dead and I’m not, and that sucks, but unless you’re planning on doing something about it, I’d really appreciate it if you could stop feeling me up and let me get back to sleep.”

i’d rather drown in your ocean | Naruto | Itachi/Shisui | 1,630 words |  The Uchihas are an odd sort. Everyone says so.

catch your breath | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien/Sam | 2,588 words | Mark had never assumed in a million years that he would ever see Damien again. He hadn’t factored in zombies.

Nightmare | The Magnus Archives | Martin/Jonathan | 1,424 words | “All right,” he says, taking Jon’s still outstretched hand. “Let’s give the dream what it wants.”

dreaming of the crash | Gravity Falls | Mabel & Dipper | 484 words | When the end of the world comes, they’re under the bed.

don’t we love it now? | Kingdom Hearts | Sora/Riku/Kairi | 1,784 words |  When Kairi is eleven years old, she gets lost in the woods.

all this, and love too, will ruin us | Star Wars | Reylo | 1,102 words |  Rey is awake to watch the sunrise

open the walls, play with your dolls | Coraline | Coraline/Wybie | 2,886 words | Halloween at the Pink Palace is a lot like any other time of year.

in every golden trace | Queen’s Thief | Costis/Eugenides/Irene | 4,645 words |  For as long as Costis can remember, he’s had two names scored across the skin atop his ribs, one on either side of his rib cage, nearly perfect mirrors to one another.

a different kind of danger in the daylight | Shades of Magic | Lila/Kell/Holland | 6,930 words | Sleeping with Holland was never part of the plan. 

Best story I wrote this year: Probably the night is softly, sweetly calling. I wrote this for the 18th of October, and it’s the much awaited third part of a Teen Wolf/Addams Family fusion that I wrote back in 2014. A lot of people have asked me to continue this series over the years, but I never did because I felt my writing style had changed too much and then I fell out of the Teen Wolf fandom completely. But I’d written another Teen Wolf fic a few days before (more on this later) and I was just... very nostalgic all of a sudden. My style of writing had changed, but to offset the change of tone, I wrote the story from Stiles’s POV instead of Derek’s and it made all the difference. I was pretty pleased with the result, and hope that it made everyone happy.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. patron saint of the lost causes. There were a couple fics that I think I did a really good job writing this year, the one listed above and below included, but I think that this one was my favorite. Writing Drarry was a surreal experience, because even when I was in the Harry Potter fandom I didn’t really write for it (well, I didn’t publish what I’d written for it) and I was surprised by how easily it came to me. I tried to channel a lot of the feeling of men who had mothers when I was writing this one, because it seemed very right. 

Okay, NOW your most popular story. All right, so technically my stats are all messed up this year because when I posted the third part of the Addams/Teen Wolf fusion, I also posted a chapter to Que Sera, Sera since so many people were subscribed to that story. So. From a purely stats standpoint, Que Sera, Sera was the most popular because it has a total of 25,790 hits, 2973 kudos, and 115 comments. BUT, I did not actually write anything new for that one so-

in the woods somewhere was the first fic I’d written for Teen Wolf since I wrote  take me to church in August of 2017. It has over 900 kudos and some 5000+ hits. When I decided to do Dark Month this year, I knew that I wanted to revisit some of my old fandoms, so Teen Wolf was always going to be a given. I wrote take me to church as a cathartic goodbye to the show, the fandom, and of course, Stiles and Derek. It was my soft epilogue for the boys.

in the woods somewhere has a very similar feel to it. It’s post-canon, obviously, and features Stiles buying a house in Virginia and Derek slowly working his way back into his life. It is also very much in the ‘soft epilogue’ genre, leaning heavily into the magical Stiles Stilinski trope while maintaining the FBI agent direction canon was leading us in. Also it has a lot of comfort things for me - judicious descriptions of food, a packed witchy cabin in the woods, and warm shower kisses. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Possibly either won't be too soon 'til I say... goodnight moon or all this, and love too, will ruin us. The first of these two fics is almost 5k of spooky season Riku/Sora that was strongly inspired by Uzumaki-sama’s old fic Goodnight Moon. It was the second day of October and my prompts for the day were moon cycles, nightmare, cage, lookalike, mirrors, and glowing eyes, which was just asking for fic exploring doppelgangers and old haunted houses. I loved writing it, and maybe I should have expected it since Kingdom Hearts is such a quiet fandom nowadays, but it honestly stung that it didn’t get more attention.

The second of those fics was a Reylo fic (yes, yes, I know, it’s an awful ship, etc. etc.) that was very much written to be slow and melancholy and kind of surreal. Sometimes my smallest fics are my favorite, and I really liked this one. But alas, some things were not meant to be.

Most fun story to write: I had a whole lot of fun writing summoning demons (and other bad first date ideas). A lot of the fics I wrote this year, particularly during October, were really fun and easy to write. I missed writing every day. This one in particular though was about 4k of Ryan accidentally summoning Shane (the demon) while Shane was standing right next to him in his human suit. It let me play with a lot of body horror tropes that I don’t explore usually, and Buzzfeed Unsolved is a very fun, fresh fandom to dig around in. This is the second of the three (I think it was three, at least) fics that I wrote for the fandom during October and I had so much fun with it.

Story that could have been better? I don’t know about better, but Sunlight and Bird Song were both supposed to be significantly longer. I wrote Sunlight shortly after watching Endgame, and it was always going to be me working my way through my issues with that movie (Loki not really coming back, weird wonky time travel, Thor leaving his people after his whole arc was him learning how to be a good king) but I got distracted and had to go somewhere that day and just never got back to it.

Bird Song is actually a fic I’ve been meaning to write for years. Ages ago (and we are truly talking ages ago, like September 2015 ages ago), @kaikamahine gave me a prompt for E, 17, and hymnal, which basically balanced out to Ronan, churches, and wings. So day 20 of October was going to be Raven Cycle (with such prompts as stacked deck, darkness, wings, and fight fire with fire, it was begging for it) and I was finally going to write Ronan wingfic. It was going to be great. There was going to be Calla and Ronan interaction and found family themes and there was going to be a church, because obviously, but then I wasn’t doing so well and ran out of time, SO. Definitely could have been better.

Story I wrote to fix things: beauty in the dissonance, the 24th fic of October, was a Tony/Loki flavored story where both Tony and Loki are, in fact, alive. Sunlight was written as a direct response to Endgame, even if it was never finished properly. make this chaos count was the 4th day of October, and written because I’m still not fucking over Ryan and Akmazian. And then knocking on heaven’s door was written just after viewing s3 of Stranger Things. It was uh, less of a fix it fic and more a wallow in your grief fic, but it still applies.

Oh, and a different kind of danger in the daylight was technically fix it fic? I’m generally okay with how Shades of Magic ended, despite my favorite character dying because it came off as a good death. However, the recipient of my Yuletide gift wanted no character death and I wanted to write something post-canon, so presto, fix it fic.

Longest completed fic this year: a different kind of danger in the daylight, followed by Cheers. Both are hovering between 6 and 7k, which isn’t technically long, but since about 90% of my fic this year was written over the course of a day each... I’ll take it.

Fandom you enjoyed writing for most this year: I had a lot of fun with Buzzfeed Unsolved and The Magnus Archives, but I also had fun dipping briefly back into Harry Potter and Teen Wolf.

Favorite character you wrote this year: I had way, way too much fun writing Geralt and Regis in eat you up whole. I have literally no idea if it translated into good fic, but it was fun and just shy of porny and I just really like Geralt. I also had a lot of fun writing Lila in the Shades of Magic fic.

Most memorable comment(s) this year: I got two comments from @kaikamahine about a week ago that honestly made my day. @faorism reread one of my older Stranger Things fics and left a comment, which made me reread it, which was just very good. Every single comment I got on the new Teen Wolf fics with some variation of ‘missed you’ or ‘so glad you’re back’ made me fucking melt. The two different comments where the reader wasn’t even familiar with the material, just read and enjoyed because I wrote it. The comment on one of my Stranger Things fics that just reads, “What the FUCK this SLAPPED.” The comment directly above that one that is from one of my favorite writers in the fandom. The several comments on the single PJO fic I wrote this year which were different variations of “oh my gosh it’s you” and “it’s been so long.”

And of course everyone losing their collective shit over some of the grosser October fics. Namely Itch.

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: For the most part, the fics I wanted to write but didn’t are the same as last year- Sabriel AU, Enjolras/Grantaire fic, found family Dishonored fic, bodyswappying Reylo, Sterek Bioshock and Carmilla AUs which I am likely to post as is sometime next year. 

I still want to finish the Castlevania OT3 fic, the giant canon-divergent Bright Sessions AU where years after the series ends, Mark ends up running into Damien again in a small town in the middle of nowhere only to realize that he has a daughter, a farm, a life, and is just so drawn to it that he keeps coming back. I have the Wolf 359 post-canon fic where everyone has feelings and found family is a general theme and maybe Eiffel smooches an AI. I also have the smuttier Wolf 359 fic that’s been lurking in the back of my head for months where Eiffel and Kepler er, basically eiffel tower Jacobi.

Oh, and I have the Reylo fic where Rey (and Ben, through the bond) sit through General Organa’s funeral and keep coming back to each other afterwards. And that Final Fantasy 15 fic where Dino and Noctis do the nasty. And the Hera & Jacobi fic from October. And uh, the post episode 9 fic that’s been lurking about in my brain.

Oddest story: Probably i’d rather drown in your ocean? It was pretty spot on aesthetically for me, but it was weird to write Itachi and Shisui again, especially in a strange modern day vampire context? Also Itch and Nightmare were both Magnus Archive fics that were super gross (Itch) and just plain spooky and bizarre (Nightmare) but they were so fun to write. Hardest story to do: Cheers gave me some trouble initially but got a lot easier as I went on. I hit writer’s block pretty bad with the Shades of Magic fic too, but that seems to be what happens when I come up on deadlines. Easiest story to write? Most of October’s fics were a blast to write and super easy besides. Basically all of the Kingdom Hearts, Stranger Things, and Teen Wolf fic. And the Buzzfeed Unsolved.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Probably either  open the walls, play with your dolls or no more dreaming like a ghost. Not in any way that really matters, but there are a couple familiar details.

Themes, or absence thereof: Mostly either spooky scary things or fix it fics. Sometimes both.

Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: The only thing that I currently have planned is the post episode 9 fic and a couple things that I’ve had planned for a while that may or may not come out.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): “How many mouthfuls do you think I could take from you before it had some effect?” Regis whispers, lips against his throat. Geralt can feel the pinprick of fangs. “Four? Six? Ten? More, even?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Geralt murmurs, and Regis laughs.

“I would,” he agrees.

“So, why don’t you find out instead of boring me with all the details?”

Regis pulls away from his throat, far enough that Geralt can meet his eyes again. He swallows at what he finds there. Amusement, yes, but also hunger, brighter than the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.

“A taste, first, I think,” Regis says in a low, cool voice, and then closes the space between them.

Geralt had forgotten the blood on his lip, but he remembers it when Regis catches him in an open-mouthed kiss. It’s wet and bruising, and Geralt is responding before he remembers he shouldn’t, fighting back the only way he knows how with the rest of him indisposed. He claws at him, bites at him, and the vampire laughs when Geralt catches his plump lower lip between his teeth and bites down. Regis gives his mouth one last darting swipe of the tongue before he is pulling away.

There’s a flare of color high on Regis’s cheeks and his ears are distinctly more pointed than they were five minutes ago, the sclera of his eyes gone red.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been bitten by a human before,” Regis tells him, leaning close like he’s divulging a secret. “It’s a rather exhilarating experience.”

“I’m all for a repeat experience,” Geralt quips, eyes narrowed. “Lean in just a little and we can see if I can manage to tear off your lips before you rip out my throat.”

.

“Please,” she whispers, and feels herself quiver like a taut bowstring when he touches her mouth gently, with the very tips of his fingers.

He smiles and leads her away, through the demons and goblins and fae that she came here to kill.

They make it as far as the parking lot before he is hitching her up the side of a gleaming Mercedes, hooking her legs around his shoulders, and hiking her skirts up over her thighs so he can duck his head beneath them. His fingers linger for a moment on the silver of the knives strapped securely to her thigh, and then he is reaching in, guiding her underwear to the side and getting his mouth on her, right where she wants it.

She must make some kind of noise, because he chuckles, tongue circling her clit in a slow, languid way that makes her think that he is savoring her, that he likes the taste of her on his tongue.And he must, because she knows what he is. Knows that just as he’s savoring the taste of her, he is eating her, feeding off of her want like the things that she hunts in the dark feed off of blood and marrow and souls. She knows, but it isn’t enough to stop her from tilting her head back, gasping for him, the distant wink of streetlights and stars so far away.

He makes her come with his mouth on her, with his fingers inside her, and even as she’s shaking around him, she knows that it isn’t enough. She wants more, wants to feel the heavy press of him inside around, wants to kiss his lips and taste herself on his tongue.

“Please,” she says, her thighs shaking, and he laughs, pulling away and easing her down, until her legs are looped around his waist instead of her shoulders. He reaches between them, and she knows what’s happening beneath her skirts, knows that he’s getting his cock out of his pants and pressing it against her, can feel it as he sinks slowly into her, the tight fit of it so sweet, so perfect that it makes her ache.

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing her shoulders and fucking into her slow, a teasing stretch that makes her mouth water, makes her twitch.

.

“Is this what you wanted?” Hank jeers, one finger circling the rim of Connor’s hole. There’s a flush of angry blue across his cheeks. His hair is coming loose from its usually immaculate tail, curling against his forehead. His eyes are blue. His LED is not. “To lay back and take it? From a fucking machine?”

Connor whines, back arching as Hank dips the tip of his thumb inside, just enough to hold him open.

“That is it, isn’t it?” Hanks says softly. There’s a touch of triumph to his gaze as he fucks Connor open on his thumb. Something mean, too. Disdain, slowly unfurling in the curve of his lips. He shakes his head. “All this time, coming to this bar. Talking to me like you thought I was some kind of human, and you just wanted something like me to hold you up and take you apart.”

“No,” Connor gasps, but can’t help the twist of his hips when Hank adds another finger.

“No?” Hank says with a laugh. “Look at you.”

Connor’s cock jerks against his belly as Hank drags his pants the rest of the way down his thighs. They make it as far as his knees before they tangle, stuck on his shoes. His cheeks feel hot, and he- god, he wants to protest. Wants to say that Hank’s got it all wrong, that this is more. That he’s more.

But then Hank is flipping him over, until the arm of the couch is digging firmly into his belly, his ass high in the air. Hank pulls his fingers out, then leans over and spits, the cool slippery slide of the saliva trailing down the curve of his ass.

“All right, Connor,” he says. “This what you want? I’ll give it to you.”

No, Connor should say. It isn’t like that.

Instead, he says, “Please.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt):

“Did you just sneak into my house?” Stiles breathes, absurdly charmed.

Derek’s in his human disguise, everything dangerous about him hidden away from view, lurking just under the surface. He gives Stiles a look, and says, “Don’t be weird about it.”

He shuts the door behind him.

“I’ve got a nice monster knocking on my door just before the witching hour,” Stiles tells him playfully, making room for Derek to take a seat next to him. “How am I not supposed to be weird about that?”

Derek does something akin to rolling his eyes, the flames doing a little shimmy around the circumference of his eye sockets. He leans back against Stiles’s headboard, seemingly unconcerned that their sides are pressed together. Derek’s skin is very warm, human warm, and Stiles is all bones. He sucks up the warmth greedily.

“I’d say you make my heart pound, but well…” Stiles nods meaningfully to his chest, where if you look hard enough between the slots of his ribs, you can see the lump of muscle that once was his heart, pointedly not beating. “You know.”

.

“What’s the local legend about this thing?” Shane asks, hopping up onto the throne easily and spreading out, eyes on the night sky. He looks good. He always looks good, but Ryan likes him best like this, out here with the moonlight shining down on them and the camera catching all his best angles.

As Ryan watches, he blinks, and turns to look at Ryan, puzzled. “Ryan?”

Ryan clears his throat. “The locals say that if you make a wish while sitting on her throne, the witch will grant it.”

Shane gives him a wicked smile and hums a few bars of Genie in a Bottle. Ryan chokes out a laugh, crossing the space between them until he’s leaning up against the side of the throne himself.

Shane closes his eyes. “I wish, I wish with all my might, please dear god, let there be ghosts here this night.”

Ryan holds his breath.

“C’mon, ghost,” Shane urges. “Make all my dreams come true. Fuck me up, fam.”

All around them, the world is still.

Shane cracks an eye open and squints at him. “Did it work?”

.

“Jon?” someone asks, and Jon blinks.

Martin is standing before him. He’s wearing something out of another time, a costume of silken breeches with a well-cut waistcoat of a rich, opalescent blue. There’s a puffy cravat hugging his neck, and polished buckled shoes on his feet. Jon almost expects him to be wearing a wig, but his hair is the one thing that’s been left untouched, hanging loose around his chin.

“Martin?” Jon asks.

Martin seems to take him in, his eyes running slowly down Jon’s body, lingering at his wrists, his waist, his thighs. It’s a bold sort of move, one that Martin would never be half so blatant about if he were awake.

“You, er. Look nice,” Martin says, and Jon glances down at himself.

He’s sure that moments ago he’d been wearing the same thing he’d worn to the office, shabby coat, mostly clean shirt, a pair of nondescript trousers that didn’t have any stains. But now, he finds himself in a dress. The gown is long and brilliantly red, the skirts heavy around his thighs. There are embroidered patterns reminiscent of roses along the bodice and down the front of his petticoat.

“Well, shit,” he mutters, still staring. Experimentally, he moves his hips, and finds that the skirts swish obligingly with the movement.

“Yes, well,” Martin murmurs, cheeks flushing horribly. “You always did look rather good in red.”

“In red-” Jon repeats in horror. “Martin, I’m in a gown.”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt):

“Are you ever going to stop looking for me?” Akmazian asks him one night.

Ryan is tired. Akmazian is a shadowed figure in the dark that he tries not to look at too closely, because if he does, Akmazian will be gone.

“Maybe,” Ryan tells him, and turns over onto his side. Away from the shadow, the ghost.

The bed dips under the weight of a person who isn’t really there, and Ryan can feel Akmazian’s breath on the back of his neck, warm and damp.

“Don’t touch me,” Ryan says, and means, I don't want this to end yet.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, darlin',” Akmazian murmurs back, then drags his lips over the back of his neck anyway, just to be contrary. Ryan swallows, his throat dry, tongue thick in his mouth. He clenches his fingers in the sheets, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that his vision stains red behind his eyelids.

“Please,” Ryan says.

“You really should stop looking for me,” Akmazian tells him, fingers creeping across Ryan’s ribcage, mapping the architecture of his ribs.

“I know.”

“You’re never going to find me.”

Ryan laughs. “Never say never.”

There is silence behind him and then, “Ryan. Please. You’re hurting yourself.”

Ryan trembles a little when a hand lands on his hip, just this side of too solid.

“Don’t care.”

“You’re hurting the stars.”

Ryan is silent for a moment. Then, “I just miss you.”

A sigh.

“I know,” Akmazian murmurs, and leans over to place a kiss on Ryan’s forehead. “I miss you too.”

Ryan opens his eyes, turns to look, and like always, Akmazian is gone.

.

“Look,” Potter says, audibly slurring. “I’ve had an idea.”

Draco crosses his arms. “And what, pray tell, is this idea of yours, Potter?”

Potter leans forward, using a hand to prop himself up, until he’s well into Draco’s personal space. He smells like beer and whiskey, and his cheeks and jaw are more beard than stubble.

“Break your curse with me,” he breathes, a hand settling atop Draco’s blanket-clad knee.

Draco swallows. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“No, look,” Potter says, leaning in even closer, eyes a bit wild. “We can just… you know.”

“No, Potter,” Draco tells him. “I don’t know.”

But he does. He really does.

“You know,” Potter says again. “Shag it out.”

“I think that you’re confusing things again,” Draco says tiredly. He sets the book on the nightstand next to him. “Remember the terms of the curse? Love, Potter. Not sex.”

Potter’s nose wrinkles. “But sex is part of love. Usually, anyway. It’ll work, I know it.”

“It won’t,” Draco insists, slapping Potter’s hand away when it begins to wander up his thigh. “Do you really think that I didn’t shag my wife before she left me? Because I did. We tried for years. Years, Potter. Trust me, if the curse were going to break because of a fuck, it would have happened well before now.”

Potter blinks at him, his eyes wide. There’s a ruddy flush on his cheeks, and Draco’s not sure if he likes it.

“We could at least try,” Potter says, almost gently. He doesn’t touch Draco again, but he looks like he wants to, hand trembling where it lays on the bedspread.

It feels like there’s glass in Draco’s throat. He is so, so tempted. Here is what he wanted - or at least part of it - Potter in his bed begging to fuck him, and he’s going to have to send him away.

“I think you should leave,” he tells him, and Potter’s mouth shuts with a click.

Favorite lines (excerpt):

“Relax,” he croons, stroking her fingers before he pulls away. “Your secret is safe with me. Most of this crowd knows that I’m not on speaking terms with that side of my family. They won’t suspect you because of me.”

Her face is flushed, either from rage or humiliation. Possibly both.

“So you-”

“Yes,” he says, fingers dropping to caress the fabric of her gown, swirling a thumb around the sweeping petals of an embroidered rose. His gaze is sly, a bit predatory when he glances back up at her. “I know what you have under this pretty skirt of yours.”

Rey’s breath catches, and she feels something- a slow trickle of heat seeping in to pool around her navel. She shifts, thighs sliding together, and hopes that he can’t smell her.

“Just as I know exactly what you’re doing right now,” she tells him in a hard whisper, jerking away from his grip on her elbow.

His eyes widen, affecting a look of innocence - a ‘who me?’ - that isn’t quite as effective when his lips are also curling up into a slow, pleased smirk.

“And what exactly am I doing?” he asks, his eyes laughing at her.

She glares at him. That seems to be enough of a reply, because he chuckles before taking possession of her arm again and pulling her smoothly towards the dance floor. Once they’ve reached the edge of it, he stops, dropping her elbow in favor of dipping into a low, courtly bow.

He looks up at her from under heavy lids, his hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

The dance floor is crowded, full to the brim of masked people sweeping by in jewel-bright dresses and dark suits. She knows not to - knows that this place is a lot like fae courts of old. You don’t eat the food, you don’t drink the wine, and you definitely don’t dance.

But she’s already drank the wine, so she might as well dance.

.

The ship wrecks several hundred miles off of the coast of Karnaca. The storm that ends them is a rare sort, fiercer than most, a huge bank of dark clouds that seems to come from the void itself, blooming on the horizon like a warning. The lightning cracks the world asunder, thunder deafening, but it's the wind and waves that will always be a ship’s downfall.

Corvo watched the wave approach, saw its frothing white caps and the way it had stretched, higher and higher, until it loomed over the ship.

They never had a chance, and by the time the wave came crashing down, Corvo was already holding his breath.

Much of what he remembers after are mere snippets: the gulping suck of the water around him, broken pieces of the ship spinning by along with those of the crew who were unlucky enough to be caught by the ship’s pull, sucked down into the void, devoured by the whale god himself. He remembers his first gasp of air once he’d surfaced, the tang of brine and salt heavy on his tongue as wave after wave battered his body.

He doesn’t think that most of the crew survived the first few minutes much less the whole night, and he is certainly alone when the sun blossoms on the horizon hours later, clinging to a piece of ship the size of his torso and kicking relentlessly towards the dawn.

Corvo grew up on the coast, his hair stiff with salt from the ocean breeze. He grew up in and out of the water, hauling cargo or gutting fish on the docks. He’s familiar with the ocean - how the pull of the tides work, which days its best to avoid the dock, how to escape the sea’s wrath when a riptide or an undercurrent tries its damndest to drown you.

So he knows that his chances of making it to land are slim. But Corvo has always been stubborn, his legs have always been strong, and his story is far from finished.

.

Stiles buys a house in Virginia. It’s a modest thing close to Quantico, but not too close, tucked away into the heart of the wooded Appalachians. The bones of the house is all stonework and sturdy dark wood, a rickety wraparound porch bracketing the house on all sides. The first thing that he’d bought for it were two overpriced rocking chairs he’d gotten from the nearest Cracker Barrel.

Over the course of a year, he fills the house with things. A soft, dark gray sofa. Several solid end tables. A pair of emerald lamps he gets from an antique shop. A moss-green throw that is warm as a hug when it’s wrapped around his shoulders in the dead of winter. His living room is a bit too mountain man chic, but he likes the way that it looks when he’s coming home from a long day at the academy, warm and inviting.

He gets his bed set from a woodworker a couple dozen miles down the road, a man with a gruff bristled gray face and a warm smile, who trades Stiles the custom set for some warding and a couple bottles of what he calls, ‘miracle elixir.’ The set is sturdy mahogany, a pair of wolves carved across the top of the curving headboard, runes filling the gaps between them. The chest of drawers and dresser are just as solid, and Stiles has to hire movers to help him get everything back to the house.

The bulky rednecks decked out in worn flannel that help him with it carefully avoid looking at the runes of the headboard, their eyes skittering away from the carvings like frightened rabbits. They exchange apprehensive looks when they see the herbs drying over the sink in his kitchen, but to their credit, stay quiet and hightail it out of the place when he pays them. Here in the Appalachian backwoods, no one talks about magic, but everyone knows it exists.

Stiles has people over every once in a while - flies his dad and Scott in from California, has Lydia drive down from Boston, or Kira from North Carolina - but mostly, he’s alone. It’s a strange thing to get used to, the silence of the nights out here, where the night sky is bright and clear enough to see the stars above him, not a hint of light pollution to be seen, and the trees rustling in a quiet wind is almost louder than the hoots and hollers of the local wildlife.

He’d thought it would be lonely, and to be fair, sometimes it is.

Some nights he comes home and collapses back onto his sofa, and would do anything to be right down the road from Scott and Melissa and his dad again. He has days where he craves Melissa’s pozole or his dad’s meatloaf so badly that he can taste the heat of it on his tongue.

But mostly, the quiet is nice.

He cooks himself soups that simmer in the slow cooker while he’s at the academy and roasts that he makes on the weekends. He experiments with food the way he never used to back in Beacon Hills, where he had his dad’s heart to worry about if he made anything, and fast food which was easier to grab when he didn’t. He takes a world tour through his kitchen - homemade pierogi, hearty paella, steaming pirozhki, spicy-smelling curries, and hand rolled sushi. The first time that he makes his own bread in the ancient oven that came with the house, the smell of it coming fresh out of the oven is so good that he nearly cries.

It’s three winters into living there before he hears a scratching at his door in the middle of the night, and when he goes to investigate, finds a large black wolf on his doorstep.

It’s favoring one of its paws, dark fur matted on one side of its head where he can dimly make out a sluggishly bleeding gash. It blinks at him, eyes glowing a bright, familiar blue, and Stiles spends a minute watching it before he smiles and steps aside.

Fic goals: Hey Heather, it was only 800 words, but you did technically write something original. Now, let’s do something original that’s a little longer. And while we’re at it, let’s do something novel length. 

[lowplainlowinthemorning]

Omg your tags... Can you talk more about your songwriting pls? I'm at that point now where I'm just trying to finish as many songs as I can, not caring so much abt the quality bc otherwise I will never finish one. I still only have a few, I'm trying to learn the process and what works for me. But it's so encouraging to hear someone else talk abt this like I keep comparing myself to famous ppl I listen to and it feels like they just have a gift and I don't

dude, I have been comparing myself to artists I look up to constantly, ever since I got into music at fourteen, wondering why I’m not good enough. I think it’s normal. The truth is, when you stop listening so much to beginner’s self doubt, perfectionism, and in my case, chronic anxiety, everybody is the same. The people who are really good are really good because they sat down and fucked around with instruments long enough to understand them, the people who are really good are really good because they love what they do, and all of them wrote shitty songs in their late teens/early 20s/whenever they started out. I have(and still do) beat myself up for everything from writing too fast to writing too slow, for taking months long breaks because of mental health issues, for lyrics that my band laughed at, for only knowing how to play one instrument, the list goes on...But I comfort myself with facts like these:

PJ Harvey was asked about her first ever song in an interview from 1995 and that’s the closest I’ve seen her come to blushing; She said it was about a girl going on an adventure and that it was awful. She reiterated in a magazine that most of her earliest work was ‘terrible’ and heavily influenced by Irish folk music, meaning, apparently, that it was full of tin whistles. It took her years before she was comfortable playing her orginal music in front of other people(and if you watch her early Dry performances, she’s not even all that comfortable in the first place.) The important thing is, PJ Harvey hated her early songs.

Nick Cave said that he was ashamed of the Birthday Party’s discography up until Junkyard and that he didn’t like to think about those albums. Nick Cave hated his early songs- And Nick Cave is partially famous DUE to these early songs, go figure.

Courtney Love bashes Hole’s first album Pretty On The Inside nearly constantly, calling it ‘unlistenable’ and saying it was more about her persona being established than making good music. Courtney Love hated her early songs- and, once again, her band was given its name and image because of them.

I BEG you to listen to five seconds of David Bowie’s first album, which he doesn’t discuss.

If these people, who mean the world to me and have saved hoards of others from personal destruction, had given up bc they were Bad at a young and inexperienced age we wouldn’t have their music and it’s not an exaggeration to say that that would have ended in suicide for a big number of people. If you can get your ego in place, you can believe the same about your music, and the thing that’s going to keep you motivated more than anything else is Ego.

We live in a world right now where popular music lacks human hands and clumsiness and rawness and so the fact that both of us are, against the odds, composing music that still reflects those things is a rebellion. It’s important that we keep writing, not just because we deserve to be good songwriters because we care about it, but because for music to evolve there needs to be a constant underground of young people with limited skills trying their best. Plus, if we’re both lucky, we’ll end up saving people the same way we were saved and if it takes a few notebooks of three note trauma songs to get there then fine(besides, who doesn’t love a good three-note trauma song?).

But beyond the ‘glory’ of it(and I think to do anything artistic you have to romanticize it to a certain degree), I started songwriting seriously at the end of a bad relationship when I was sixteen, nearly seventeen. When that relationship ended, I wrote constantly. I wrote about everything. My main influences were Bikini Kill and The Runaways and I hadn’t developed my seriousness towards lyrics yet so anything went. I’d write three songs in a week, realize that two were bad and play the third one for my band only to get laughed at for writing something like “I swallow Clorox” which was a confessional thing about suicidal thoughts that hurt my feelings, but wasn’t articulated well.

I wrote Nirvana knock-off songs and I wrote Hole knock-off songs and I half finished at least one hundred different things and I have three notebooks filled with them, the latter half being the worst fake-Nick Cave writing I have ever read. From all of 2018, during which I probably wrote 30-35 songs, I have two that I would actually put on an album and three that I can remember/still like. Once I got my mental health under control, I did the same thing for the bulk of 2019. This stage you’re at is NOTHING TO FEEL BAD ABOUT. It’s like making stuff out of Play-Doh or fingerpainting. It’s FUN and you’re learning, Extremely Quickly, a million different skills that you’re going to need over the course of your life. Lyric writing, the classic verse/chorus/verse, how to invert that, experimental tactics, particular playing styles that you like, playing styles that you HATE, etc.

And the best part about it is that some of your songs are good! Some of them have good parts that you’ll take out later to put into better songs! You’re probably sitting on two or three good songs at the moment, maybe even more, maybe you’ve got a whole album of brilliant material and you just don’t know it. In thirty years your demos could work like Vashti Bunyan’s and be the proto-whatever of a new genre. I really don’t want to make you think that all your material right now is bad, because that idea has actually been super detrimental to me and is a shitty narrative pushed to push beginners. I’m saying that it’s OKAY for you to be bad, that even experienced people write bad shit, but that if you think you’ve written some bangers they deserve to be recognized as such.

To close, new phase that I was talking about, the quality over quantity phase, is definitely something I had to work up to. 90% of it is taking in enough new music to understand what you really want from yourself, and the rest of it is gaining enough confidence to willingly let other people hear what you do. I only started taking my shit this seriously in late December of last year because I knew people would be hearing it, and that has its set backs too: My perfectionism is crazy right now and I have to kick back against it all the time. The perks of getting to the point where you can hone yourself are that you build real relationships with your songs, and that you have some idea of what you want. But I also think that it’s healthy to go through the quantity over quality phase over and over again throughout the course of your career, because there’s no way to really write in a new style unless you keep going back to frenzied experimentation. If we both end up pursuing this long term, we’ll probably have to work on Finishing over Perfecting a million times over, and its best to make peace with it now.

I am so sorry that this is like. A million paragraphs but another important aspect of songwriting is procrastinating by being on tumblr so!!! You’re doing just fine. Keep up the good work, and feel free to talk to me or share music with me anytime. I hope this helps, or at least isn’t a boring read.

[whats-the-story-tc]

17th of December, 2019

"The One with the Last English of the Year"

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

Before I begin this post, I'd like to clarify a couple things.

1, My native tongue isn't English, neither am I, nor anyone mentioned in these posts, from an English-speaking country, unless specifically stated. Things I quote might get a bit lost in translation, or not mean the same thing as in English, so if something isn't quite clear, feel free to drop a message my way.

2, I learn the actual English language as a separate subject 5 lessons a week. We have them (and German) joint with the other class in our year, in mixed groups according to skill. Those are not what the posts are about.

3, I call V an English teacher, and her subject English so you understand me better. In reality, she doesn't teach this one subject to my class, but two. There's Literature, which Monday and Tuesday posts are about, and then there's Grammar separately, mentioned in Friday posts. These two are the same category, but separate subjects.

+1, Class system over here is way different from that of the US. Here, you get put in a class with random idiots when you're a freshman, and you see these very same idiots in every single class for the rest of high school. That's why I keep mentioning the same people. Every class has a designated homeroom teacher, who is responsible for that class. Ours is a bit of a messy person and not always here. V helps her (and us) out quite often, which is something she chose to do herself sometime around the end of last year.

And now that we're all settled, let's get down to business.

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

Another day, another flannel. I've been waiting to say this a while.

The folks from the other class mentioned in the morning that V wasn't in today, which someone defended with "she wasn't here yesterday either", and I think my heart sunk into my stomach. The feeling scared me. It's only been a few days. Why do I already miss her so much? That can't be right. Yet as soon as I got out of my first class, I scanned the corridors with my eyes every half a minute to find her. And I did, a bit after the bell rang. If my heart could sigh, it would've.

After the second lesson was over, me and a friend of mine met V on the stairs as I was explaining the friend something. When we greeted her, she looked at us with this really gentle and peaceful little smile, like she actually liked seeing us around. That one look killed my weekend doubts of "Do I really want to do this? Shouldn't I just give up?" and I was sure yet again that even if I wanted to, I couldn't let her go just yet. As we reached our other friends, I hid my face away into my scarf. I wanted to keep that happiness for myself. Even in Physics, during Cynical Twat's presentation on something I didn't even understand, I kept thinking of that one smile. I don't understand how I write A-s from Physics most of the time, as I either fall asleep (the teacher's voice is very soft) or I daydream about V as the lab is next door to the teachers' lounge, and I usually see her before class.

When V swung into class the next period, I could already see that she was doing much better. She came in smiling, even though she had to start the lesson off with refuting some rumours circling around about her recent mood, that got back to her. She assured us, that no, she wouldn't be handing the class over to someone else, no, she wasn't quitting or leaving, no, she wasn't fatally sick and no, we wouldn't be free from her that easily. She also added that her moodiness and the crying before class (see: 6th December) doesn't have to do with us, "it just that when thing aren't on you, and the stakes are high, and there's a lot of money in question, it can get really frustrating." So those were frustration tears. I knew they were. I wish I didn't know the feeling so well. But I'm really proud of her for speaking out about this and addressing everything with her head raised high.

Although the friend from earlier (who I'll name Flower Friend) tried to convince her to talk about William Blake's "The Tyger", also included in our textbook, as she found it interesting, V quickly refused. "Not because I'm too stupid for it", she said, but explained that the poem contains a lot of period-specific symbolism which would be quite hard to understand, plus we've already passed the "abroad" part of the Age of Enlightenment's literature, so we went on with our curriculum.

During the lesson, V was all smiles and laughs, which inspired all of us to speak more, and sat in the strangest positions on top of her desk while speaking. I could barely contain my laughter when she spent a good couple minutes talking with her knee pulled up to her chest. This woman...

Towards the end of the lesson, she asked if anyone wanted to share the short essays we wrote yesterday. As time was running out, I was trying to explain mine quickly, but as I'm nearly not as eloquent in speech, and my approach was heavily psychological (and involved a bit of acting, which earned a few laughs from the class), I got a bit awkward. I'm proud I could hold eye contact with her pretty well for most of it, and only looked away at the acted out bits, but I'm not surprised that when I looked back, she was grinning, and told me "I got a bit lost by the end of it."

I finally managed to recite the poem I told you about (the love confession one) after class, and it went pretty well. I wasn't so nervous that I couldn't look at her, so... I guess I'm getting a bit more comfortable with her attention on me. Afterwards, I went up to Lesbian Friend and her (bi) friend, and she told me "That woman (V) will be the death of me.", to which I said "That makes the two of us. Or three?" I glanced at the other girl. She nodded sheepishly. Officially confirmed: V is irresistible. And at the end of that break, as I stood by the doorway talking to someone and looked outside, V was passing by at the very same time and looked at me. What's with all the looking today?

The last time I saw her, as she was leaving the other class after her lesson with them, she said goodbye with "Send my love to everyone." She's done an awful lot of quiet slipping-outside lately, so it felt pretty good to see her fully "back".

Today's what we call the "Christmas concert", and all faculty are expected to attend. If I didn't fuck up my throat last year, which I'm still trying to fix, I'd be singing in the choir with Debate Friend and Flower Friend now. Hope they have fun. I remember V attending last year and watching us sing. I think she was smiling. I hope she has fun, too.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[theasstour]

0105. La fille aux cheveux de lin.

Sunday, 7 December 2014

FIC PAGE | CHAPTER SYMPHONY | WORD COUNT: 7.2k

NB: explicit language, alcohol

A/N: special thanks to the legend @sydneysuit for teaching me about the violin! ily abbie!

VOTE FOR SOY AS FEBRUARY FIC OF THE MONTH💛

Y/N needed money. It hadn’t occurred to her just how bad until she stood in the check-out in Tesco, her mum on the phone to ask her for money, and panicked tears in her eyes. So, on this Sunday, Y/N was frantically looking for part-time jobs in the Clapham and Battersea area of London, though she knew she’d most likely end up working in a dodgy tourist shop in Westminster with absolutely rubbish pay. Running both hands through her hair, Y/N stared at the hundreds of different offers, none seeming appealing and none very good. The panic of having no income, of not having enough money for a train ticket home unless her parents paid for it, all came rushing down all at once. Will just have to suck it up, Y/N thought to herself, opening different tabs on her browser with all the jobs she could apply to.

Her pulse rising, Y/N let her eyes fall shut for a few seconds before she focused on the work ahead. She would have to write a CV, probably ask her dad for help as he had already offered to do so. Ever since Y/N was 13 and had her first anxiety attack, her parents had been eager to learn more about it. Neither of them were very anxious people themselves, but for their daughter, they would try to understand and learn as they wanted to know what to do if it ever occurred again. Whenever Y/N would show signs of being extra anxious, her parents would always be by her side to calm her down. Before Y/N could even open her phone to call her dad, there came a knock from her door.

“Who is it?” She asked, ready to make an excuse so she wouldn’t have to be social. She was sitting in her lounge wear, a fluffy pink blanket draped around her shoulders, and the white light from the cloudy day outside shining in through the window to her left.

“Tiana.”

“What’s up?” Y/N asked as her flatmate poked her head in through the door.

“Can I chill? Or are you busy?”

Y/N looked back at the jobs she would be applying for later but closed her laptop to show Tiana she had all her attention. Tiana put Y/N’s doorstop in under the slit at the bottom, the sound of cutlery being used in the kitchen and someone laughing making Y/N aware that her and Tiana weren’t the only two up before 11am. Sitting down in Y/N’s bed and nicking one of her blankets, Tiana sighed heavily, back resting against the cold concrete wall.

“You know what we were talking about the other day?” Tiana asked, running her hand over the soft fabric of Y/N’s blanket. “About the housing situation next year?”

Over Domino’s three weeks prior, after the pregnancy scare, Tiana had asked Y/N if she had given any thought as to where she’d be living the next two years of uni, as student accommodation provided by the university was only offered to first-years or international students. Y/N, who mostly spent her time either in her head or in a state of unescapable stress, had not. When revealing this to Tiana, she gave her a soft smile, the kind that made Y/N realise she had done good befriending this girl. Curled up in each their blanket and Tiana’s laptop perched on a chair before the bed playing Friends, a pizza in each their lap and the scent of peace in the air, Y/N became aware of the fact that she very much did not think she’d experience anything like this. When she went to uni, she had not thought she’d experience friendship like what her and Tiana shared. And it made her very happy when Tiana asked, “Should we move in together then?”

And so they were. They had been looking at flats, but the two-bed student ones were few, especially in the Battersea, Clapham, Wandsworth, Chelsea and Brixton area. They wanted to stay close to uni, to not have to use the tube as it would be too expensive in the long run.

“We’re going to end up in bloody Hackney if we don’t find a place soon.” Tiana said, crossing her legs.

“We’re both so busy, though.” Y/N reasoned, turning her chair around and resting her legs on the bed. “And besides, Christmas Break starts this Friday, we won’t be able to find somewhere before then.”

Tiana sighed. “Yea, I know. But I so wanted to find something before Christmas.”

“Me too.”

“I found this really nice flat, with hardwood flooring and double beds, but guess where it was?”

“Where?”

“Fucking Holloway.” Tiana rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, nothing nice is anywhere near Battersea uni.”

“Guess loads of pairs are moving in together.” Y/N said. “Finn found a place, he told me last night while we were eating dinner.”

“Really?” Tiana asked. “Where?”

“Alfriston Road. Right by Clapham Common.”

“Of course he’s right by Clapham Common, the lucky git.” Tiana groaned again, taking the elastic band off from around her wrist and putting her hair up in a ponytail. “Why can’t we be lucky?”

“It’s a cruel world.”

“Amen.” Tiana said, looking up at Y/N’s ceiling. “Did he tell you how many he’s moving in with or if it’s just by himself?”

“He didn’t mention anyone, so probs by himself.”

Tiana took her phone out of her hoodie, looking at the time before throwing it down on the bed. “Let’s just keep looking over the Christmas Break, and hopefully we can go to some viewings when we get back.”

Y/N nodded, looking to her open door as the door into the kitchen opened and closed. She saw Annie reaching for the door handle to walk up to the second floor. Never before had Y/N concluded and done something this fast, but she got an idea the second she saw Annie.

“Annie?”

The flatmate looked in at Y/N, giving her a small smile.

“Wanna come chill?”

The smile grew bigger and Annie walked into Y/N’s room, sitting down on the bed next to Tiana who gave her some of her blanket so they could share it and warm each other up.

“Have you thought anything about your housing situation for next year?”

Tiana lit up, gasping a little as she laid a hand on Annie’s thigh, grinning so big that you’d think her face would split in two. Annie, most likely thinking Tiana mad, stared at Y/N with a bit of an open mouth, shaking her head.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to move in with the two of us?” Tiana asked, having caught onto Y/N’s train of thought pretty quickly.

Annie seemed a little shocked, letting her brown eyes scan Tiana’s face and then Y/N’s, going back and forth between the two. Trying to show her with a small smile that it was okay for her to say no, Y/N moved her chair closer to the bed, not wanting Annie to seem intimidated in any way, but also wanting to let her know that she really wished she would say yes. But Annie’s facial expression softened, somehow seeing it on both of her flatmates’ faces that they truly hoped she would move in with them.

“Yea.” Annie said. “Yea, I think that would be good.”

“Yay!” Tiana clapped her hands together before throwing her arms around Annie and laughing into her shoulder. “We’re going to have the best time together, I just know it!”

“We have been trying to find a two-bedroom flat, but it’s literally impossible.” Y/N explained, smiling at Annie.

“God,” Tiana sighed. “We were so scared we’d end up in Hackney, and you just saved us. There are so many three-bedroom places out there, especially around Battersea and Clapham. Oh, my God,” Tiana got out of Y/N’s bed, clapping and jumping up and down. “We might actually find a house together and we’ll have the best time!” She opened her arms, giggling. “Group hug!”

Y/N laughed and both her and Annie got up, the three of them embracing each other and Tiana jumping up and down, her excitement too much for her body to handle. The three friends just stood there holding onto one another, knowing that this might just be the best decision of the year. Euphoria filled all of them, security of having a small indication of what the future would hold for them making the small gang hold onto one another even tighter. They hung out some more, looking at some flats and just chatting about anything and everything. Spencer joined them for a bit, sitting on Y/N’s floor and helping them find someplace nice to live. Whenever he had the time, he’d spend time with the flat, but he was incredibly busy with uni and would mostly spend time in his room. However, he mostly liked hanging out like this when he wasn’t studying; in a relaxed and quiet environment. Spencer revealed he had moved loads growing up, and his dad had shown him what to look for and what questions to ask when going for viewings. He wrote them all down for the gang of three, making them promise to ask him anything if they were unsure about a flat or anything of the sort. As he left and walked on his way to the kitchen, a shout from Ian’s room sounded, clearly excited to see Spencer, and the two boys went into the kitchen where Finn and Becky were hanging out.

Annie left after a while also, explaining that she had a report due tomorrow that she needed to finish. So, once again, it was just Y/N and Tiana in Y/N’s room. Getting up to close the door, Y/N put her laptop back on her desk before turning to Tiana who had suddenly grown very quiet. If it was one thing Y/N didn’t do, it was press for information that wasn’t hers to ask for. Like why Tiana was quiet, or why she had a very distant look in her eyes Y/N had never seen before. Instead, she waited it out till Tiana snapped out of whatever train of thought she had been on, eyes meeting Y/N’s. Y/N let her stare speak volumes, making Tiana sigh heavily as she knew what Y/N was doing. She folded her hands in her lap.

“Danny and I stopped seeing each other.”

Y/N frowned a bit, crossing her arms as she kept silent.

“He… He just said he didn’t want to any longer.” Tiana said. “And I don’t know what to do anymore- What to do with that information. He’s obviously done with us, but… I don’t… I don’t think I am.”

With that, Y/N got out of the chair and sat down with Tiana. Draping the fluffy blanket over herself as well, Y/N wrapped an arm around her friend, silently offering her shoulder to lean on. And Tiana accepted. Head on Y/N’s shoulder and her eyes staring blankly out into nothing, Tiana did not elaborate. Did not air any theories as to why Danny would break them up, or if they had even been serious enough to consider themselves a couple in the first place. But Y/N wouldn’t press for information, wouldn’t force Tiana to say anything she did not want to. It was so unlike Tiana not to talk, not to think out loud, and Y/N knew that if she did not, it would all end in her crying. Danny and Tiana had seen each other loads, had hung out at Danny’s flat in Cotton Row and in Tiana’s room in Westbridge, and it would be weird for Tiana to continue on with life at uni without Danny around her. So, instead of telling Tiana she would be better off without the twat that was Danny Hales; that she could do better than him, Y/N let her embrace speak for her. It was no use talking when talking would cause even more pain; to put words to your feelings and thoughts when your body was already doing that for you. So, the two friends just sat there, leaning against one another and not speaking, because neither of them had to.

It didn’t matter what day of the week it was, students would always found a reason – or just not give a reason at all – to drink. Maybe it had been a rough week; maybe the essay you handed in last night was so shit it gave you a headache; maybe it was because you missed the taste of alcohol on the back of your tongue. Whatever reason, flat 34 of Westbridge had decided to sit down together in the kitchen that Sunday to drink. Tiana, Becky and Y/N had gone to Tesco to get some alcohol each. Tiana helped Y/N pick a bottle of white wine, while both Tiana and Becky got vodka and some cranberry juice themselves. Y/N tried not to make it show just how much she disliked the mere sight of cranberry juice. When they got back, Y/N worked some more on her violin, trying to get the Paganini Caprice No. 24 right. After rehearsing it over and over and over, Y/N seemed to finally start to get the hang of things. She suddenly felt incredibly relieved, like a weight was beginning to lift from her chest and shoulders. After weeks of preparing, she was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. With some more days of rehearsing, she would be ready to go for the exam on Tuesday.

Evening came, and Y/N walked out into the kitchen to make herself some dinner. Finn, Ian and Spencer were already sitting by the table eating, giving nods of greeting before continuing on with their conversation.

“That’s what Wade said, at least.” Finn said, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “On Thursday.”

“But ain’t their flat like… really small?” Ian asked, resting his back against the wall and his speaker in his hand, ready for later.

“Yea, so it’s going to be interesting.” Finn continued, Y/N putting some penne pasta into her saucepan that was starting to heat up. “Probs going to be sick, though.”

“But very crowded and messy.” Spencer continued. Y/N didn’t want to ask what was going on or what they were discussing, the slightly nosy side of her hoped they would elaborate more.

“El and Blessing won’t care, will they?” Finn sighed, sitting back in his chair and sighing heavily. “They rarely care for anyone but themselves, Harry says.”

Y/N looked over at the boys for a second, Ian bobbing his head in agreement and Finn putting his spoon back in his now empty bowl. Quickly, she focused her eyes on her food, swirling a spoon around in her pasta.

“So, Blessing and El are having a party? And neither Wade nor Harry are okay with it?” Spencer asked.

“Nope. Haven’t really been very fond of the two girls since the very beginning, to be honest. Never really spoke warmly of them.” Finn snickered. “Danny is keen, though. And he’s basically the boss, Harry says. Whatever Danny says goes.”

“Huge fan of Harry, are we?” Ian teased, winking at Finn as Spencer snickered. The door into the kitchen opened, Tiana and Becky entering. Y/N smiled at Tiana who walked over to her, giving her a hug as Finn let out a loud laugh.

“Man’s a fucking legend. Simply cannot resist his charm.”

“Who?” Becky asked, sitting now between Spencer and Finn.

“Harry.” Ian said, connecting his phone to the speaker so they could start listening to music.

“Ah.” She nodded, opening her vodka bottle. “Same. Bloody irresistible.”

“You got a thing for him?” Finn asked, getting up to wash his bowl.

“Fancy him like mad. Been trying to make it obvious to him since we started hanging out, but he doesn’t seem to take the hint.” Becky watched Finn as he walked over to the sink, clearly onto something. “You know him well, yea?”

“We chill abouts every day, yea. Why?”

“Ti, can you fetch me a glass, please?” Becky smiled at Tiana who did as she was asked, sitting down in a free chair afterwards. “Thanks.” Becky turned her attention back to Finn. “Could you help me out then?”

Finn put his bowl in the dish drainer. “Want me to tell him you wanna shag?”

“Don’t be blunt about it.” Becky rolled her eyes. “Just ask him if he’s interested and then talk me up.”

“Why can’t you just do it yourself?” Finn walked back and sat down, arms crossed over his chest.

“Because the times I’ve tried talking to him we’ve been around loads of other people, and it really hasn’t been the time.”

“But if you’re hammered at a party, that is the time to talk to him.”

Finn and Becky continued to talk, but Y/N zoned out, not really in the mood to listen in on a conversation she did not care for. She finished her dinner and walked over to the table just as Annie emerged, sitting down beside her. Everyone got their alcohol out, and the flat was at it again. Y/N ate her pasta while sipping on her white wine, feeling the effect of the liquor as early as she always did. She had never really been used to drinking back home in Hawkley, and almost felt ashamed at how fast she felt a little dizzy from the alcohol wrapping itself tightly around her brain. She tried not to say anything, though. Just eating her pasta and keeping quiet unless otherwise spoken to. Once she was done however, she got up out of her seat and walked over to the sink, swaying a little. Ian howled with laughter.

“You alright, Y/N?”

Y/N smiled back at him, and the rest of the gang laughed along. She came back after washing up her dishes, the night continuing on in a blur. They just sat talking, singing along to Don’t Look Back in Anger and moaning about how much each one of them had to do for the tons of exams they had this coming and last week before Christmas. Tiana was complaining about how they should have gotten a Christmas tree for the flat, and at the thought of Christmas, of going home to his family, Finn started crying a bit. It was an incredibly fun night. And around 00:30am, Finn got a snapchat from Wade.

“Bloody hell.” He mumbled. “Boys, look at this.”

He held his phone out for everyone to see. Cotton Row flat 8 did not look good. Alcohol was spilled on the floor, one of the chairs in their little kitchen was ruined, glass was shattered, and something brown was smeared all over their white cupboards.

“Looks like the party El and Blessing held went to literal shit.” Tiana said, pointing to the cupboards, making Y/N giggle.

Finn started texting Wade, concentration etched in the furrows of his brows. The party at flat 8 Cotton Row was soon forgotten as conversation rose around the table again. Y/N sipped the last of her wine, eyes gliding over the room. With the alcohol buzzing through her body, hot numbness in her shoulders, fingers and toes, Y/N felt oddly at peace. The people around the table were people she had now lived with for three months, and she felt very calm around them. Like if she opened her mouth right now to say something, she was somehow sure they wouldn’t look at her weird and mock her. It was a good feeling. And some minutes later, Y/N’s phone vibrated. Thinking it was a text from Edward, she fished the phone out of her pocket to answer him.

Harry Eloise and Blessing had a party at our flat.

Just reading his name made an involuntary smile creep onto Y/N’s face. Biting her bottom lip so no one around the table would see her grinning, she typed back to him.

Y/N Finn showed us a snap Wade sent.

Harry It’s ridiculous. They let people into my room and now it’s fucking disgusting in there.

Y/N frowned a little.

Y/N They let people into your room? Why?

Harry Because they’re both dead from the neck up.

Y/N looked up from her phone to think, but quickly looked down as another text came rolling in.

Harry Said they’d clean it up in the morning, but I don’t really feel like sleeping in a room smelling of apples Sourz.

Y/N Does it smell vile?

Harry Not vile, just of bad memories from my 16-year-old self drinking a whole bottle and throwing up lime green sick at 4am in my bed.

Y/N giggled, and Tiana quickly looked over, eyebrows arched.

“What’s this?”

“Just Edward sending me a meme.” Y/N explained.

Tiana cocked her head a little before looking away from Y/N. Y/N knew she knew it wasn’t Edward she was texting and was very grateful that Tiana didn’t press her for information. Turning back to her phone, Y/N answered.

Y/N I’ve never had some.

Harry You haven’t?

Y/N Nope.

Harry You’re not really missing out. Tastes like sweet piss.

Y/N bit her tongue from laughing out loud. She looked up as Finn threw his head back and laughed, clearly amused by something Spencer had said, who was also laughing. Y/N looked around at everyone, Taking Body by Tove Lo playing in the background as her flatmates started a loud conversation again, laughter hanging comfortably in the air.

Harry Smells like sweet piss as well. Can’t wait to literally gain 5 stone just inhaling Sourz all night.

Y/N You could sleep here.

Y/N didn’t register she was typing it until she had sent the text off to Harry. He usually answered right away, always quick to get back to anyone who wanted his attention, but at this he seemed to stop for a bit. Y/N watched her phone intently, her anxiety taking over as she started typing another message apologising, saying that someone took her phone and sent that message to him as a joke. If there was someone she didn’t want to scare away, it was Harry. She had no idea why, but the time they had spent together had made her very happy, and he seemed to care for her well-being more than most of her friends from back home in Hawkley. She didn’t want him to think that she was offering to have sex with him, that that was the only reason she wanted him to come over. She just didn’t want him to be uncomfortable in his own house. And besides, if El and Blessing said they’d clean it up the next day, then Harry wouldn’t need to sleep over two nights in a row. Y/N was about to hit send.

Harry You sure?

She blinked. Did he want to then? He wasn’t weirded out by her asking? So many questions ran through Y/N’s mind, and none could be answered unless Harry showed up and actually stayed the night.

Y/N Yea.

Harry Cheers. On my way. See you in 10.

Y/N put her phone back on the table, not really knowing what she had just done. If she had not been drunk, then she wasn’t sure she would’ve even had the balls to ask, but with alcohol in her system, asking Harry hadn’t seemed to scary. Not that she thought he’d cut her off if she ever offered her room for him to sleep in would he need it, but putting herself out there, exposing herself to possible rejection, made Y/N so uncomfortable she felt a slight cold shiver go up her spine at the mere thought. Y/N watched as Finn went up to walk to the bathroom and bit her lip as her eyes fell to her phone again. Harry would be here any minute now, and for some reason she felt nervous. Harry would never make her uncomfortable, she knew that, but just being around her made her nervous in a way she had a hard time explaining.

Harry Outside.

Y/N got up from her chair, taking her phone with her and leaving her empty wine bottle on the table. Walking over to the door, she was stopped by Tiana’s cough.

“Where are you going?”

Y/N blinked, mouth falling open as she thought of a reply. “A-A bit tired. Think I’m just going to head to bed.”

“Aww.” Tiana pouted as the conversation around the table continued on. “Hope you wake up well rested tomorrow. Nightie, sweets.”

“Goodnight.”

“Harry!”

Y/N had just opened the door when Finn, emerging from the downstairs toilet, saw Harry waiting outside their front door. Not really knowing what to do now, Y/N stood motionless as Finn opened the door, letting Harry in. With an arm around his shoulders, Finn walked Harry into the kitchen, the biggest grin on his drunk face as they walked into the communal area, stopping in the middle of the room. Y/N watched from the door, biting her lip.

“What’re you doing here, mate? Want a beer?”

“No, I’m good.” Harry answered as Finn let go of him to fetch one for himself.

“You sure? Everyone’s pretty much legless.”

Harry let go of a chuckle. “No, I’m not really here to get drunk, Finn.”

“Oh?” Finn raised his eyebrows. “To see your handsome mate, is that it?”

Harry laughed, and Y/N noticed how Becky seemed to be so entranced, so incredibly captivated by Harry, that she almost felt a little bad. But as soon as that feeling resurfaced, it disappeared. Because looking down at her exposed cleavage, Becky made sure to press her upper arms against her sides, making it bigger. And for some reason, Y/N suddenly didn’t like Becky very much. She hadn’t really cared much for her obsession with Harry before, but this she did not like.

Harry turned around to Y/N. “You good?”

She nodded.

He smiled before looking back at the rest of the gang. “Have a lovely night. Don’t drink too much, Finn.”

The looks on everyone’s faces as Harry turned around, opening the door for Y/N to walk through, was so priceless that Y/N wished she could’ve taken a picture of it. Everyone sat there open-mouthed, either smiling or just completely dumbfounded. The only one who didn’t look either was Becky, who seemed so offended Y/N didn’t know what would happen next time the two of them had a conversation. Harry gave Y/N a small smile, and she walked through the door and down the hall toward her room.

“You sleepy, then?” Harry asked, hands in his black aviator jacket pockets.

“A bit, but once I start brushing my teeth and stuff my brain kind of tells me to become tired enough to go to bed, if it makes sense?”

Harry giggled, walking into Y/N’s room and closing the door. “No.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes at him. “I don’t know how you want… how you want…” She gestured at her bed, avoiding his eyes.

Harry smiled. “I’ll take the floor, Y/N. It’s carpeted.”

“Right.” She nodded. “But do take all the pillows and blankets in my bed and make yourself comfortable on the floor, yea? I know it’s carpeted but once I slept on a carpeted floor and my back hurt for a week.”

Harry laughed, taking his jacket off and hanging it on the hanger by the door. He was wearing a pair of black drawstring waist joggers, a pair of white vans, and a white tee shirt. His glasses were perched on his nose, hair in disarray, but Y/N found him so handsome just then that there didn’t seem to be anything wrong about his hair being a little greasy or a spot starting to form on his chin.

“Why did you sleep on a carpeted floor?” Harry asked, taking his shoes off and walking over to Y/N’s bed to take the 500 blankets and pillows to make his own bed on the floor.

“A friend’s birthday party. I didn’t bring a sleeping bag or air mattress myself.” She said, putting some toothpaste on her toothbrush. “So, I had to sleep on the floor.”

Harry frowned, making his bed. “That’s rough. They could’ve at least given you a proper bed to sleep in if it was at a friends’ house.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders as she started brushing her teeth. “Didn’t really care.”

Harry stopped putting blankets and pillows on the floor to look over at Y/N, a frown on his face. They shared a glance through the mirror in front of Y/N, and her heart started racing a little.

“Didn’t really have any nice friends back in Hawkley if I’m being completely honest.” She said through her toothbrush, not caring that Harry saw the white of the paste at the edge of her mouth.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” Y/N said, trying to smile. “I’m here now.”

At this, Harry softened a bit, the edges of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Yea.” He said, something in his voice she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “You are.”

Silence fell over them then, and Y/N watched as Harry made himself comfortable. Laying down on the floor, he whipped his phone out and started texting away and looking through his Instagram feed. Y/N spat out her toothpaste and put face cream on, making sure to rub it in good and softly before she turned all the lights except for the fairy lights above her bed off. She crawled into her bed, still fully clothed and put her duvet comfortably over her frame. Sighing deeply, Y/N opened her phone as well.

Tiana OH YM FUCKING GOD YOU AND HARRY??????

Tiana Y/N I SWEAR TO GOD WHAT THE FUCK

Tiana YOU AND HARRY

Tiana ARE YOU SHAGGING?? TELL ME YOU’RE NOT ONLY SHAGGING HIM HE’S WAY TOO CUTE TO ONLY BE A SHAG

Tiana BECKY IS SO FUCKIGN MAD OH MY GOD Y/N

Giggling, Y/N answered Tiana.

Y/N El and Blessing’s guests trashed his room so I offered my floor for the night.

Tiana So you’re just friends?

Y/N Yea.

Tiana Sounds fake, but okay.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Harry said a she put his phone on silent and turned it off. “What is your favourite thing to eat in the whole entire world?”

Y/N frowned. “Favourite… thing? You mean food, right?”

“No.” Harry said. “I mean thing, like do you enjoy eating loo rolls or books better?”

Y/N laughed, and so did Harry, grinning up at her in the faint light above her.

“No, I mean foods, yea.”

Y/N hummed as she thought for a bit. “Probably Caramels.”

“Caramel?”

“The Scottish biscuits?”

“Oh!” Harry nodded. “Right. Yea, yea, yea. They’re fucking delicious.”

“I know!”

Harry smiled. “Mine has got to be Chinese takeout. Tastes as good the morning after as it does fresh.”

“Never had it.”

Harry paused. “You’ve never had Chinese?”

“I come from a small village in the middle of nowhere in Hampshire, of course I haven’t.” Y/N said. “I’ve basically been eating Sunday Roast seven days a week for 19 years.”

Harry huffed. “Nothing better than a good Sunday Roast, yea?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Y/N agreed.

“Best thing about a Sunday Roast?”

“The Yorkshires.”

“What?!” Harry narrowed his eyes. “No way! It’s the potatoes. Everyone knows the roast potatoes are the best thing about life itself.”

“I stand by what I said.”

“Roast potatoes with gravy?” Harry suggested. “Come on, it’s the best thing invented.”

“It’s good, but not as good as Yorkshires with gravy.” Y/N giggled as Harry closed his eyes in frustration. “Sorry.”

Harry removed his glasses, rubbing his hands over his face. “I cannot believe this.”

“Can’t believe you’ve done this?”

Harry’s arms fell to his sides. “A Vine reference, huh?”

“You know them?”

“Know them?” Harry smiled. “I breathe them, darling.”

Y/N giggled. “Good, couldn’t have been seen with you if you didn’t.”

Harry smiled, rubbing at his eyes. It was 1am after all, so no wonder both of them were tired and ready for bed. But Y/N started talking before she could help herself. She saw the tattoos on his right arm, from his elbow and down to his wrist. All the numbers she had been thinking about for well over a month now. Needing to know what they meant.

“Your tattoos.” Y/N blurted. “What do they mean?”

Harry put his glasses on again before holding his arm up so they both could see them. “Promise not to think I’m a bloody plonker for it?”

“You already are in general so-“

“-Alright!” Harry looked up at her, making her laugh. “Don’t hold back! Do fire off insults!”

“I’m sorry!” Y/N chuckled. “I won’t think you daft. Go on.”

Harry held his arm up again. “It’s all the articles that made me want to study Law.”

Y/N smiled a little, intrigued.

“Which articles?”

“Most from the Human Rights and Equality Commission.” He explained. “The Human Rights Act.”

Without thinking, Y/N reached forward and placed her index at the very top where 2.1 was written. Slowly she let her finger trace down until it reached Harry’s pulse, to the light blue veins there, that beat along to the rhythm of his heart. Harry looked up at her, studying her make-up less face and the look on her face. He hadn’t expected her to touch him like this, to want to know about his tattoo, to want to know him like this, but he couldn’t help but want to share every little detail of his life with her. So, tearing his eyes away from her face, he glanced at her finger until she drew back, wondering if she had felt just how quick his heart had been beating.

“2.1.” Y/N said, eyes taking in the tattoos.

“Article 2: Right to life.” Harry said. “’Everyone’s right to life shall be protected by law. No one shall be deprived of his life intentionally save in the execution of a sentence of a court following his conviction of a crime for which the penalty is provided by law.’”

Y/N met his eyes. “You know the articles?”

He smiled. “Each and every one.”

Y/N smiled back, looking at his forearm. “10.1?”

“Article 5: Freedom of expression.” He started. “’Everyone has the right to freedom of expression. This right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without interference by public authority and regardless of frontiers.’”

Y/N, incredibly fascinated, went on. “7.1?”

“Article 7: No punishment without law.” Harry smiled at how much she wanted to know. “’No one shall be held guilty of any criminal offence on account of any act or omission which did not constitute a criminal offence under national law at the time when it was committed. Nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the time the criminal offence was committed.”

Y/N closed her eyes, the sound of Harry’s soothing voice lulling her to sleep. “You really know all this?”

“Yea.” Harry let his arm rest beside him. “I do.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s so impressive.”

“Is it?”

“I didn’t know any of the human rights.” She giggled. “Well, I knew some but not this well.”

Harry smiled, studying her as she fell closer and closer to sleep. “It’s what I study after all.”

“Yea, but you’re good at it.”

“At remembering?”

“Yea.”

“I’ve always found law and stuff like that interesting. It’s what ties all of humanity together in a way, you know? The Human Rights are something we all have in common; something we all strive for and work for.”

Y/N smiled a little wider. “I love that.”

“I want to work in the EU, maybe move to Brussels.”

“Do you know what you’d do? Like what kind of job you’d have?”

Harry shook his head, but when looking up at Y/N, seeing that her eyes were close and her breathing heavy, he stopped himself from answering. She might not be totally asleep, but she was close to it. And he wasn’t about to wake her. She’d had a long day probably. So, giving her a little smile, Harry flicked the switch on the plug, letting the room fall into darkness, and he went to sleep also.

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

“Y/N, your turn.” Mr Goddard said, motioning for Y/N to get out of her seat and walk to the front of the class.

Y/N had been deep in her own thoughts until she heard her name being called. Mentally, she had been in her bed that previous Monday morning, Harry standing hunched by her bed, shaking her lightly awake. She had rubbed her eyes and glanced at him while he smiled at her.

“I’m sorry.” He had said. “Wish I didn’t have to wake you up, but felt weird not telling you that I was leaving.”

Y/N frowned. “You’re… You’re leaving?”

Looking down on the floor she saw that his bed was indeed gone. All her pillows and blankets laid folded on her desk. Blinking a few times, she started sitting up in bed.

“No, no, no.” Harry said, pushing her lightly down. “No need to wake up, know you don’t have any lectures on Mondays.”

Y/N frowned. “How?”

“Finn.”

Y/N nodded, looking at her blankets again.

“But I do.” Harry informed. “Completely forgot I did, but I have one in approximately-“ He checked the time on his phone. “-15 minutes.”

Y/N nodded again, not really knowing what to say.

“I’ll see you, yea?”

She nodded again. And then Harry walked out of her room and away. She had not seen him since. But as she rose to her feet in Ensemble I, Y/N forgot all about Harry and Sunday night, Monday morning, and everything in between, before, and after. With her violin in her hand, she walked to the front of class, looking at all of the students before her. Teresa smiled at her, giving her a thumbs up, and Y/N tried to calm herself down, knowing that if she did just that, then everything would turn out fine. Placing the sheets on the stand in front of her just in case, Y/N brought the violin up to her neck and chin. She closed her eyes, trying to relax completely before opening them again to focus on the sheet before her, and then on the piece.

Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 started flowing from Y/N’s violin as she played. With a light grip of her fingers and thumb, bow gliding over the strings quickly, Y/N felt in complete control. If one managed to play a Paganini piece without failing, one felt like the most powerful person in the universe afterward, like playing it was like overcoming a hug obstacle. As much as Y/N loved playing the violin, the feeling afterward when you were done, having completed and mastered a tricky piece, she felt so amazing it was hard to properly put into words.

Pressing her fingers onto the fingerboard as hard and fast as she possibly could, a furrow to her brow as she tried to concentrate. But her mind suddenly went elsewhere. She started thinking about going home. The sight of the Picot Farm when driving down the mud road, trees surrounding her and birds singing all around. Edward in the gate into the farm, waving his arms at her and shouting her name. The cows not even a little bit interested in the vehicle making its way past them. Suddenly, it was very hard to concentrate on the piece. It was hard to move her fingers quick enough and it was hard to see the notes through the blurriness of her eyes.

She failed. Stopping completely once she started hitting the wrong notes; once it all started to sound very bad. Panicked, Y/N looked down at her sheet, blinking away the tears, and then meeting Teresa’s gaze. She smiled at her, mouthing at her to try again.

“Again.” Goddard said.

Y/N knew you got three tried in total. So, she had to play her best this time or the time after. Leaning her chin on the violin again, she glanced at the neck, her fingers lightly pressed against it as she started playing again. She watched her fingers this time, knowing that if she saw herself play then surely she couldn’t do anything wrong. Quickly, her fingers moved over the strings, Paganini once again gracing the room. Everyone was impressed. Y/N was an incredible violinist, she knew this herself as the only thing she was really confident about was her ability to play the violin. When she played and felt the quietness around her, all eyes on her and her violin, she didn’t much mind being the centre of attention. As long as it was the kind of attention she wanted herself, that she created, then she liked it.

But as she started thinking about everyone else in the room, about what everyone else might be thinking of her where she stood, she lost focus again. This time quicker than the one before. It was then that she realised just how bad she had screwed herself over by picking a Paganini piece, especially Caprice No. 24 that needed all the focus and discipline in the world. It was such a complex and fast-tempoed piece, and Y/N knew right then that whichever way she played this next and last time, she would not be able to go through with it.

“Go on, Y/N.” Goddard said.

No matter how much Y/N didn’t like him, there was a tone of encouragement in his voice that made her sigh with relief. She started once again, looking at her fingers and then at the sheet. But she missed another note, placed her index incorrectly, felt a drop of sweat run down the back of her neck, and knew right away that she was done. Removing her violin from her shoulder, she looked at Goddard, giving him the slightest smile before walking back to her seat next to Teresa. The seminar room was a little to quiet, and no one seemed to move or breathe or speak until Goddard called the name of the next student. Y/N put her violin away and sat back up, straightening her back and bringing her phone forth. She found her mum in her messages.

Y/N I’m going home for Christmas today, can dad and Edward pick me up at the train station around 8? Just failed an exam and I don’t want to be here anymore. I’ll leave as soon as my seminar is over.

She put her phone away again, looking up at the boy who sat down in front of the piano. Swallowing hard, Y/N fought the tears from falling, knowing that once one did, the rest of surely follow. Teresa reached over and took Y/N’s hand in hers, squeezing it hard. When looking over at her friend she didn’t look at her, Teresa’s eyes were on the guy playing. And for some reason, not having anyone look at her right then, was exactly what Y/N needed as she felt her bottom lip almost wobble.

TAGLIST

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[fanfic-scribbles]

Cursed Communication

Fandom: Supernatural Summary: You’re going to assassinate an archangel for his assertion over your anatomical authority. Prompt: For @gabriel-monthly-challenge’s December Prompt: Rev’s Ridiculous and Random (p)Rompt: “This month’s prompts are brought to you by the letter R! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to include the following words in your fic/art/other creation: Robotics, Recalcitrant, Rhubarb, Regular, Raining.”

(Yeah I’m not joking. Those words are in here, in the same sentence. You Cannot Miss It.) Quick facts: Romance – Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader Warnings: Alliteration, crack-ish in part, fluff Words: 1622

A/N: I was actually hesitant to tag @gabriel-monthly-challenge  for this because when I first read through it I thought ‘that’s a silly prompt. I’m in!’ but when I went back and re-read it…I don’t actually know if it counts as its own prompt or if it’s supposed to be worked into one of the other (actual) prompts? But what the hell; I wrote a thing off their idea and even if this doesn’t count for the monthly round-up I feel like I should credit GMC (and @revwinchester) specifically because it is sort of, technically, completely their fault. Even if I didn’t do it right. SO. There’s that. But anyway; this week has been a complete fail for me every step of the way so I wrote something for an idea that made me laugh. Hopefully it amuses you too. I was gonna try to do a straight crack fic but I couldn’t help but make it fluffy, I guess. It’s my thing~. In any case, please enjoy.

    How did it all go so wrong?

You thought (‘thought,’ as in past tense) that you and Gabriel had a good thing going. You’ve been friendly almost since you first met, and absolutely flirty since then– much to the annoyance of Sam and Dean, the latter of whom actually took a swing at Gabriel to…defend your honor, you guess. It was funny, and Gabriel had good humor, and you liked him.

Liked. Again, past tense.

Because after that first meeting, things mellowed out enough that Sam and Dean forgave his little ‘not-as-dead-as-you-thought-I-was’ act and he started hanging around more and more. And the flirting turned up more and more– but never went past that. Because as much as you liked him, you weren't completely sure he liked you.

Now, you’re pretty sure you made the right call.

“Gabriel!” you snap, trying to be courteous to the sleeping library occupant just down the hall.

However Sam walks in, yawning, and runs a hand through his hair, bringing it from ‘mussed’ to ‘model’ in seconds. He has a line on his face from where he fell asleep on his book. It’s the only thing that keeps you from hating his ability to literally roll out of bed (or worse) looking like that. “What’s wrong?” he asks you and looks around.

You can only seethe. “Gabriel,” you hiss as Cas and Dean (dear absent god why him) walk into the room.

Sam frowns. “‘Gabriel’ what?”

You point at your mouth.

“Gabriel…cursed you?”

You nod.

“That’s…not possible,” Cas says, perplexed. You glare at him. Semantics are not your biggest concern right now.

“What did he curse you with?” Dean prompts.

You rub the space between your eyes. You don’t want to say. Or rather, you don’t want to find out what you're going to say. It’s really a crapshoot at this point. But Sam says your name seriously, and you sig– exhale heavily.

“Alliteration…always assures annihilation.”

They all blink in unison. It’s a little creepy.

“Uh…what?” Sam asks.

You aim your glare at him. He flinches, so that at least is satisfying. “I am cursed to continue this conundrum with my communication,” you say through grit teeth.

Dean snorts. You look at him and he’s smiling in a way that suggests he’s holding back laughter. He holds his hands up in mocking surrender but he can barely keep his lips together.

“Ah…alliteration?” Sam guesses.

You nod. Sam’s mouth twitches, and within seconds both he and Dean are laughing raucously. Cas remains impressively stone-faced but you bet he’s laughing inside. You cross your arms and glower at New Mortal Enemy Numbers Two and Three. Number One, of course, being a certain archangel. Who you had liked– up until he took your mouth hostage.

“Well, at least now you know how it feels to get fucked over by Gabriel,” Dean says and pats your shoulder before leaving. Asshole.

“I’ll see what I can find in the library but, uh, I’m not sure what anyone can do about finicky archangels,” Sam says, smiling, and leaves. Bastard.

“I’m sure it will be over in a day or so,” Cas says, awkwardly mimics Dean’s pat, and goes. Dick.

You glare up at the ceiling and think about how you can get through this without saying one single syllabl–

If this alliteration thing spreads to your thoughts you don’t care what it takes you will find Gabriel and pluck him like a dead chicken.

 You run out of your room and slam the door shut. “Gabriel I will WASTE YOUR WORTHLESS–!” You shut your mouth and start breathing through your nose. The thudding and beeping on the other side of the door continues and you stomp away, towards the bunker exit, and almost get there when Dean, Cas, and Sam all come out of the library and block your way.

“What now?” Dean asks but he jolts when he sees your face. You’re barely holding back tears, so you can only imagine how you look. Having someone take over your main outlet for communication is decidedly not fun.

You point your finger back towards your room so quick you pull something in your arm. You don’t care. “It’s raining rhubarb on the regular and there are recalcitrant robotics running around like rascal–” You clamp your hands over your mouth and scream into them. “GABRIEL!”

“You rang?” Gabriel says, appearing on the nearest desk and grinning. It’s all you can do not to grab a sharp object and just start stabbing. “Oh come on! I’m giving you a lot of material to work with.”

You’re shaking. Cas looks concerned. If he wants to keep his brother, he should be.

“Uh, Gabriel?” Dean, of all people, sounds worried. “Unless you want to die for real you should probably stop.”

Gabriel is about to say something but when he looks at you, really looks at you, he actually blanches. Apparently the murderous rage-waves floating off your body manage to get to him, because he snaps his fingers and the weight on your tongue vanishes.

“Talking…I can just…talk normal…say things that don’t…” The test works and you let out a huge sigh. The relief of having your mouth back under your complete control is so great that you actually sink to your knees.

“Gabriel, wai–” Cas sighs and you look up to see the archangel is gone. You shake your head but let it be. You need the space to cool down before you find out what the hell is going on.

 Gabriel, apparently, needs more space than you do. You’ve been trying to contact him for hours and gotten nowhere. So you go to the library where Dean sits on one side of the table with the laptop and Cas sits on the other side with a book. Sam is absent, but that’s all right– you only need the angel.

As if sensing that, Cas looks up on your approach. “Hey. Can you do me a favor?” you ask, and then launch into it. “Gabriel’s ignoring me. Can you tell him to come by; that I just want to apologize?”

“I will relay your message,” Cas says confi–…with assurance.

“Thanks,” you say and pull on your jacket.

“Going somewhere?” Dean asks, looking up over the computer.

“Just out back to get some air.” And privacy, in case Gabriel does decide to swing by.

There’s a small table and some crappy old folding chairs out there. You pick the most stable of the lot and squint at the darkness. Despite the uncomfortable seating and cold air, you resolve to wait a while, and pull out your phone so you’re not quite so bored.

A blanket is dumped in your lap and you jolt up, but Gabriel plops into the chair next to you and huffs. “What’s wrong with your room?”

“Nothing. At least, not anymore,” you say and pull up the blanket. Gabriel winces, but you put your phone away and look at him. He looks anywhere else. You sigh. “I’m sorry I got…that upset. It was probably an overreaction on my part. I just– I’m sorry for whatever I did. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” Gabriel says vehemently, eyes snapping up at you as he sits up straight. “We’re actually–!”

You can practically feel Gabriel pulling the handbrake on that one, and after a few seconds you decide to fill the silence. “So what was the point of that?”

Gabriel looks at you again. It’s a small victory, but a victory still. “The point?”

“You don’t…do stuff like that without trying to make a point,” you say. “Teach lessons. Or get revenge on Dean, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t eat your sandwich.”

Gabriel snorts. “No. No lesson. No revenge. Just…I thought you’d find it funny. We were talking about alliteration a few days ago.”

You do remember that. Joking around that started out verbal and then devolved into playful shoving, but what you remember the most is when he accidentally wrapped his arms around you and–

You think you might get it. And you’re afraid of what Gabriel might do next if you don’t broach the topic. Like a grown-up. “Gabriel,” you say. “Were you…pulling my pigtails?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that; it’s a legitimate expression,” you say. “And don’t dodge the question.”

He huffs and mutters, “Yes.”

You can’t help but smile. “Gabriel. You idiot.” And then you grab the back of his head and pull him in for a firm kiss before he can do anything else stupid. He doesn’t resist– in fact, he yields, and it’s up to you to pull away while he remains where you put him. You brush a bit of his hair away from his forehead. “All you had to do was say something.”

He smiles up at you. In an instant you’re draped across his lap, blanket and all, and the chair feels suspiciously sturdy. “I’m not so good at that. However…I am pretty good with my mouth in other ways.”

It’s the dumbest pick-up you’ve heard in a long while. It’s also perfectly Gabriel. You smile and lean in– only to stop a few centimeters from his mouth. “If I ever lose any amount of control over any part of my body ever again because of you I will end you. I’m guessing you’ve never been compelled but having experienced it twice now I can tell you, even just a small bit of it is not fun.”

“Understood,” Gabriel says quickly. He grins. “Completely clear and coherent my cupc–”

You press your lips to Gabriel’s and hope he really is good with his mouth in other ways.

He is.

[hermannsthumb]

Hi! I know it must be an old prompt fill, but would you ever consider writing a follow-up on your newt/owen fill? If you felt like revisiting it, of course. Jealousy/pining with a happy ending is my cryptonite and I love your writing!

i actually DID write a followup ages ago but never posted it anywhere but my side twitter!!!!!!! so here it is now, wildly edited (bc i wrote it in like october lol), newt/owen harper WITH bonus hermann bc i love hermann :) how do i tag this ship? who knows. original newt/owen drabble here

18+/adult content/lemon (i really, really hate that thats necessary now) below cut! along w basic summary

jealousy! threeway! blowjobs! lab sex! dirty talk that proofreading over just now made me go “oh jeez”! and facials too. now i know why i didnt post this earlier LOL. sorry mr gorman

Newt’s always been pretty decent at giving blowjobs (everyone always tells him he’s got a big mouth, you know, gotta use it for something), and over time he’s actually started to really dig it. As of late, he’s started to really dig giving Owen blowjobs especially--he’s got a nice dick that Newt can only just fit his mouth around all the way, and he massages Newt’s scalp and tugs on his hair the whole time and calls Newt filthy things, and sometimes, nice things. It’s a great time for everyone involved, Newt figures.

Hermann left the lab some time ago to shower and go to bed--early for him, on a work night, but he’s been doing that a lot lately since Dr. Harper joined up with them--and the second the door shut behind him, Owen’s hand went to Newt’s ass.

“We’re not done with the dissection yet,” Newt protested weakly, but Owen squeezed his ass and licked a line up his neck and Newt’s dick jerked to life and, well. One thing led to another, and now they’re here, Owen pressed against Hermann’s chalkboard with his jeans and boxers pulled down to his thighs and his dick down Newt’s throat. “Pretty thing,” he moans, petting Newt’s hair, and Newt sucks eagerly and digs his nails into Owen’s hips before pulling off with a pop.

“Call me names,” Newt begs, voice raspy, before he sucks Owen into his mouth once more; Owen fucks his hips forwards, and Newt nearly chokes.

(No one’s ever called Newt dirty stuff in bed before, and it’s something he found out he’s into totally by accident. It was a week or so ago, in Newt’s bunk, and he and Owen had been fucking, like they usually do the second the work day ends, and Owen had been insinuating for not-the-first-time that he wouldn’t mind sharing Newt with Hermann. Far from mind it, actually. Narcissist.

“You’re pretty dead set on this, huh?” Newt panted out as he ground himself down. Owen was clinging to him so tight Newt could barely move, lips dragging messy down Newt’s neck, and Newt almost didn’t hear his grunt of an answer.

“Why not?” Owen began kneading at his ass, spreading him just a bit wider, and Newt sunk down and whined and tossed his head back. “You--oh--you clearly want to shag him, too.”

“I’ve never--” Newt stammered. “Uh--”

Owen’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Then, he was leering again, rolling into Newt with a deliberate languidness that made Newt want to scream. He snagged a handful of Newt’s hair and wrenched his head forward to hiss in his ear. “A cockslut like you--” Newt’s eyes widened “--never having had more than one man at a time? I don’t believe it.”

“Call me that again,” Newt whimpered. “Oh, fuck.”

“You’re a filthy cockslut,” Owen repeated, amused, half-laughing, and he tightened his grip in Newt’s hair and tugged harder. “A filthy, greedy--”

“I am,” Newt nearly shouted, writhing desperately, “oh, fuck, I am, I am--” He came, untouched, between their bodies, and Owen laughed disbelievingly and...that was that.)

“You’re a little slut,” he growls now, thrusting hard into Newt’s mouth, and Newt moans helplessly and palms himself through his jeans. “You’re a dirty little cockslut, Newt, and I’m going to come all over your pretty--”

There’s a tiny exclamation of surprise from behind them. Newt wonders--for a moment--who’s caught them and if they should stop, but Owen holds Newt’s head in place by his hair and continues fucking his face as if nothing’s wrong, so Newt lets him. Probably the janitor. Newt owes the guy big time at this point--he’ll get him a nice Christmas present when December rolls around. “Dr. Gottlieb,” Owen greets, absurdly casual, and Newt yanks himself off Owen’s dick, coughing, cheeks reddening in embarrassment, and he turns around.

“Hermann?!” he squeaks, and sure enough, there’s Hermann, slack-jawed, wide-eyed, frozen in the doorway of the lab. “Shit, sorry--I didn’t--I thought you were--”

Owen is infuriatingly blasé about it all. Bastard probably planned it. “Ah, come on,” Owen says, shooting Hermann a little wink. “He was enjoying the show. Been lurking there for nearly five minutes.”

“I was not!” Hermann exclaims, but his eyes are fixed on where Newt’s hand is still wrapped around the base of Owen’s dick, on Newt’s lips (slicked with precome and saliva). “I simply--I forgot--”

Owen’s fingers are still wound tightly in Newt’s hair, and he tugs on him until Newt, against his better judgment, takes him into his mouth once more. Maybe not entirely against his better judgement. The thought of having someone watch is kinda exciting. The thought of having Hermann watch is--well. That’s very, very exciting, more exciting than Newt cares to admit. Newt sucks and hallows his cheeks easily, moaning again, and Owen sighs. “Isn’t he a pretty thing?” he says, kneading at Newt’s scalp the way Newt likes. “C’mere.”

Newt expects Hermann to turn on his heels. Go back to bed. Probably even ignore him for the rest of the week, if not the month, if not forever. He doesn’t expect the door clicking shut, the clack of Hermann’s cane on the lab floor moving towards them. Newt doesn’t stop working his throat as he looks up; Hermann is above him now, too, blushing terribly, his free hand fumbling with the buckle of his very tented slacks, and Newt’s arousal spikes by about two-hundred percent and he pulls off Owen with spit trailing to his lips. “Holy shit, Hermann,” he says, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Newton,” Hermann stammers, stilling his hand, “is this--ah--”

Newt ignores Owen in favor of throwing all caution into the wind and pressing himself to the front of Hermann’s slacks and mouthing at him, and Hermann chokes out a gasp. “Newton,” he says, nearly dropping his cane as he throws out his right hand to grip the ledge of the chalkboard, “oh--”

Newt pulls Hermann’s dick--flushed red and leaking precome--out, then presses a single kiss to the tip. “Both of you,” Newt says, breathily, and then licks teasingly over the head (barely believing it). “I want both of you to--”

Owen catches on first and inches over, nudges his dick against Newt’s cheek, and Newt curls his other hand around it and licks off precome and remnants of his own saliva. He hears Hermann emit another odd, strangled noise, and Newt grins, leans back over to Hermann’s dick and kisses that again instead. He starts stroking them both in unison. “Is this good?” he says, widening his eyes innocently. He nuzzles at the tip of Hermann’s dick and darts his tongue out against the slit.

Owen hisses out a curse; Hermann’s legs start to tremble. His knuckles have gone white around the chalkboard ledge. Newt’s chest swells with pride. He’s doing that to them.

It’s hard building a rhythm, at first, hard to lavish attention and kisses and teasing licks equally on both of them, but Newt manages after five minutes or so. He jerks them off slowly, evenly, switching between mouthing hot and messy at Owen’s (who likes it sloppy) and sucking on Hermann’s (who makes the sexiest little grunts every time Newt so much as breathes on him; Newt files away the knowledge that Hermann is sensitive for future use).

“Newton--” Hermann is panting, and Newt locks eyes with him as he rolls his tongue over Owen and Hermann’s mouth drops open, “oh--”

“You can do better than that,” Owen says, voice strained, and he pets at Newt’s hair. Newt takes the bait: he takes the heads of both Hermann and Owen’s dicks into his mouth and sucks. Hermann cries out, guttural and wordless, and Newt moans happily and works his tongue over them as best as he can. He feels drool run down his chin; he knows he probably looks filthy, and ridiculous, but he doesn’t care.

Hermann’s hips jerk forward so hard Newt nearly gags again, and Newt pulls off quickly. He doesn’t want Hermann to come yet. He wants-- “Sorry,” Hermann stutters, flustered, his chest heaving wildly, “oh, Newton, I’m sorry--I--”

Newt settles back on his heels (his knees have begun to ache, pressed to the cold tile floor for so long) and starts jerking them both off faster. “On my face,” he moans, “please.” He parts his lips, sticks his tongue out, and Owen--already so worked up from being teased for so long--falls apart first, gasps sharply as he comes. It hits Newt’s tongue, his nose, his left cheek in spurts. Hermann’s eyes are so wide it’s almost comical, and his orgasm takes both him and Newt by surprise, hitting Newt’s tongue--like Owen--but the rest hitting Newt’s chin and neck.

Newt swallows, lets them both slip from his fingers so he can start furiously rubbing at himself instead. “Holy shit,” Newt whines, feeling so, so dirty, and he squeezes himself clumsily, “holy shit, oh--”

Owen--breathing heavily--hoists Newt to his feet by the front of his button-up and slams him against the chalkboard, shoves his tongue into Newt’s mouth and bites at his bottom lip, and Newt squeaks in surprise. Owen swallows the noise down and works open Newt’s jeans to start jerking him off. Newt can see Hermann--dazed, spent, clinging to the chalkboard ledge--watching them. “C’mon, Gottlieb,” Owen murmurs, grabbing at Hermann’s hand and dragging it down Newt’s pants, too, and Newt’s breath hitches when he feels Hermann curl his fingers around him hesitantly.

“Hermann,” Newt whimpers, and Hermann grows more confident, matches Owen’s sharp, rough strokes. “Oh--”

Owen starts kissing down his throat and digs his teeth into the joint of Newt’s neck and shoulder, where Newt’s fucked-up collar exposes his skin. It’s like electricity is coursing through Newt’s body; everything is hot, so hot, and he’s aware he’s begging loudly, shrilly, for something, anything. Hermann leans in and kisses him hard just as Owen starts sucking a bruise into Newt’s skin and Newt cries out, spills over Hermann’s and Owen’s hands.

They’re both sweet and attentive, afterwards. Hermann--who had been so shy before--presses sweet, chaste kisses to Newt’s jaw and lips, murmuring out Newt’s name, and Owen just pets at Newt’s hair and kisses behind his ear. It’s nice.

“Great work, team,” Newt says finally, voice wrecked. “Gotta do that again some time.”