#wuh oh! scandal!

[ministarfruit]

yuri month day 8: I want you to leave me ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

[flippyspoon]

Note: Here have a little TOS Spirk ficlet!

Morning Routine

Kirk was already heading to the bridge, having skipped the mess to have a quick breakfast in his quarters, when he saw Spock marching toward him and wearing a smile so subtle anyone else would have missed it completely.

“Nope!" Jim raised his hands either in surrender or defense, he wasn’t sure which. “No, no absolutely not, Spock! Not today!”

Spock stopped short and tilted his head, all innocence. “Captain?”

“I know your game, mister.” Kirk wagged a finger at him as Spock approached. He backed up a few steps, relieved at least that the corridors were still empty this early. “I know what you’re about to do! You’re gonna say something that’s gonna have me blushing and riled up all day on the bridge and I won’t have it! Now you’ve done it twice this week already! Enough’s enough!”

“Captain.” Spock narrowed his eyes. “Jim. I do not know to what you refer?”

“I see.” Kirk leaned against the wall and Spock stepped in yet closer. There was still a whole hour to go before the beginning of their shifts and they were both more than happy to spend it like this. “I see how it is, Mr. Spock. One day we’re necking in your quarters and the next thing I know you’re calling me Jim during work hours-”

“Our shifts do not begin for fifty seven minutes-”

“Giving me your little bedroom eyes-”

“Sir, if one of us is guilty of so-called bedroom eyes, it is certainly you-”

“If things go on like this, soon we’ll be scandalizing poor Chekov right there on the bridge.”

“I am told Chekov won the wager regarding our inevitable coupling. I doubt he would have any serious objections.”

Kirk scowled, but his smile contradicted any ill feeling. “And now your jokes are even getting better. It’s alarming, Spock.”

“Captain, I do not want to cause any embarrassment or, as you have termed it, butterflies this morning. I was simply reading a fascinating Vulcan text after my mediation and I thought you might be interested to hear a recitation. It is verse from the poet T’Pola.” He blinked at Kirk, hands clasped behind his back, looking suspiciously agreeable.

Standing this close to Spock, Kirk was already experiencing the aforesaid “butterflies” and he cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of him as if he might ward off the inconvenient thrill of Spock leaning in, batting his purple shaded eyes in some mysterious way that seemed utterly guileless. 

“Oh. Hmm.” Kirk nodded, his gaze drifting to Spock’s lips. “Vulcan poetry? Um, well.. Can’t be that saucy, I suppose. Sure. Go ahead. I’d like to hear it.”

Spock spoke in low and purring tones, close enough to kiss Jim’s ear: “T'nash-veh ashaya nam-tor wuh yel…au min-tor na' nash-veh.”

He leaned back and watched Kirk, who blushed scarlet, his mouth hanging open, his eyes blinking slowly. “Uh…ah. Hmm. And um…what…how does that…translate then?”

“My love is the sun,” Spock said softly. “He shines for me.”

“Ah…”

“I will see you on the bridge shortly then, Captain?”

“Mm. Mmhmm.”

Kirk watched Spock walk away which was almost as pleasant to him as watching him walk in his direction, just as Bones approached, looking vaguely concerned. “Jim? What’s the matter with you? You got a fever? You look like a summer tomato.”

“He did it again,” Jim sighed, shaking his head. “He goddamn did it again.”

[anonymouslylovesyou]

Season 2 Episode 4 @whoblewboobear

Daphne bonding with her mom!!

Anthony always with the sulking

Edwinda don't phrase it like falling in love with Kate

The thing I'm dreading the most about the Kate/Anthony pairing is possibly hurting Edwinda she seems so serious about him

PENELOPE AND ELOISE ARE BACK

Crazy of Colin to visit Marina

Wait hold on the "Kate: I got stung

Anthony: Ah

Kate: I am well

Anthony, softer: Ah" is kinda getting me

These tv makers have got perking my emotions around down a to science the pacing is fantasic

Kate is kicking Anthony ass for being misogynistic again

The maid does not know how to ride a house I fear she is a danger to herself

What was Kate going to say...

Oh god Marina is a new victim to tell his travel stories to / joking I love him

Ah Colin and Phillip are getting along well

Ah shit Kate ran off to hunt on her own

The girls are fightinggg their so pissed to find the other one hot

ANTHONY YOU CANNOT HOLD HER LIKE THAT THERE NO CHAPERONE DID YOU NOT LEARN FROM YOUR SISTER OR LITERALLY THE OTHER DAY

I hate them so much fucking stop this you harlots

Man don't be mean about your husband's interest in botany

Marina is turning him down firmly but a little brutal AND NAMING PENELOPE

Also unrelated but I did have to pause the episode for a good while to project my autism onto Colin and cry about that for a tiny bit, therapy is expensive but recognition of self through other and Catharsis is freeee babyy

Edwinda is so happy and relieved to find out Kate and Anthony are getting along

Me about Edwinda:

Oo bonding over dad's perhaps??

NOT KATE HITTING HIM WITH "HOW DID HE DIE" Bro do not kiss in this library you're courting her sister

Love that Daphnes impression of Edwinda is "not bitchy enough for my bitch brother"

Daphne: Surely there's someone that's like you

Anthony, actively repressing his attraction to Kate:

It's extremely funny these motherfuckers are constantly drinking straight alcohol and are only ever tipsy when the plot demands it

Mhm what are you thinking Lady Danbury

Penelope my beloved she's so funny

Penelope's mom is scheming up some marriage entrapment

Edwinda said dance with my sister now, and she fully threw their lemonades away

God these dances look so good what are they called

BRUH DO NOT HESITATE ON CAN YOU MAKE MY SISTER HAPPY

Anthony is big mad that Kate will be leaving when Edwinda marries

Prudence you're so stupid <3

Wild tonal shift from the staged scandal to Anothy and Kate in the library

BRO DO NOT KISS IN THIS LIBRARY FOR THE LAST TIME

"yes I hate you" then why do you look like you wanna fuck him so bad?

HELLO ANTHONY STOP RIGHT NOW SLUT

Daphne knew she had to down alcohol for this convo

Anthony: and what kind of feelings are those?

Bitch you know

Anthony is about to act so stupid I know it

Ooo Lady Danbury "bro stop lying"

Oo Lord Featherington is confronting Penelope's mom AND TELLING HER HES BROKE

Colin and Penelope interaction!! Wuh woa he's condemning Lady Whistledown

Edwinda looked at Kate when she said Anthony's feelings may be elsewhere

PENELOPE SNUBBING PRUDENCE IN HER PAPER GOOD FOR HER YOUR SISTER WAS A BITCH ABOUT IT

NO KATE WAS ABOUT TO BE HONEST AND NOW ANTHONY IS PROPOSING

[bigmeatpete69420]

Wuh-oh teapot dome scandal incoming

Mr Harding do u have friends if so who are they

Me and the gang

The Ohio Gang to be exact. They're all very virtuous men who will only contribute to the success of my term.

[kafka-ish]

coward | s.u.

y/n, bold and beautiful, is now second guessing herself when she finds herself skinny dipping with stan uris 

word count: 2.5k

warnings/included: fluff, steamy-ish, exhibitionism, fem!reader

request: (from anon) “could i have a request where the reader is v v v flirty with stan and one day he says something really dirty even richie's shocked. it’s fine if not.” 

a/n: i accidentally changed it bc i misread ur request im so so sorry !!! also if u noticed i haven’t written in awhile it’s bc my classes started up again so fics may take more time to write/post -- hope u understand <3

-

What came out of y/n’s mouth next truly shocked Stanley.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” It wasn’t far off from whatever usually spewed from her mouth that she and the rest of the Losers had a hard time controlling.

His mind flashed to all the times y/n’s hand grazed his: the light touches, the silent stares, the whispers that tickled his ears and kissed his brain.

“Next year for Halloween, you should be Stan without a shirt.”  

The hearts she drew on his notebook when he wasn’t looking, the hand she held in hers, the what-are-we’s before giggling in his wonderstruck face that she was joking; it was all a sign of want that he’d been too dense to see before.

“You’re great, you know. Great at being an asshole.”

Sweet, mischievous y/n; always blunt, always careless of what others thought of her. It never occurred to Stan of what she thought of him.

Richie was the first to speak up, Stan still having to catch his breath from the promiscuous words that left her mouth seconds ago. “Sure, toots, I’d love to see what’s under that suit of yours. God, you don’t know how much I hate that thing.” He laughed and Stan wanted to beat the shit-eating grin off his shit-eating friend. His jaw, pronounced and square, tightened and Richie saw. “On second thought, I think someone else would enjoy the view way more.”

Another laugh came from the group, but it wasn’t from Richie. It was y/n’s. The soft giggle leaving her luscious lips did nothing to calm Stan.

“Are you jealous, Stanley?” She asked. A smirk sat on her lips. She only called him by his full name when she teased him.

He definitely felt like he was being thrown a bone only to find out the pitcher never threw one right now.

“Of course not.” Stan gave her the side-eye, readjusting his position from the rock he sat on while doing so. “I can’t think of any situation where I’d be jealous of Richie.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged and Stan squinted at him.

“Yeah.”

“I can think of one—multiple, actually.” Richie wore the same smirk as y/n—only his was less digestible. Maybe it was because y/n was less insufferable to be around, or because she didn’t take a crack at his religion every chance she had, or because her hair was soft and shiny on her head and something Stan wished he could run his hands through. Maybe it was because y/n was a girl, or because she was pretty and the way she batted her eyelashes made him see stars even in the sunlight.

“When?”

Richie leaned in and whispered something that was totally vulgar and jarring to Stan’s ears.

Stan flinched—unsurprised that his friend was ballsy enough to say such a thing, but because what if he had actually thought about doing such a thing?

“Gross, Ruh-Ruh-Richie!” Bill yelled from across the quarry, already knowing what his friend would say.

“Yeah. You’re disgusting,” Eddie said from next to him while he looked up at Bill.

“Ruh-lax. It’s not like it’s something I’m gonna do.” Richie opened a new can of Keystone Light next to his already half-drunken one. “I got freedom of thoughts though, right?” He winked and Ben rolled his eyes.

“If you already have a drink open you should finish it,” Stan instructed, ignoring the subject at hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” y/n sounded closer than she was before. Her arm brushed up against his and he thought she was about to hold his hand until her fingers grazed just past his to grab his can of beer. She took a sip. “Besides, it all ends up somewhere.”

She could be so careless with her actions. But this was the same girl who made sure paper and plastic went to recycling, the total opposite of Stan, a total enigma.

“I just think, if you want another one, you should finish the one you already have.” Stan explained himself clearly and concisely. It was something y/n always admired. She never got tired of hearing him talk—she could listen to him talk for hours on end.

“Whatever.” Her eyes rolled so far he’d thought they’d get stuck. “I’m going home. “Later, Losers.”

“Wuh-what about the sk-skinny dipping?” Bill asked and Ben elbowed him. He wasn’t yet comfortable in his body, though he had been on Derry High’s track team for a year and a half and lost a fair amount of weight (twenty-two pounds), he still wasn’t comfortable in his own skin (he didn’t think he’d ever be)—even around his best friends—friends he considered family.

“We can do it tomorrow.” y/n shrugged. “Sound good to you, Stanley?” Her eyes were only focused on him and Stan knew that. They glowered under the sun’s harsh rays and fixated on his figure.

“I don’t know.” Stan tried to sound as monotone as possible. “Maybe you should be asking Richie instead.”

At that, y/n smiled, leaving the rest of the group confused as she walked away.

“Duh-dude!” What wuh-was that?” Bill wondered aloud, astounded how y/n had him wrapped around her finger—or maybe it was the other way around.

“If I knew, I would tell you,” Stan said, holding the same shock in his voice.

“Are you and y/n like—”

“No!” The sharpness of Stan’s tongue cut Ben off quickly with a harsh glare he’d later apologize for. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t want something with y/n. Another lie, that Stan would keep to himself, would be that he didn’t anticipate the events that were to come for tomorrow…

“Hey, stranger!” It was y/n from down below. She was already wading in the water—waiting for him, presumably.

“Hey, y/n/n.” He started for the long way down, not caring to cannon-ball ten feet down from the cliff of the quarry today. “Where’s Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and—”

“—and Richie?” A beam shot across y/n’s face as soon as Stan met her eye line.

“And Richie,” Stan mumbled. That was the only thing he’d been worried about. Although he knew there was nothing about his trashmouth friend to worry about. But it was always best to stay skeptical.

“I told them not to come.” y/n said this with such nonchalance—such grace as she tilted her head into the water and drifted back, letting the water carry her away as if she were weightless.

“Why,” Stan asked, though it came out as more of a demand.

“Because.” y/n shrugged, but you couldn’t really shrug while you were trying to stay afloat. He noticed that her eyes were closed, and her bathing suit was still on. Maybe she was lying about skinny dipping and he had worked himself up last night over nothing. y/n was like that—making promises she never intended to fulfill. If it weren’t for y/n being, well, y/n, Stan might’ve been annoyed at her antics. But he wasn’t—far from it, even. He was infatuated with her being—clothed or not, enraptured with how sunshine she could be one hour and rain she could be the next.

Math and English were an easy feat—but trying to understand y/n was like trying to learn Mandarin blind and deaf.

Her curves spilled from the bikini bottoms that hugged her butt and the matching top she wore hugged her bust exceptionally. The bikini’s scandalous red color harmonized with y/n’s skin tone well and Stan couldn’t imagine her in anything else at the moment. He didn’t want to imagine her in anything else.

“Are you gonna get in?” Her presence startled him as she was quick to swim up to the rocks. “Or are you scared?” A sly smile splayed across her pink lips and Stan mirrored her.

“I’m scared?” He scoffed. “You were the one who said we were going skinny dipping.” He stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his pale, yet toned, chest. “Guess who’s not undressed.”

“You?” y/n guessed; the innocent tone surprising on her tongue. She had inadvertently licked her lips at the answer and Stan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth due to the action.

“No. You.”

“My bad.” A giggle escaped her bitten lips and y/n began to unclip the back of her bikini. “Is that better now?” The straps fell loose against her arms, but the top stayed covering her breasts.

Stan didn’t say anything.

“What if I…” y/n didn’t finish her sentence. Silently, she fully removed the straps from her arms and the contraption left her bodice.

“Christ,” Stan seethed out, but he wasn’t gentlemen enough to look away from the sight on display before him: y/n treading the shallow water that was crystal clear thanks to Mr. Sun that shone down on this part of town, giving Stan an eyeful.

“Don’t say his name in vain.” She had now slipped the bottoms off and Stan didn’t know what to do with himself. Get undressed, I guess.

His pants were the next to go as Stanley undid his brown leather belt that held his too-big khaki shorts together. His waistline had shrunk due to baseball season’s quick start. And although it was only early March, the heat had picked up fast in this small town they called home and Stan could feel himself already itching to feel the water on his sweat-stricken skin.

“What are you waiting for?” y/n called from below. She was growing impatient, but who could blame her?

Stan stood above her in only his underwear. If the rest of the student body was here, he would’ve been living out his nightmare—stripped to the bone with an audience to gawk at him. But only y/n was here to witness the grey Calvin Kleins that hugged his thighs and rather than a nightmare, this felt more like a daydream.

“Are you shy?” She teased. “C’mon, Stanny, there’s no need to be—”

“Shy my ass,” Stan interjected as he relieved himself of the last piece of clothing and jumped into the water all in a quick movement.

“Glad you could finally make it, slowpoke.” y/n splashed his face, disregarding his lack of clothes—both of their lack of clothes—but Stan couldn’t help but admire y/n’s skin that the water had already kissed and glowed under the flash of the sun.

He’d never seen her in such a state before. In fact, he’d never intended to. But this was worth it—even if it were the only time, he knew he’d have this memory burned into his skull forever the same way the sun would burn his skin the next day because he forgot to apply sunscreen. Since when does Stanley Uris forget to apply sunscreen?

“It’s rude to stare,” y/n deadpanned, but Stan couldn’t help it. How could he not take his eyes off her tan lines from up close and the divot of her collarbone? The way her hair slicked back from the water and the pout of her lips was all too tempting to not want to consume. Stan Uris would be an idiot to not stare. A polite idiot.

“You make it hard.”

y/n felt her cheeks heat up and she knew she wasn’t sporting a sunburn. y/n never burned. “Oh. Well, in that case, stare as much as you want.”

“Gladly.”

y/n was quiet now—a rare event, but it gave Stan an opportunity he’d never thought he’d get or go for.

He swam closer, the stroke of his arms creating rifts in the water and y/n shivered at the feeling of the coldness that hit her chest each time he got closer.

It was strange seeing him up close—in such an intimate setting. As big of a crush y/n harbored on the boy, it’s not like she did anything about it. A few remarks there, a few remarks there. This was the furthest they’ve ever gotten. Maybe a little too far now that she was considering it more closely. Since when did first base turn into skinny dipping in the quarry?

Before her thoughts could leave her second-guessing anymore, y/n felt her lips on someone else’s. They were pressed together firmly and tightly. She held her breath as if she were underwater, but her heart prevailed, only picking up at a speed she’d only feel when she caught him looking at her or when he laughed at her jokes.

The kiss was powerful and all she needed. If this were the last time they’d ever see each other again, she wouldn’t care, because she’d have that kiss to cherish. Maybe she’d long for one in the future. Just one more. But this kiss left her knowing that this skinny-dipping idea wasn’t so bad after all.

His lips were soft and tickled as he pulled apart to catch a breath. y/n’s eyes opened to find Stan’s pupils were wide and lustblown. She stood still in the water, amazed that anyone could feel that way about her.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Stan—”

“What?” Stan asked, eager and anxious for the words meant for him.

“This is embarrassing but.. I like you.” The words were bold and packed with courage—not far from the regular way y/n spoke, but this was different. It had a certain bite to it that Stan couldn’t quite taste.

“Are you embarrassed because you like me or are you embarrassed because you’re confessing to me without any clothes on?” Before Stan’s eyes could rake down to y/n’s body once more, a splash of water hit his face—cold and abrupt. His eyelids slammed at the impact and he flinched.

“You’re such a perv.” y/n scoffed as if she had forgotten her deepest secret had just spilled from her lips in front of the boy the secret was about. Secret. Don’t act like it wasn’t as obvious as a fat kid scarfing down their third brownie in the first place—

“You know if it’s any more embarrassing… I like you, too,” Stan said. He felt winded after saying it. His chest felt heavy and his toes dug into the sand in order to keep him from falling headfirst into the water. It was so easy for y/n. Brave, crass y/n who swore like a sailor yet had the face of a doll.

Stan’s train of thought was lost at the feeling of y/n’s body pressed against his. He’d forgotten they were both bare-assed and exposed for all of Derry to see because the warmth of y/n was all too much. His heart jumped out of his chest sixty miles a minute and the muscles under his arms were now stones. Stan didn’t recognize that her lips were on his until her tongue swiped his bottom one for access in which he granted.

Teeth clashed and tongues danced. It was a hot minute until y/n pulled away with a cheeky smile and lingering fingers on his collarbone that made Stan hold his breath.

“That was hot,” he heaved, finally cutting the silence between them. Of course, the birds still chirped and the water around them never stopped flowing. But the world just seemed to stop whenever Stan stepped foot into y/n’s intoxicating proximity.

“Hell yeah, it was.” One arm was still strewn around his neck while her free hand traced code on his shoulder.

Nothing else was said. Nothing had to be said. But Stan was sure of one thing; that y/n was no coward.

[queenofbaws]

If I’ve learned anything in life from the ask games that go around the UD fandom, it’s that everyone loves Climbing Chrash and yet there is next to NO CONTENT!!!

That being said, please bless us all with some content 😌

“At the risk of sounding like one of Encyclopedia Brown’s fav Dramione fics - ” Josh reached over and covered Ashley’s mouth with one of his hands before she could launch herself into whatever tirade she was no doubt cooking up, “ - wuh-oh, oopsie daisies...there’s only one bed.”

“Ooh la la...guess we’re gonna have to spoooooon,” Chris said, pitching his voice up into a register that smacked of scandal; he brought up the rear of the group, meaning it wasn’t until he’d dropped his bag on the hotel’s strangely teal colored carpeting that he realized the actual problem. “I - oh fuck, wait, that’s the bed?!”

Ashley tore Josh’s hand away from her face with a jerk, and before he could do that stupid shit again, she hurriedly yelled “NOSE GOES!” and flung her own bag onto the bed...right before flinging herself onto it, spreading out as much as she could (which wasn’t very much).

“NOS - shit,” Josh’s shoulders slumped, “Well this is gonna be a long night, eh Cochise?”

“A long night on the cold, hard floor,” he agreed, “I just, uh, I guess I just have one itty bitty question: Which one of you assholes booked us a single twin for a whole goddamn weekend?!”

six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

[kristahliaweek]

mod 1 secretly franziska? wuh oh. this might be a bigger scandal than that time one of the dahlias was secretly apollo

Aha... Ahaha... I don’t know what you’re talking about... That definitely did not happen...

- Yours truly, Mod 1.

P.S.: Girlbossfranziskavonkarma is not related to this blog’s lore please ignore her... 😓😓

[tummyteeth]

“Can I stroke your shaft?”

Devil May Cry 5 fanfic (maybe spoiler??) Characters: Nico, V, (Nico x V??? Nicovita???????????) rating: Mature Warnings: mentions of phone sex, dumb euphemisms, no actual smut, how many bad names can you use for one phallic object Synopses: Nico and V talk about his stick AO3 link: here it be

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

Nico extinguished the cigarette stub on the dashboard ashtray, her arms stretched high over her head, yawning, waiting. 

Nero had been on the phone with Kirye for over thirty minutes now, and he’d taken to hiding not-so-subtly behind the phone booth. Their conversation looked like it was about to get longer and a heck of a lot more private. 

Deciding she didn’t want front-row seats to her friend’s phone sex, Nico rolled out of the driver’s seat and sauntered down the single step to the seating area, where one emaciated goth languished on the worn leather couch. He looked like a marionette with no strings, all limbs and fabric strewn haphazardly into a pile of something resembling a person.

This was the first time she’d seen him sleep all week, his little chicken friend was nowhere to be found. Finally the mystery of where his demonic pets went when he was unconscious was finally solved: they were hiding in his mystifying tattoos, exactly like he said when she asked twenty days ago and then didn’t believe him!

She considered getting her notebook from the workstation and writing this science down, as daddy always told her to do, but that would mean stepping over the long legs and waking him, or worse: tripping face first into the pile of busted devil breakers Nero discarded on the floor all over the van.

The only other mystery she wanted to study, other than entire man himself, was his demonic cane.

It was caught between his slack knees, held in place by a subconscious pinky. The grooves and ridges on it begged to be touched, studied; she wanted to get a chip of it under the magnifying glass. Maybe dip it in a vat of vinegar, too, just to see how it reacts. And maybe stick it in some dead Empusa slime as a control experiment. 

His eyes were on her when she looked up, heavy with fatigue but sharp with accusation at being observed at his most vulnerable.

“Did I wake you?” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” He lied, “Simply resting my eyes.”

“Sure... Hey so... You mind if I touch that?” She gestured to his crotch with elaborately painted nails, “The uhhh rod. Stick? The pole between yer legs right there?”

His eyebrows curved up, the glaze over his eyes began to clear. “Wuh?”

“Your club?” She tried again, not at all hiding the grin, “Or is it a knob?”  

V’s lips stretched in a tired smirk, he couldn't believe his hard-earned nap was being interrupted for this. “It’s a walking cane, Nico.” His spine popped as he shifted in the squeaky leather seat. 

It was a relief to drop all pretenses now that he decided they were on a first-name basis. “I knew that! Nero tells me you deliver the finishing blow on them demons, big and small, through that. Gotta be something special about it, right?” 

“Perhaps.” He yawned.

“Perhaps?” She grabbed a half-empty bottle of pop off the pizza station and dropped into the vacant spot next to him, drawing a long swig of it and then grimacing at the stale taste. “You don’t know how it works?” 

V shifted in his seat to allow her more room, as if his lithe body was taking up too much space. His gloved hand followed the familiar slope of the handle and gripped. “I wasn’t much aware of my surroundings when I came upon it, one day it was just… There.” He offered it to her handle-first. “If you’re that curious, here.” 

“Aww, you givin me consent to touch your wood?” she snort laughed at her own poorly veiled euphemism.  

The tired draw of his brows relaxed, his attempt at holding back a laugh descended into fighting a coughing fit. A swig of artificially flavored pop relieved the dryness in his throat enough for him to speak again, even if the flavor put the wrinkles back in his brow. “It’s not made of actual wood, sadly.” 

“Oh yeah? Then what’s it made of?” 

“I hardly know. Some kind of Metal.”

“Mind if i take a piece of it to put it under the microscope?” Her hand shot up in the air to defend the question before he even started to respond. “Just a teeensy bit! Nothin to compromise the hardness of the shaft!” She could see the hesitation in his eyes, but he wasn’t saying no. “For science!”

He sighed. “Is that what you call your road trip album?” He motioned with the bottle to the work-in-progress photo album under the empty pizza box.

“There’s actual science reports that go with it, i’m just not done with those yet!” Nico huffed, mock-offended. “Keep questioning my integrity as a researcher and the report on you will be nothing but dick jokes!”

“You’d think with a name like V you’d be associating me with jokes of another kind.” His eyes twinkled at her scandalized silence, as if she hadn’t considered it until now. “You’re writing a report on me?”

“Yeah, I’m writing a report for everyone, and you’re a fascinating guy, V.”

The liquid at the bottom of the bottle sloshed with a flick of his wrist. Words escaped him for the longest moment. “Do you have anything stronger than this?” 

Nico clucked her tongue and resumed her experiments on the cane, aiming it like a gun to see if anything shoots out. “You think I’d be drinking this piss water if i had a jack danials?”

A lull in the conversation draped over them like a silky veil, the silence of the night a pleasant respite from the constant howling of tormented demon souls. “The bottles all broke while you did cartwheels with the van, didn’t they?” His focus was on the broken karaoke machine but her flustered indignation was practically telepathic. “Where is Nero?”

“Jackin’ off to phone sex with his girlfriend.” She rubbed a back and forth motion on the stiff length in her hands, the disapproving look she received in return made her snap back to scientist mode.

If V was confused about the logistics of sex over the phone, he didn’t show it. He watched the curious artisan scratch and flick at the cane, she set it on the floor, looked at it this way and that, even licked it when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It was still nothing but a simple walking cane.

Her hand landed on his arm and rolled it over to inspect the sprawl of tattoos. “The grain and the tattoo have the same pattern.” her mumbled discoveries seemed more to herself than the audience. “Maybe they work like an extension of each other...?” There were more words coming out of her mouth, all intangible and complicated.

The temporary safety of companionship was sucking him back into the worn leather, V found himself sinking into the bolted-down couch with a pleasant warmth against his arm and a comforting voice explaining to him the intricate details of a cursed inanimate object.

Nico turned to him when he didn’t answer a question, the man breathed deep and slow into his own cleavage with a ghost of a smirk on his face. With an impish smile, she reached over to her camera to snap a rare picture of a sleeping V. 

She scribbled on it with white marker and slipped it into the album with the rest.

“Fell asleep with his rod in my hands!”

[sabraeal]

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

In the whole of your life, you have only ever entered Wistal from the Poet’s Gate.

It is the gate for lords, your father had told you. The palace might have other entrances, but they were beneath someone of your birth, made for servants and servicemen.

And spies, your husband had whispered against your skin in the night. Your father always leaves out the most interesting parts.

At least, you think, sweeping out into Starlight’s courtyard, that was better than leaving out the truthful ones.

The prince’s coach awaits you just beyond the stair -- or rather, you should say, no one’s coach, since it is scrupulously unmarked. You shudder to think what chatter the wastrels of the royal court would invent if they saw a wrongful countess, still in her widow’s weeds, alighting into the carriage of the prince of the realm. And if they knew its destination  -- well, your next conversation with His Majesty would probably have a much different tone than the last.

You hiss, glancing down at your hand. No matter how you fuss, the lace of your glove will not sit right, itching along the seams in a way that drives you to madness. There’s nothing for it but to take it off, to begin again. You slip it off your hand, trying to shake out the fabric --

“Lady Bederin.”

That rumble is all-too familiar, and it is by rote that you reply, whip-fast, “Countess.”

Arluleon hums as he steps up beside you, eyeing the too-fine carriage. You brace yourself; if anyone would be able to spot a royal carriage, even incognito, it would be the duke. A man would have to be a fool of a father to not recognize the hands of his son in such business -- and you know well enough that Arluleon is no fool.

“I see you are still indulging in this foolishness.”

“As long as the lords are still wallowing in theirs,” you snap back with a lift of your chin, “I see no reason I should cease in my own.”

You will not be cowed in this, not when you know you are right.

His nostrils flare, doubtlessly biting back the stream of censure he wants to lay upon you. Instead he says, a long moment later, “There is no need for this, my lady. You have proven your point.”

You blink, glad your surprise is well-concealed behind your veil. “I have?”

“You are able to string together a coherent argument worth hearing,” he allows, as if he is being eminently gracious admitting that much. “Even when the topic is utter nonsense. You may quit yourself of this now, and let the lords pass their laws.” The look he fixes upon you is dry, impatient. “They will not discount your words easily the next time you speak. There’s no need to make yourself ridiculous now.”

Your hand clenches around the lace of your glove. “I am in no way making myself ridiculous,” you seethe, flush blooming up your neck, on your cheeks. It is not from shame. “What is ridiculous is how you men think to legislate the price of a woman’s body in your favor. It is -- is -- exploitation!”

Arluleon rears back a step, jaw slack. “Madame. I would thank you to not include me in the company of men who would seek such companionship.”

Satisfaction sings through you as you catch him on the retreat; your father had taught your brother that an honorable man lets an enemy quit the field of battle, but you --

You may not have been a great student of history, but you know enough to know: honor means nothing in war, only victory.

“Oh?” You round on him, advancing a step while he retreats, just as it should be. “I am to exclude you, a man in his prime with no wife to speak of? I am to think that should you choose to take a girl, you would come to your marriage bed untouched? Do you think me simple, my lord?”

Arluleon is practically breathing smoke. “My lady --”

“Hey, my lady,” pipes your shadow, bouncing down the stairs like an over-excited child. “Are you ready to -- wuh-oh!”

He jerks to a stop as Arluleon turns, throwing up his lanky arms, as if it might obscure his identity, as if there were other aides in this castle who walked around with their uniforms half unbuttoned.

“Ah,” the duke breathes, face as set as stone. “I see you have a...chaperone.”

A guard, you want to tell him, but --

But Obi is not looking particularly...guard-like right now, with the way he’s clearly looking for an exit.

Arluleon takes a step toward him, and Obi goes still, goes tense. Gone is the nervous expression, the ceaseless motion, and in it’s place -- a disturbing blankness, his hands hovering just above his back.

“I should have known you would be involved in this.” There is not much menace to Haruka’s words, but instead, disappointment. Or perhaps resignation.

Obi bridles, his mouth pulling thin, but to your surprise, he offers no witty rejoinder, no subtle insult. Instead he straightens, hands dropping to his side, and glares.

Arluleon ignores him, turning back to you with a polite, if stern, mask. He holds out his hand, and for a long moment you stare at it, wondering at how a man with such a title could have such ruddy and broad hands, as if he were no more than a common laborer.

He clears his throat, pointed, and lets his gaze travel from you to the coach. Ah, he is -- he is offering you a hand up, like a proper gentleman.

Let no one say you are ingracious, for you take his offer, slipping your hand into his, and --

Ah, you have -- you have forgotten your glove. It is still clenched tightly in your other hand, and this one, this one --

Is pressed palm to palm with Arluleon’s. Skin-to-skin, no soft cotton to mute the sensation. You can feel the callus at the mount of his forefinger, at the base of his thumb, rough against the silk of your hand. So often, the duke is credited with passing his icy demeanor onto the king, but now --

Now, beneath your touch, he is warm. Heat simmers where your palms lay atop one another, and for a moment you cannot catch your breath, cannot move with your knees so weak.

It passes.

You step up into the carriage, and his touch falls away, though the feel of it lingers on your palm. Not even the practiced motion of wrangling the bombazine of your skirts quells the sensation.

“My lady.”

Your chin jerks up, and when you meet his eyes, they are not so forbidding as you expect. “Enjoy your...excursion.”

Your mouth thins. Excursion, as if you were merely to picnic in the countryside.

“Do not worry, my lord,” you assure him brightly, as the footman closes the door. “I always find pleasure in being right.”

There is something about the second prince’s aide that implies constant motion, the sort of speed that might set one’s teeth jittering in their mouths. Right now it is constrained to a ceaseless bounce of his knee, hand tapping out a rhythm that does not belong to any song in your repertoire. You suspect if your heard it, the lyrics might not be fit for your ears.

Ah, well, those considerations are long behind you. Especially considering the destination of this carriage.

“How do you expect us to gain access to the girls?” you ask, if only for some conversation to fill this empty, expectant space between you. “From our last inquiries, I did not receive the impression that the madams would appreciate us talking to their...employees about distribution of wealth.”

The carriage’s windows are curtained -- partly for discretion, you are sure, but also an acquiescence to your period of mourning -- and his teeth flash white in the dim.

“Not to worry, my lady.” His legs unfurl, stretching over to your bench. You will never be sure of how he fits all his limbs in here at once. “There’s ways around that.”

The moment you cross the boudoir’s threshold, a shiver wracks your spine, and a cold certainty grips your heart: your father is spinning in his grave.

The house at least is a more high-end establishment; even being hurried through the servants’ entrance, you gather that the decor is tasteful, if trending toward...gauzy, and were you no so aware of the occupation of its occupants, you might think your were visiting the home of a well-to-do man in trade, albeit with a penchant for the exotic.

The idea halts you in your steps. You saw firsthand how much dill these establishments report making in the censors; how much different was there truly between a man who made his business in trade and one of these women? And yet, if they lobbied the council hall as much as the merchant guild did, they would be seen as ridiculous, as interlopers, a distraction.

“Oh my,” purred a voice as the door shuts itself behind you. “A veiled lady. How mysterious.”

“Oh.” It strikes you, suddenly, that you are not to be alone in this room. That you are, in fact, here for the express purpose of not being alone with this...obscenely large, curtained bed. “Oh.”

“Come here, my lady,” says another, “let us help you get more comfortable.”

The curtains are violet, made of sumptuous silks, and they part as neatly as water when a slender hand slips out. A pretty girl leans out beneath it, her smile coy and come-hither.

“Tsubaki,” admonishes the girl yet inside. “The anticipation is the sweetest pleasure.”

The girl at the curtain pouts; you assume this is part of her charm regardless, as she has a mouth made for it. “But Kikyo, I’m so impatient. I don’t often have a lady.”

You grimace behind your veil; knowing what men would say about lips like hers. It surprises you not at all that she would be popular among them.

“All the better.” The second girl crawls out, eyes a vivid, arresting violet. “Ladies are able to enjoy themselves so much longer.”

“I...” Your mouth is far too dry, and words have deserted you. Of course, this is what your shadow had planned for you. He must be having a grand old time, knowing how he’s left you to twist. “I think there has been a miscommunication about my, ah, business.”

The second girl -- Kikyo -- leans at the edge of the bed just so, her breasts straining at the confines of her scandalously thin chemise. “Are we not to your liking, my lady?”

“No! You’re both lovely, I’m sure!” you soothe, holding your hands up as if placating a particularly wary hound. “It is only that I -- I am not here for those sorts of...services.”

“Is that so?” Gone is the sweet seductive purr. Kikyo draws herself up, angling her body so that it obscures the younger girl’s. “What are you here for then? Are you some harridan come to tell us off about her cheating husband?”

“No!” It had never occurred to you that -- that something like that might be the done thing. Despite your own sheltered upbringing, even you did not expect fidelity. Hoped for it, yes, but expected? A sure way to meet disappointment and ensure marital strife.

The younger girl -- Tsubaki -- ducks under Kikyo’s arm, face the very picture of confusion. “Come to preach salvation at us, then?”

You blink. “No, I -- definitely not.”

Until your husband passed so swiftly, so suddenly, you hadn’t even been to a temple since your wedding. There was no reason for you to play at piety now. It wasn’t even fashionable.

“Perhaps I should --” force Obi to explain this entire debacle -- “Get my man?”

Not missing a beat, Kikyo tells you, “That will cost more.”

You are utterly thankful that nothing of your skin can be seen under your veil, otherwise you would cede all semblance of authority with one single flush. “That is -- is not what I meant.” 

Tsubaki’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Does she want to watch, you think?”

Kikyo’s head takes a thoughtful cant. “Does he want to watch?”

“Mercy,” you breathe, hands fluttering uselessly in front of you. “I’ve already said I’m not -- I’m only here to talk.”

Both girls eye you with the deepest skepticism.

“Ah, yes, silly us,” Kikyo deadpans. “We should have figured, what with our reputation as stimulating conversationalists.”

“I mean,” you begin, hoping that starting afresh might alleviate some of this miscommunication, “that I wish to talk to you about taxes.”

They stare. It is not a friendly look for either of them.

“You’ll still be paid!” you offer, with a smile no one can see.

“Oh!” The tension leaves Tsubaki on a sigh. “You should have said!”

Kikyo eyes you warily, mouth pursed in doubt. “Forgive me, my lady, but I make it a point not to trust anyone what covers their face when they speak.”

She might as well have shoved you, for how much you stumble. Your back bumps into the door, and you hear your shadow call out, “My lady?”

For a single perverse moment, you consider keeping silent, letting him twist a little.

“I’m fine,” you call back. Your hands fidget at the edge of your veil, running the lace between your fingers.

It is not as if you wear it always, as if you wear only your widow’s weeds even when you are in bed, but --

But no one -- not even Mayu, despite how early she comes to tend you -- has ever seen you without. You’ve look forward to the day you could remove it, the day you could lessen your mourning to grays and deep violets and let the air kiss your skin again but --

But you are unused to being seen now. At Bederin, it had all been superfluous, all pageantry, but here, in this nest of vipers, it is a shield, it is armor. To remove it would leave all your intentions bare.

You look at the girls, practically naked in their chemises, kneeling on a bed made to be used, made for them to be used upon it and --

And you lift it, albeit slowly, reluctantly. You are a woman grown with sense to spare, but still, still, in those few moments between when you are exposed and when the girls react, you worry that -- that something has gone wrong, that perhaps you are shriveled beneath it, or warty, or -- or --

Ugly. It should not matter, but still, your pride aches that you might have lost what youthful charm your husband found in you. Had found in you, once upon a time.

“Oh!” Kikyo says, eyes wide. “Well then.”

Tsubaki stares at you, jaw slack. “You sure you don’t want to do nothing, my lady?”

“N-no!” You walk stiffly to the bed, perching at the end, plenty of space between you and where the girls lounge. “Now let us talk about the lords’ council.”

The veil settles over you like a well-worn glove as you step into the hall, your shadow’s eyes darting over as if he thinks he might get a peak underneath.

You fix him with a glare he can’t see, but certainly feels from the way he squirms. “I hope you had a good laugh.”

“My lady,” he drawls, too innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm,” you huff. “I’m sure.”

His playful expression drops into concern, or rather, interest. “Did your little chat go well, my lady?”

You hesitate. “Yes. But I’ll need to talk to more girls.” You tilt your head, inquiring. “Do you think you can set that up?”

Obi keeps silent pace beside you, mouth thin.

“That will cost a lot of money,” he says, after too long a time.

You glance at him, serious. “I have plenty. Can you make it happen?”

He is silent so long you stop, looking back to where he lingers on the stairs. In the dim, you cannot make out his expression, just the slouch of his shoulders. One hand reaches up, massaging at his neck.

“Yeah,” he says, almost too quiet. “Yeah, I can do that.”

[kedreeva]

[Begin transcript

(intro music begins, followed by a ringing telephone, answered by Crowley. intro music plays throughout, quietly in the background)

Crowley (sounding annoyed): What.

Aziraphale (anxiously): ah.... Hello. It’s me!

Crowley: I know it’s you, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale: Yes. Well. Ah, just calling to see how you’re doing in lockdown.

Crowley (exasperated): I’m bored. I’m so very, very, bored. Transcendentally bored. There’s nothing to do here! I’ve decided, that if I can’t think of anything to do in the next 2 days, I’m going to have a nap, and I’ll set the alarm clock for June. It’s gotta all be over by June, innit?

Aziraphale: Um, look, if this isn’t a silly question... oughtn’t you to be out and about, doing things?

Crowley: Out and about? Aren’t we all meant to be staying home?

Aziraphale: Well, yes, but.... you’re a demon. You’ve got a job to do. Obviously you aren’t actually going to get ill, or even spread a disease, but... you could set a bad example. Get... ominously close to people? Tell everyone there’s a party going on or, or something.

Crowley: Ahnhhgh I- I could do that, aighhgh I mean I could, but if I did, then... weuoowh... people might follow my bad example and get ill... or even die... UH-I know I ought to be making people’s lives even worse but... everyone’s so miserable and cooped up right now anyway I just ennnghhh don’t have the heart for it.

Aziraphale: I’m not miserable.

Crowley (hopefully): Really? Ah I suppose you’re off nipping around London doing miracles for people, from a socially-approved distance.

Aziraphale (a little scandalized): Oh no, I can’t do that. We’re all meant to stay at home. [Crowley makes a ‘still listening’ wuh noise in the background] I put up the “closed” sign on the window, and I’ve been catching up on my reading. [excited now] Do you know, I’ve never had so few customers! Not in 200 years! Although.... there were a few young lads a couple of nights ago who broke in through the back and tried to steal the cashbox [Crowley makes a small, pained groan in the background] But they soon saw the error of their ways.

Crowley: Did you smite them with your wrath?

Aziraphale: Well. I certainly gave them a good talking to, and sent each of them home with cake.

Crowley (in disbelief): Cake?

Aziraphale: Quite a lot of cake, actually.

Crowley: euughhghgh I’m going to regret asking, but, eughhgnhg?

Aziraphale: Well, all the restaurants and cafes are closed, but it turns out I have a whole cookbook section here in the bookshop.... and I got peckish... I’ve now baked bundt cake, sponge cake, angel’s food cake, four different kinds of sourdough loaf, schwarzwälder kirschtorte... although, I had to miracle in the cherries. And then, once I’ve baked them, I have to eat them all by myself. Which is why I was so delighted-

Crowley: to- to send your burglars home laden with baked goods, yes, yeangh yeah... I thought I’d- You know, I could hunker down in your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. Bring a bottle of- a case of... something.... drinkable?

Aziraphale (flustered): Oh, I- I- I- I- I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules. Out of the question! I’ll see you... when... this is over?

Crowley (disappointed): Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel.

(dial tone sounds and leads into the intro music swelling back up as the credits roll)

End transcript]

We made a little thing, to celebrate 30 years of Good Omens, and to cheer people up. I hope you like it. Feel free to reblog...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quSXoj8Kob0&feature=youtu.be