#I am currently under the influence of rum

[marauderingpaige]

Okay, but if I don’t see Jesus Christ on a motorbike in season three I think I might cry.

#please feel free to ignore me #I am currently under the influence of rum #I do think this would be cool though #like Crowley and Jesus sitting on a motorbike together #and aziraphale sitting in a little side car #scared out of his mind #if someone wants to draw that I think it would be cool #the three of them trying to escape something or other #ya know? #anyways #ignore me #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #Jesus #jesus fucking christ #on a motorbike #season 3 #good omens season 3

[thatesqcrush]

Christmas Confessions

Rafael Barba x Reader. @itsjustmyfantasyroom requested: Hey lovely, may I please have a Bryan Kneef or Rafael Barba or both 😉 x reader for your holiday bingo for the mistletoe square. Semi public would be delicious 😘

Ask & ye shall receive. I went with Barba. This is super fluff with a hint of sexy. Timeline wise this is after The Undiscovered Country, but Rafael never left - pretty current to s.22 (spoiler warning: with Kat having joined and Carisi is an ADA.)

WC: 1235

--

"You have no choice, you have to come.” Sonny commented to his mentor who was busily scribbling on a yellow notepad.

"You really are like a dog with a bone, Carisi. I said no, I'm not up to it. Besides, I have back logged reports to work on that Hadid said that she needed ASAP.” Rafael replied as he continued working, not bothering to look up at the younger ADA.

"Don't give me that crap, Barba. I'm not buying it. You're just looking for any excuse to not go.” Sonny replied, crossing his arms against his chest. "Just come for an hour; pop in, get some punch and say hi. Besides…" he continued, "Y/N is there now."

Barba grunted before taking a sip of his lowball glass filled with scotch. "What makes you think I want to see Y/N?"

"Barba, you seem to forget that I used to be a detective. And now, I’m an ADA. if I can't tell what's going in someone's head then I am doing a pretty shitty job. Sonny replied honestly. "She doesn't know.” He added for good measure, not wanting his friend to stress.

Rafael looked up at Sonny, letting out a deep exhale as he did so. "If I go will I get you off my back?"

Sonny cheered. "Carmen owes me twenty bucks; she told me that I'd never be able to convince you to come."

"It's great to know that my emotional well-being feeds gambling addicts.” Barba muttered sardonically. He looked at the pile of reports he had to finish. “I’ll go for one drink, say hello, and come back.” He told himself as he grabbed his phone, camel wool coat and scarf.

**

The 16th precinct - SVU division was brightly decorated with gaudy holiday decorations that looked like they came from way back when God walked the Earth. Holiday music filled the room as people chatted and laughed.

Rafael walked in slowly, following behind Sonny. Rafael scanned the room in search of you and he sucked in breath as you appeared in his line of vision. You wore a snug red top which accentuated the swells of your breasts and a black leather mini skirt – the look complete with knee high boots and a Santa hat adorned on your head. You were busy chatting with Kat and Fin when you caught Rafael out of the corner of your eye.

You smiled brightly at Sonny and Rafael, waving them in as you did so. "Merry Christmas guys! Sonny, I see you managed to drag Rafael out of his office. Carmen owes you what? Twenty-bucks now?"

Sonny laughed, "Yeah, something like that."

"Care for a drink? I made my famous coquito.” You turned your attention to back to Rafael.

"You made coquito?” Rafael questioned; his eyes were wide. “Uh, yeah that would be great. I haven’t had that in ages.” Rafael found himself suddenly parched. He assumed it was his nerves getting the best of him. He watched you saunter off, your hips swaying suggestively, and Rafael wondered if you knew how much sex appeal you dripped on a day to day basis. He hadn’t meant to fall for you – the fresh detective that came straight from the Academy since SVU had been so short-staffed after Sonny left to join the DA’s office.

**

What was one drink – turned into many more. Hours later, Rafael found himself enjoying the holiday party, though he assumed it was mostly due to the fact that the coquito was spiked with a lot of rum. Watching his colleagues get drunk around him was amusing. He had always had a high tolerance for alcohol, so it took him longer to feel any effect, especially since the drinks were served in bitty paper cups. But still, he felt pleasantly relaxed.

You made your way over to Rafael who was lounging on the sofa that was brought out from the breakroom. You plopped yourself into his lap, but your balance was off. Rafael was quick to steady you onto his lap. You scooched a bit to make yourself more comfortable and Rafael silently groaned.

"Whoa!” You giggled. "Thanks Rafael."

"Not a problem.” Rafael replied flustered. "Too much to drink detective?"

"No, not at all. High tolerance runs in my family. We're champs.” You rambled and Barba arched a brow at you. He had had more than one conversation with you to know that was a lie if he ever heard one.

"Sure…" he agreed, knowing disagreeing with someone under the influence always led to bad repercussions. You snuggled herself against his chest, your legs dangling over his.

"I just love the holidays.” You mused. "What about you Rafael?"

"Uh, not necessarily.” Rafael replied as honestly as he could. “It’s become over commercialized and it’s true meaning has been lost. And as a lapsed Catholic –”

"That's a shame.” You replied mournfully cutting him off. "Oh!" you suddenly interjected, your previous thought and emotion quickly forgotten. "What did you ask for this Christmas?"

"Nothing.” Rafael replied. "You?"

You chose to ignore his question by further probing his lack of want this upcoming holiday season. "Were you a naughty boy this year Rafael Barba?" You wagged your finger, and made a disappointed sound.

Rafael coughed, startled by your loaded question. "No, I was… fine; my usual self."

You pondered his comment thoughtfully. "Well, then you deserve something for your efforts."

"Such as?" Rafael wondered out loud, his brow cocked once more in your direction. He hadn't realized it until that very moment, but you had placed his hands on the tops of your thighs. He was positive that you could hear feel his pulse racing but apparently you either didn't notice or didn't care. He was unsure and preferred to not misinterpret your actions.

You bopped him on the chin and pointed above. Rafael moved his gaze from you to where you were pointing and sure enough, mistletoe had been hung from the ceiling.

Rafael returned his gaze towards yours, feeling his cheeks burn. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss caught Rafael by surprise initially, but soon he found himself kissing you back. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance and you opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You let out a low moan as your lips tangled passionately. You ran your hands through his salt and pepper hair, gripping the back of his head. He nipped at your bottom lip which earned him another moan, this one more earnest.

Silence reigned the room as the onslaught of lookers watched in shock. The gossip tonight would be tomorrow's headlines around the precinct.

You pulled away and lowered your lips to his ear, "“Like I said, you deserve something for being such a good boy.” Rafael didn’t miss how your voice was laced with lust.

He chuckled as you rested your forehead against his. "Excuse me?"

"I know about your feelings for me; I've known for a while.” You confessed before pressing a quick peck on his lips.

"How about we get out of here?" You suggested. “I could use some fresh air.” Rafael nodded, helping you up. Rafael helped you with your coat and then grabbed his. You both left, hand in hand and the party continued to stare dumbfounded at what they had just seen.

"Damn.” Sonny replied as he took another swig of his beer. “Carmen owes me a lot more than twenty bucks."

FIN.

**

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​ @rachelxwayne​ @prurientpuddlejumper​ @lv7867​ @permanentlydizzy​ @bisexual-dreamer02​ @madamsnape921​ @averyhotchner​

#thatesqcrush holiday bingo #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba and you

[non-sequitura]

Sequitura’s guide to Kpop if for some reason you want to get into it

(Not recommended, the fandom culture is insane, though there are some nice songs)

These are songs that I really liked on the first listen and continue to like. Some songs take a while to grow on me, like “TT” by Twice. Those aren’t on this list.

They're not my top 100 - those would be too particular to my tastes and I tried to cover a range of musical styles.

* means that the song is a b-side (not the primary promoted song in an album) and thus probably doesn’t have a music video.

Oh My Girl (cheerful group with KILLER catchy melodies)  -Windy Day -Dolphin -Coloring Book -Closer -(optional listening) Secret Garden if you really liked Closer -(optional listening) Nonstop if you like catchy dance tunes, but after some of their really good stuff it'll pale in comparison. It's good gateway Oh My Girl, though.

Blackpink (they do a lot of hype songs; cool vocal colors; actually not bad rapping for kpop) -As If It's Your Last -Playing With Fire -Lovesick Girls

f(x) (experimental girl pop) -Rum Pum Pum -Nu Abo

KARA (exhilarating dance tunes) -Step

Brown-Eyed Girls (they've covered pretty much every genre at this point, but boundary-pushing is their main theme) -Kill Bill -(optional listening) Abracadabra (not personally my thing, but the EDM bassline was super fresh at the time and still is) -(optional listening) Warm Hole (really catchy 60s-esque bop)

Taeyeon (former main singer in Girl’s Generation) -4 Seasons -(optional listening) Spark (not the greatest song in the world, but the lead-in to the chorus is great.)

T-ara (ridiculously cheesy dance tunes) -Roly Poly -Sugar Free -(optional listening) Lovey Dovey (if you loved Roly Poly)

Mamamoo (originally jazz, now... something else) -Piano Man -Um Oh Ah Yeah -(optional listening) Woo Hoo (the harmonies will blow your mind) -(optional listening) Decalcomanie (GREAT for early 2000s rock Amy Winehouse-esque fans. I'm only mildly a fan of that style, but even I can admit the vocal pyrotechnics are incredible.) -(optional listening) Pride of 1cm (a rap diss track about each other’s heights) -(optional listening) Girl Crush (HEY YOUUUU)

Spica (sadly short-lived group that was *really* musical; did jazz authentically and well) -You Don’t Love Me

IU (soloist whose style has run the gamut, but she mostly writes her own music, now.) -Eight -The Red Shoes -Blueming -23

AOA (originally a band concept who came back with uh... sexy, which isn’t a genre, but they still have good songs) -Heart Attack -(optional listening) Like a Cat -(optional listening) Elvis

Wonder Girls (retro who came back with a band concept) -Why So Lonely

Sunmi (her stuff can take a while to get under your skin. It’s quite dark under the surface, which I like.) -Heroine -Pporippipam -(optional listening) 24 Hours -(optional viewing) Noir, for the music video mainly

Yubin (former rapper for Wonder Girls) -Lady -Thank U Soooo Much

Girl’s Generation AKA SNSD (one of the original icons. You won’t find a more polished group anywhere.) -Paparazzi -(optional listening) Lion Heart (for those who love the 60s sound)

BoA (original soloist icon. Watch her dance and sing live.) -Mannish Chocolat -(optional listening) Woman

Itzy (currently conquering the “teen rebels” genre) -Wannabe -Don’t Give a What -(optional listening) Icy (it’s divisive, but personally I find the attitude super charming and the instrumental fresh and unique rather than irritating.)

Red Velvet (have some great RnB songs, as well as some lovely summer ones, as well as some “lol wut” ones) -Psycho -You Better Know* -Body Talk* -(optional listening) Russian Roulette (slightly off-kilter pop song and catchy af) -(optional listening) Look* (AMAZING 80s throwback) -(optional listening) Swimming Pool* (one of those super cheesy pop songs that becomes transdescent in the chorus) -(optional listening) Sassy Me* (this song is crazy) -(optional listening) Mr. E* (if you loved You Better Know) -(optional listening) Sunny Side Up* (if you loved Body Talk and Psycho)

2NE1 (one of the first “badass”-themed girl groups.) -I Am the Best -Fire -(optional listening) I Don’t Care (tackling slow/emotional)

Hyuna (a great performer who sells any song she’s in) -Trouble Maker -365 Fresh -Bubble Pop

CLC (they’ve unfortunately probably broken up now. Super talented group who’s bounced from genre to genre trying to get something to stick, leaving bops along the way.) -Pepe -Show* -No

Weki Meki (they’re slowly finding their niche, which is likely to be smooth club stuff) -Crush -(optional listening) Cool (I recommend watching their relay dance/dance practices and giving Lua some attention)

BOL4 (“indie”-ish band; not a big fan of most of their stuff) -Travel (but they did strike addictive gold when they went more rock)

Gfriend (Strings, guitar, and some of the best/most consistent vocalists in kpop right now) -Navillera -Mago

Dreamcatcher (a very unique, metal-influenced sound. Amazing dancing. Probably supported by the most humane company in kpop right now.) -Scream -Over the Sky* -Black or White* -(optional listening) And There Was No One Left* (idk why but this one hits me. It’s so sparse and yet makes you feel so disconcerted.) -(optional listening) Silent Night* (if you like the musical aesthetics of the song “Everytime We Touch”) -(optional listening) Can’t Get You Out of My Mind* (if you liked Silent Night)

Twice (“The Nation’s Girl Group”) -Fancy (kind of the only song of theirs that I adore; ask me for more recs if you really like them.)

Ailee (known as the Beyonce of Korea) -I Will Show You (an unironic “yasss” song) -Heaven (gee, this song is sad but never lets up with the power vocals as well, which I think works better than a straight-up slow ballad)

Loona (I don’t really click with them, but a few songs have hit me first listen) -Voice* (it sounds like a beautiful, brisk skate across a mile-long lake) -New (by Yves – it’s super flowy) -ViViD (by Heejin – I love sassy swing tunes what can I say) -(optional listening) Heart Attack primarily for the music video

EXID (power vocals + brass + hip-hop? I don’t really get it tbh but good singing can sell me anything.) -Ah Yeah

After School (I don’t know this group but this song is a bop. Might be one of my top 20 favorites of all time and I only heard it yesterday.) -Bang!

Sunny Hill (very unique social commentary music) -Pray (warning: one of the most disturbing music videos I’ve ever seen, but definitely worth a watch if you have a strong stomach) -The Grasshopper Song (music video is nicer)

(now we move into territory with guys in it. I personally think male artists in Korea release fewer great songs than female artists, beccause the general trend is to be “dark” or “moody” compared to the more melodic trends in female groups. If you like strong choreography or braggadocio vibes, though, you’ll probably like them better.)

AKMU (singer-songwriter sibling pair and probably my favorite composers in Korea right now.) -Dinosaur -How People Move -(optional listening) Happening (somehow gives coffee shop music a driving rhythm) -(optional listening) Like Ga Na Da (this is a song about the alphabet. It is still insanely catchy.) -(optional listening) Melted (sad ballad)

TXT (this group has other songs, but I don’t like any of them nearly as much.) -Runaway (like the classic boy group sound set on fire. A really nice pre-chorus of all things. Love the guitar.)

Ateez (they might become the next BTS; not sure.) -Wonderland (like... pirate hip hop/rock. Watch with choreography.) -Wave (a surprisingly potent summer song) -(optional listening) Say My Name

Shinee (some of the most talented dudes in kpop) -Lucifer (probably the only kpop song to pull off a one-note chorus well. Sounds like it was produced by people who evolved in a different universe.) -View (super smooth, groovy deep house song.)

Oneus (their good stuff goes hard) -A Song Written Easily -Valkyrie

Stray Kids (don’t know the group; song is great) -Miroh

A.C.E. (one of the only kpop groups doing hardstyle and surprisingly enough, I like it.) -Goblin -Cactus

Seventeen (don’t really know the group; song is great) -Mansae

-1/6/21

#blog #non-sequitura-blog #list #1/6/21 #january 2021 #2021 #longform

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (5/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words ❤️

And to everyone else, happy Friday! You’ve made it through another week!

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 

-/-

“Where are you going?”

Emma twists her head to the side and tugs her comforter up to her chest. “To get some water.”

“I wore you out then, did I?”

Emma groans and tries to get out of bed before Killian’s hands wrap around her waist and tug her back. His lips press against the back of her neck, scruff scratching against skin, and she melts into the feeling of it.

Almost.

“Wait, wait,” she interrupts, pulling away from him and twisting in the bed until she’s back on her side and facing him. He’s got red pillow creases all across his face, and he desperately needs to fix his hair. It’s a mess. They probably both are. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flutter closed before his lips spread into a smile. “I’ve found when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

Emma swallows and pulls the comforter up a little higher. She doesn’t know how well this is going to go, but it’s been on her mind pretty much every other minute for the past week. Well, besides when she wants to pull her hair out over the insane specificities that her boss is giving her for every event they’ve got on the books. A regular Tuesday night dinner with twenty people does not need to be the most well thought out dinner in the history of dinners, but no one seems to understand that.

A part of her almost misses waitressing, but then she remembers the pay and how shitty people are to waitstaff.

“We need to make rules,” Emma blurts out. She’s got to bite the bullet or else she’ll never do it.

Both of Killian’s brows raise at that. “Rules?”

“Yeah, about this.” She motions between the two of them. “I don’t – hell, Killian, we’ve kind of fallen into…”

“Bed?” he laughs, his lips ticking up into a broad smile.

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“I know, but I – look, we’re friends, right?”

“Aye.” He nods and sits up as the sheets fall down to his waist and she’s only slightly distracted by the dip in his collarbone and the way the ink on his shoulder stretches across his skin. “To be quite frank, you’ve somehow wormed your way into being my closest mate.”

“Your closest mate who you’ve now been sleeping with for, like, a week, and not to be too emotionally aware since that is not my expertise, but I feel like that’s going to blow up in our faces at some point since we’re not really talking about it.”

Whew. She got that out. That was the hard part, right?

“Ah, so you want to make rules?”

“Exactly.”

Killian clicks his tongue and points between them. “If we make rules, Swan, it means we’re continuing this. Do you want to continue this?”

God, yes.

“I mean, I feel like it could be beneficial to both of us.”

“How so?”

He knows exactly what she’s trying to say, but the asshole is going to make her say it. Maybe she didn’t get the hard part over. “I’m not looking for a relationship,” Emma starts, “and I assume you’re not either.”

“I’m not,” he confirms.

“So why don’t we continue this? No strings attached. I don’t have to be some poor, heartbroken woman as my ex walks around with the woman he cheated on me with without a care in the world, and you don’t have to find one of your women for the summer. I can be that for you.”

Killian hums and scratches behind his ear before tilting his head to the side. The light from outside is hitting his eyes so that the blue is even brighter than usual, and a shiver runs down her spine as he stares at her.

This is weird but good.

“Rule one would have to be that we don’t let sleeping together get in the way of our friendship,” Killian starts, holding a finger up. “I can’t stay sane without having you to vent to about customers and Liam and also Will purposely not restocking my rum at the bar.”

Emma huffs. “I can’t stay sane without middle of the night slushie runs and runs with Skipper.”

“So, we agree on that then? Our friendship comes first.”

“Absolutely.”

“And we’re both fully aware that the both of us are using each other for sex, correct?”

“Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Why?” he laughs. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, but if you put it that way, it makes it sound absolutely dirty.”

“Dirty, huh?” Killian shifts in the bed and moves over toward her. Emma falls back onto the mattress while Killian climbs over her until he’s caging her in and staring down at her with those blue, blue eyes. This shouldn’t feel so damn good, but it does. “I can show you dirty, darling.”

“I think you’re changing the subject.”

“We were talking about sex.” He leans down and nestles his chin into her neck until his teeth tug at her skin, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue. “I’m simply changing it from talk to the act.”

“We have to finish our conversation,” she protests, falsely, as her nails scratch down his back. He groans, and Emma can’t say she minds the sound.

“There will be plenty of time for your lovely little rules later. I can assure you I will listen to them and follow them and do every little thing you ask of me. That’s the benefit of sleeping with a friend who is accustomed to listening to you.”

Emma’s hips arch up into his, and she gulps down as heat licks along her skin and curls between her thighs. He’s more addicting than he has any right to be, and she could definitely get used to a no strings attached kind of situation like this.

Friends with benefits.

She never thought she’d be the type of girl to do that, but it was probably because the situation hadn’t presented itself yet. It obviously has now.

She didn’t have the right friends, apparently.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“I never claimed to be otherwise,” he whispers into her ear, his voice soft before becoming gritty, almost in a blink of an eye. “Now wrap your legs around me. I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than spending my time talking.”

“I feel like nothing has ever stopped you from talking before.” “Well, if my mouth is otherwise occupied, it does become a challenge. But, you know, I do love a challenge.”

-/-

Killian Jones: Rule #2. We don’t tell any of our friends.

Emma Swan: Agreed. They would lose their shit.

Killian Jones: Liam and David would join forces to keep us both locked in our apartments.

Emma Swan: David would at least give me food and water. Liam might leave you hanging.

Killian Jones: I’d somehow find a way to get Skipper to bring me food. Or you could find a way to send me something.

Emma Swan: It’d be the least I could do.

“What are you doing?”

Emma hits the button on the side of her phone and stuffs it in her back pocket. “I was checking our schedule for today.”

Mary Margaret tilts her head. “We’ve got the Silver Club’s luncheon at noon, a group information session at three, and then we have the Welcome Dinner tonight. How did you forget that? We’ve been planning this for months.”

“I didn’t forget,” Emma lies as she stands from the chair. “I was double-checking the times.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just want everything to go well, you know?”

“Emma.” Mary Margaret walks closer and leans against the wall next to Emma. “You just ended a long, serious relationship. It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been frazzled, and I don’t mind picking up any of the slack that you need me to pick up.”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “I am not at all upset about Neal. I just want to, you know…”

“You want to what?”

Emma puts her hands in front of her chest and pushes forward. “I want to push past it, shove it away.” “Of course, of course.” Mary Margaret’s ballet flat scuffs against the hardwood. “I always thought you two were good together. There’s not a chance that – ”

“Fuck no,” Emma laughs even as she wishes she could be anywhere but here. “I mean, we had our good moments, but I’ve been through too much shit to stay with him. I think for the first time I – you know what, never mind, it’s not important. Let’s get back to the dinner. Do you think it’s going to go well?” Super smooth subject change there, Emma. Mary Margaret definitely didn’t notice it at all.

Mary Margaret sighs and wraps her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It always goes well. You’re good at this. You’ve got to know that by now.”

“I pretty much live in constant fear that Regina is going to fire me because someone is unhappy with a color scheme or because a kid is going to tell their parent we didn’t have the right kind of lemonade and then the parent decides to take rare interest in their kid for once just to make my life miserable.”

“Yeah, I live in constant fear of that, too. Those parents are scary.”

“How many are coming to the information session?”

“Ten new couples, three returning who want an update, and then we’ve got forty kids already signed up to stay in the kids’ club all summer.”

Emma lets out a low whistle. “Ashley and Aurora are going to lose their minds if we don’t get the part-time hires on board.”

“Or if we don’t help them out more than on the excursions.”

She hums and opens up the door out of her office. “I’m too busy dealing with whiny, privileged adults complaining about how the pool isn’t the right temperature.”

“You’re right. It’s such a hard life.”

Emma snickers. “Maybe we’re not meant for this job.”

“Probably not, but you prefer this to waitressing, right?”

“Oh hell yes. I will not go back to that and sleeping on your couch. You were the best for taking me in since I was pretty much a walking human disaster, but there will be no more sleeping on your couch. I like having my own bed and being able to eat food other than kitchen leftovers.”

“I do miss you on my couch, though. Lots of good talks. And my hair was long then, and you were the best at braiding it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma laughs. She takes a deep breath, letting a little bit of the heaviness on her chest evaporate. Mary Margaret pushes her a hell of a lot, but sometimes she does know when to step back. “I know you do. Now come on, let’s go make sure that there are no pink linens or Mrs. Rose will absolutely lose her shit.” “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Oh, I would, but like I said, I also like my job.”

“Then no pink linens it is.”

-/-

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

Emma’s heartbeat picks up at the familiar voice, and she looks up from her spot to see Killian walking down the beach toward her.

“Because Mary Margaret probably told you.”

“Damn, I’ve been found out.” He takes a few more steps until he’s sliding down onto the lounge chair next to her and handing her a slushie. “Because they melted the other night.”

Her cheeks heat at the thought, and she’s got to stop doing that. They are adults sleeping together, and there’s no need for her to feel weird about that. It’s a little weird talking about it somewhere other than a bedroom or over text, though. Yeah, that’s why his reference made her cheeks flush. That’s the only reason.

“Thank you.” She takes quick sip. “Is there tequila in this?”

“I thought you could use it after your Welcome Dinner. I know that’s hell every year.”

“Oh my God, yes,” Emma groans. “It was the worst. I swear it’s more people every year, and they all show up thinking this is going to be like that episode of Mrs. Maisel where they show up at the summer camp and never have to lift a finger. I mean, to the point where I would be putting their food in their mouths, which I am not going to do.”

“Isn’t that kind of what this is?”

Emma glares at him, but Killian not-so-slyly takes a sip of his drink and avoids her stare.

That was smart of him because she’s just exhausted enough to want to slap him for being a smart ass.

“No. We’re not a resort. They just come to the club for meals and parties and leave their kids with us all day. They ask us where they can rent or keep their boats, and I obviously only recommend you, and then they have to go home to their own homes or rentals at the end of the day where I have nothing to do with them or what they ear.”

“Oh, yeah, totally different than it being a resort.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles as she drinks her slushie. She’s going to have to run in the morning to work off all of the food she’s been eating today. She had so many of the cookies before they went out to the tables. “It is different. I’m just at their beck and call for half of the day. I would lose my mind if I had to do more.”

“A job’s a job.”

“And when you’re not qualified to do much else…”

Killian kicks his leg out in the sand toward her. “If things don’t work out for you, you can come work for me.”

Emma sputters out a laugh. “Liam would never in a million years let me work with you guys.”

“Oh, come on. He definitely would…at some point…maybe two million years.”

She rolls her eyes and twists on the lounge chair until she’s facing Killian again. A breeze from the ocean wafts toward her, and chills pop up on her arms. Killian silently shrugs off his sweatshirt before handing it over to her. He’s got on a Henley underneath it, and he obviously is more prepared for the late-night chill than she is.

“Liam isn’t my biggest fan. It’s okay. I’ll just have to go back to waitressing when I lose my mind on a member and throw a drink in their face.”

“Hey, now, he does like you a little bit. Let’s not immediately jump to throwing drinks in someone’s face.”

“You don’t have to placate me, KJ. Your brother is a stubborn ass to me. It runs in the family, but one of you at least makes up for it by providing drinks and mediocre conversation.”

Killian scoffs before leaning back up against the chair and running his hands through his hair. The scars on his hand look almost silver in the moonlight. She’s never noticed that before.

“Mediocre conversation? Is that what this is? I happened to think I was a brilliant conversationalist.”

“Occasionally. Did you know they want me to start wearing a uniform?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Regina is losing her shit. She wants me to wear khaki shorts and a different pastel colored polo for different days of the week, but that’s only for the afternoons. At night, she still wants me to get dressed up so I can ‘look like a member and not an employee.’”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Damn,” Killian whistles. “I am going to love giving you shit about that.”

“Ha, I’m not going to wear the polos. I already have to wear the damn khaki shorts when we do events on the beach, but I am not wearing the polos. I’ll get fired first.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll have a job with me in a million years.”

“Two, I thought.”

“Possibly three.”

Emma laughs and settles back down onto the chair as she keeps drinking. Killian got a little too much cherry in this. Or maybe that’s just the tequila. It’s good, though, and she needed it tonight.

God, the people at the club are all so obnoxious, and she’s desperately going to miss fall and winter when she didn’t have people hounding her with questions every day all day. She deserves hazard pay for every person that makes a snide remark about the linens or someone who they think doesn’t fit the type of person they want at the club.

They don’t know she’s the exact type of person they wouldn’t want to associate with.

Foster kid, no money, little education, run ins with the law…the list goes on and on.

But she’s not that person anymore. She’s not. She’s at least got her life together in that she has money and isn’t having to steal Pop-Tarts from convenience stores.

Now she just drinks slushies from them that have tequila mixed in.

At least these were paid for.

She hopes. No, she knows. Killian definitely paid for them.

“Oh,” Emma says, “I thought of another rule. It’s kind of a big one.”

“Is it now?”

“If you want to start sleeping with other people, you can. Just say the word if you meet someone like, you know, you usually do, and we can stop. There’s no need to do it if you’re sleeping with someone else.”

Killian’s brows furrow, and he scratches his chin. “I thought we had already decided I didn’t need to find someone? I don’t purposefully look for someone, by the way. It just happens.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so beautiful too that people just line up to sleep with me.”

“I mean, you are. You’d have to be blind not to know that.”

Emma swallows and tugs down the sleeves on the sweatshirt before crossing her arms over her chest, hugging her stomach tightly. She is not going to give herself enough time to process what he just said. “Anyway, I mean that if you meet someone and want to give it a shot, go for it. Give me the word, and we can start pretending I’ve never seen your dick before.”

“Well, I mean, you already did that one time at – ”

“That was an accident,” she giggles, “and totally your fault for leaving the door unlocked while you were changing.”

“There wasn’t a lock on the door.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule four,” Killian sighs, holding his fingers up, “is that I do not have to cook you breakfast if you spend the night.”

“No. That’s a shitty rule, KJ, and you know it! You cook me breakfast now. You can’t go back on it.”

“Alright, alright, if you insist,” he laughs as his hand reaches over toward her and curls her hair around his fingers. They’re warm and rough, and she has to admit that it’s comfortable to have him hold her hand like that. “You know, Liam is staying over at Elsa’s tonight?”

“Is he?” she asks. Emma swallows and shifts a little closer to Killian, the ocean breeze suddenly much warmer.

“He is, and he won’t be back until we open at ten.”

“So, enough time for breakfast then?”

Killian’s eyes crinkle with his laugh. “Is that going to be the only reason you come over?”

“Nah,” Emma sighs as she stands from her chair, “I also really like your dog.”

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @cluttermind​

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

[justkeeptrekkin]

Hi M anon!! I’m so sorry this took me so long. I’ve played around with the idea a bit, hope you don’t mind. Tagging @a-shipping-life who requested something similar. Enjoy!!

***

“This is....”

Crowley’s voice trails off as he views his surroundings. When he’d imagined post-armageddon, he had always thought of fire and brimstone. Or, depending on how the war ended, sickening rounds of celestial harmonies, on repeat- listening to it all from behind bars in a pit. Instead, three years into the Third Testament, the New Era, the Age of Satan’s Spawn, and Crowley’s attending children’s birthday parties. Apparently.

The back garden of the Young family household is perfect for a party- according to Azirphale. A nice little closed off area, with some nice bunting and nice cake and a nice view of the Cotswolds rolling in the distance. Kids and family friends, together, having a nice time. All a bit too nice for Crowley’s taste, who’d preferred the bratty parties Warlock’d had, with nasty children and inappropriately dangerous presents (Nanny Ashtoreth had been the one to anonymously give Warlock a bow and arrow set).

Crowley takes his stand beside Aziraphale, wincing at the ensuing fourteenth birthday party. He needs a shot of insulin with how sweet this event is. He eventually manages: “This is. Ugh.”

“It is not ugh,” Aziraphale tuts, rolls his eyes. “Birthdays are nice.”

“Exactly. Nice is ugh.”

Aziraphale casts him a reprimanding glance, but a smile is pulling at the corners of his lips. He looks Crowley up and down judgmentally and passes him a plastic cup. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Punch.”

“I’m assuming not the alcoholic variety.”

“It’s a fourteenth birthday party, Crowley.”

“What? The Youngs could be more progressive than you think. What harm did a bit of vodka do a teenager. Do teenagers not drink nowadays? I find it hard to keep track.”

“Not till his sixteenth,” Aziraphale says. Eyes scanning the party with as much wariness as Crowley’s had. Adults eating cake from paper plates, teenagers sitting on the grass and sulking at how lame this is.

“I can- I can almost guarantee that lot will have had a cheeky WKD before sixteen,” Crowley mutters into the plastic cup of punch.

Their gazes find The Them, who are sat on the garden bench and on the grass, conspiring amongst themselves. And Crowley thinks that whilst a couple of them aren’t really that badly behaved, Adam has a mischievous streak about him, and the others follow suit. The Youngs are probably struggling to keep up with their teenage son. But then, better the little devil use his powers to make a fake ID to grab a six pack of Strongbow from the corner shop, than to destroy the world.

Just as he’s considering this, the four of them look up at Aziraphale and Crowley. As if they’ve been talking about them.

Crowley sighs, peering at them over the rim of his glasses. “Yep. That lot are trouble makers.”

“It- are they talking about us?”

“Looks like.”

Aziraphale pouts his lips. “Teenagers.”

For a moment, they simply stand at the periphery of the party and survey. Newt and Anathema are here, who they could probably hold some awkward conversation with (“So… world didn’t end then.” “Apparently.”), however, they’re currently occupied by some of the guests from the village. And there’s a lot of other people who’ve been invited by Mr and Mrs Young who seem to be here for their benefit rather than Adam’s.

“Why are we here again?” Crowley whines.

“Because we’re his godparents.”

Crowley wrinkles his nose, peers down at the red juice that’s calling itself punch and doesn’t have nearly enough rum in it. “Not officially.”

“You were the one who assigned us that term, remember?” Aziraphale prompts.

“Suppose.” Then, because he’s feeling brave. And he gets these bouts of bravery when he’s in Tadfield. “How’s about after this we find the nearest pub and pissed. You can crash at mine afterwards.”

There’s a moment when he looks like he’s going to argue, twisting his lips primly and casting fleeting glances at Crowley. All coy. Crowley loves every daft bit of him. “Yes. That does sound good.”

“We can wash down the niceness of this pa- uh-oh. Here they come.”

Aziraphale picks up the slice of cake that he’d laid on the table behind him. A forkful hovering just in front of his mouth. “Sorry?”

“Teenagers, twelve o’clock.”

Aziraphale reluctantly lowers the fork, puts it down on the paper plate and surveys The Approaching Them. Adam at the front. And then the others disperse- going inside to do something more interesting, Crowley supposes. Now, with just Adam, it feels less like they’re about to be ambushed. The boy looks at them with that quietly expectant look he has, and has had since he was eleven when they first met. Though he’s a few inches taller than he used to be.

Dog trots by Adam’s side, and looks up at Aziraphale, pleading silently. Aziraphale brings the plate of cake closer to his chest and narrows his eyes at Dog.

“Thanks for coming,” Adam says, though he doesn’t look massively excited.

“Are you having a nice time?” Aziraphale asks pleasantly.

Adam shrugs. “Not really. Mum and dad invited all their friends and none of mine. Apart from you two, and Anathema and Newt. And obviously Pepper and people. It would be a lot nicer if there weren’t all these annoying old people, too.”

Crowley nods in grim understanding, curls his lips in disregard for said old people.

“Oh,” is Aziraphale’s reply. Then, smile wavering, “Well, it’s nice to see at least that there are people here who care about you, no?”

“They don’t even really know me,” Adam shrugs. “They aren’t here for my birthday. They’re here for the free cake and to boast about their lovely little middle class lives. It’s the perfect opportunity for bourgeoisie posturing under the guise of a birthday party- it’s actually really shallow.”

So this is teenaged Adam. And no less, Adam as a teenager being influenced by Anathema. Aziraphale looks a bit lost for words, but Crowley’s grinning like a loon.

“Well said,” he drawls through his smirk. “Any good presents?”

“Got a Nintendo Switch.”

“Very good,” Crowley replies seriously.

“Anyway,” Adam sighs, “The others have gone inside to find lactose free snacks. I should go help.Brian’s lactose intolerant now.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Aziraphale says sincerely.

“See you later.”

Adam traipses inside, and Dog follows chirpily. Aziraphale and Crowley watch them disappear.

“He’s going to be…” Aziraphale shakes his head, exhales through pursed lips.

“Ball-buster, that one.”

“Yes.”

Some very nondescript music plays distantly. It looks as if Mr Young is attempting to hook up his phone to bluetooth speakers and is struggling, crouching on all fours to inspect the wiring. There isn’t any wiring, is the problem. It’s a wireless speaker system. But that doesn’t seem to have occurred to Mr Young- bum in the air and face buried in Apple technology.

“Oh- oh bother. Why am I like this?”

Crowley turns to see Aziraphale has dropped cake down his waistcoat. He’s holding out the offending plate of cake and frowning at the mess- multi-coloured frosting and sprinkles everywhere. Dog is absolutely delighted, eating the scraps by Aziraphale’s feet.

Aziraphale gives Crowley his sad, cherub eyes. Crowley looks back, pouts his bottom lip. Oh, diddums.

“Would you…?” Aziraphale asks. Looking at him through his lashes.

He gives it a long moment- gives Aziraphale a few seconds to enjoy himself, gives Aziraphale the impression that he needs to work to convince Crowley. He doesn’t.

Crowley snaps his fingers, cake gone. More than that, he turns to fetch him another slice.

And he makes that little flustered smile. The one that makes Crowley putty in his stupid angelic hands. “Oh, thank you.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder as he goes to get more cake.

There’s the cake- half of it left, at least eight slices. There’s the stack of paper plates. He looks up- no one around. He takes a slice as quickly as he can, not wanting to be cornered by any of the horrifically boring guests.

Then:

“Can I ask you a question?”

Crowley spins round to find Adam. Oh, that’s fine. Adam’s not a boring octogenarian. “Questions? Love questions. Shoot.”

“None of the others believe me,” Adam starts, hands in his pockets, expression as cool and collected as ever. “I’m pretty convinced, but it seems rude to tell them I know when I haven’t even asked.”

“Asked what?”

He’s busying himself with cutting a slice of cake, paying attention but not feeling the need to give Adam his undivided attention. That is until:

“You two are married. Aren’t you?”

A perfect slice of cake had been balanced on the knife in Crowley’s hand. And then Adam had said that. So now, he’s got a perfect slice of cake splattered all over the table. And Adam’s got a speechless demon, steaming from the ears. Literally, steaming from the ears.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-”

“So,” Adam’s eyes widen a little, and he nods slowly. “You’re… not. Married.”

“I’m- you’re- what? Who- why’re- listen,” he says, pointing a paper plate at the son of Satan, “You have no- what did- did he? Where did-”

This could take forever, and they both know it. Crowley’s mouth is a broken record. His brain has disconnected itself entirely from the rest of his body. For a demon who can speak multiple languages, who can speak tongues, he can’t for the life of him speak any of them well. Thus, Adam makes the executive decision of saving him from this never-ending, hellish loop of inarticulacy.

“Sorry for making it weird,” he says, not looking that sorry, “The two of you are just so obviously in love, I figured you guys were married. And gay marriage was only legalised recently, cause, like, homophobia and stuff. So I figured that you didn’t have rings because- are you OK? There’s smoke.”

“What?”

“There’s smoke. Coming from your head.”

Right, so he’s progressed straight from steaming from the ears to smoking. Fantastic, perfect, excellent. It’s probably from the speed that his thoughts are spinning; his brain going so fast, so out of control that it’s generated enough mental friction to cause a fire. Thoughts like-

-me and Aziraphale married a wedding what would we wear where would we live would we live together perhaps we’d have a garden and I could cook for him and he could knit me socks like the socks he gave me for Christmas two years ago and oh holy fuck is it that obvious that I love him does he realise does Aziraphale know does he love me back he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not he loves me-

-OK, he can smell the smoke now. Just wonderful.

Then, from across the garden, Crowley hears Aziraphale exclaim: “Married?”

Pepper is staring at him like he’s an idiot. Aziraphale’s staring back at her like he’s gone catatonic. Holding an empty paper plate. Mouth hanging open. Eyes widening slowly, like the THX theme music should be playing in the background.

And then Aziraphale’s head snaps round to look at Crowley. Looking, as far as he can tell, absolutely mortified.

Crowley stares back.

Adam stares.

Pepper stares.

Crowley puts down the cake knife and takes a deep, nerve-steadying breath. Because whilst the world hadn’t really ended three years ago, it feels a bit like it has now.

Time to face the music, he thinks.

***

Part two possibly will be written if people want one...

#Good omens #ineffable husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #my writing #fic prompt #fanfiction

[shirtlesssammy]

15x05: Proverbs 17:3

Then:

I’m not crying, you’re crying!

Now:

(weeping in corner ---this is Steve Yockey’s last episode) 

Black Forest, Colorado

Three young women on a Pinterest inspired LL Bean photoshoot getaway, toast to friendship and good times. Now that they’re done with college, two of them have found jobs and are on their way to subverting the new world order of underemployment. Ashley, the other friend, will be driving for Uber. 

They all hear a noise outside the tent. Julie goes for more rum and gets yanked. The other one tries closing the tent but is also yanked. Cue Ashley’s screams!

At the bunker, Sam checks his messages to Cas. He’s been texting and texting but hasn’t heard anything back. I am emotional. Dean is going to bury that shit and not even tell his brother what happened? ARGH. Sam hides his phone pretty quick so it’s obvious that he knows something isn’t right --and he doesn’t needle his brother about it so he knows something REALLY isn’t right. 

Dean’s back from a supply run and is back on his overcompensating with food bullshit. He eats a ghost pepper jerky bite and instantly regrets it. On the plus side, we get this:

Anyway, they’ve got a case. 

*Dream Vision Alert*

Lucifer!Sam sits at a table in the bunker. Dean approaches from behind, draws the Colt, asks for forgiveness, and shoots Sam in the back of the head. Lucifer!Sam doesn’t die though. The wound heals and his eyes glow red. Lucifer!Sam scoffs at the idea that the Colt would kill him, adding, “we both knew it had to end this way.” Then fire consumes Dean. 

Sam wakes in the Impala. Dean wants to know what’s up but Sam will only admit to a bad dream. 

They reach Colorado and instead of their usual routine, Dean pulls out some old school tricks: Fish and Wildlife agents. They were babies! (But this is also just such a nice way to show HOW MUCH Sam and Dean have changed over the years. The story Chuck was telling in season one has changed so much --they are not the same anymore. And while Dean continues to repress his current issues (ala Cas), it’s clear that he’s not the same.)

They go in and talk with the sheriff.

(Also, this is yet another week using an actor that has been in a previous episode of Supernatural. I realize this does happen, but this actress played Tara, the hunter that helped Dean and Crowley find Cain and the First Blade--and the Mark of Cain.) 

The sheriff doesn’t think these attacks are animal in nature. There’s one witness they can talk to. They head to the hospital to talk with her. They ask what she remembers. She flashes back to the forest. She’s running and a man/monster is chasing her. She’s reluctant to talk, but Dean assures her that they’ve heard it all. The man that killed her friends had claws and fangs. A werewolf. Dean tells the poor girl that monsters and werewolves are all real. 

Dean gets a name. Sam points out that it wasn’t a full moon the night Ashley was attacked (Dean suggests pureblood), and Sam sets off to find an address. 

They head to a cabin in the woods where Andy, the werewolf, lives with his brother, Josh. They’re isolated, reluctant to have visitors, don’t have a phone. Just as God intended. Sam and Dean leave. 

Josh yells at Andy for not killing Ashley. I’m just loling all over the place. This melodramatic crazy is TOO much. Family of werewolves that hunt people. Their dad’s dead but it’s the family business. Reluctant younger brother...

The brothers check in at the Sleepy Bear Inn. (Have we mentioned HOW MUCH WE LOVE JERRY WANEK? It’s true!) 

They’ve got Ashley under their protection. They need to go take care of “the lumberjack twins.” Sam wonders why this whole case seems too easy. Lololol. Ashley asks the brothers to stay with her until she falls asleep. Meanwhile, Andy and Josh are outside the motel ready to kill her. 

Dean and Ashley talk about hunting. Dean says he likes his job --helping people. She asks if he ever wanted to be anything else: Jimi Hendrix. He says that so quickly. It breaks me a bit. But then he toes the company line. Ashley wondering how great life would be if it was all planned out. That makes Dean turn a little green. Poor bby. 

Sam wakes Sleeping Beauty - I mean, Dean. He zonked out while Sam headed out to get food and while he was sleeping, Ashley disappeared.

Cut to Ashley who is astonishingly NOT DEAD YET. She’s tied up in a bloody slaughter room, though. The two werewolf bros burst in, mid argument. “This isn’t who we are,” Andy protests, his pure white, tucked-in sweater standing out sharply against the ACTUAL BLOOD SPATTERED WALL. (Like, seriously, guys. Get a cleaning service, at least. That can’t be sanitary.)

“This is exactly who we are,” Josh growls. Hoooo-boy.

Dean and Sam race back to the cabin and quickly follow Ashley’s screams to the slaughter room. Their approach causes the werewolves to scamper, but not very far. As they attempt to escape, the Winchesters and Ashley get ambushed in the main room. The two werewolves get the upper hand on Dean and Sam, and the werewolf with a taste for human flesh closes in on Dean, snarling. Andy picks up Dean’s dropped gun and points it at Sam. He stares between Sam and Josh in agony.

Andy shoots and kills his brother. “He turned into a monster,” Andy explains tearfully. “And I’m a monster too.” He turns the gun on himself, killing himself with one quick shot to the heart. (Jeez, always the heart in this season. It’s almost like it’s an important metaphor or something.)

“That was weird,” Dean says which is like a total UNDERSTATEMENT… But that doesn’t even come close to what happens next. Dean tries to comfort Ashley, who pushes away and…

…trips and falls right onto the antlers. BOOM. Ashley’s dead. Sam, Dean, and pretty much every single one of us viewers stares at Ashley’s body in shock and confusion. That’s…not…normal. Also, this episode is only half over. WTF?

“Well, this is a bitch,” Ashley grumbles, opening her eyes and standing up, still impaled. She cheerfully flashes her eyes white at Sam. She’s LILITH, baby! 

Lilith has clearly never made friends with the phrase “Loose lips sink ships” because she spills E V E R Y T H I N G. Chuck pulled her out of the Empty (where she was dead as a demon doornail), gave her instructions to seduce Dean post-rescue, told her to show Sam and Dean the werewolf murder/sacrifice mirror, and sent her to retrieve the magic gun: Ye Olde Equalizer. 

The Winchesters try to fight Lilith, but she blasts them into the walls, knocking Sam out. Dean promises Lilith the gun as long as Sam’s okay. Same old song and dance, my friends. But now we get the feeling that Dean’s SEEING THE SCRIPT even while he’s still feeling utterly trapped by it.

Sam has another vision while he’s power healing through his latest concussion. This time, Dean’s out to kill a human Sam. Dean, under the influence of the Mark of Cain, murders his brother with the first blade. When Sam wakes, the cabin is empty. 

In the Impala, Lilith is sitting about two feet away from the equalizer gun - still hidden in the glove box- and amusedly answers Dean’s questions. She’s massively irked that she’s back on Earth as part of Chuck’s latest story…when the story she THOUGHT her death was integral to was foiled by the Winchesters. It’s adding insult to injury, man. “Wouldn’t it be great if everything was just planned out for you?” she repeats and then laughs right in Dean’s face. Chuck fed her that line directly. 

Lilith chirpily comments on Chuck’s storytelling propensity and his hamfisted werewolf brother foreshadowing. “It always ends the same,” she tells Dean. “One brother killing the other.” 

Back at the motel, I am still UTTERLY DAMN CHARMED at the Wanek crew’s amazing work on this room. 

For Please Come Decorate My House Science:

Dean tells Lilith that she’ll NEVER get the gun and she starts to slice him bit by bit. It’s the death of a thousand cuts!

Sam breaks in and shoots Lilith in the forehead without another word. He traps her in place with a devil’s trap bullet. “I’ve got you now, my pretty!” Sam should have shouted (but didn’t). What he does do is threaten to kill her. Lilith gets pissed at this. Like, EXCUSE HER VERY MUCH, but she’s a total badass who LET Sam kill her back in season four. Don’t mess with her! 

The Winchesters flee but don’t even make it past the parking lot. Lilith zaps out to meet them. Where’s the gun??? She reasons it out, and concludes that the gun is clearly in the Impala. (Clears throat… The most important car in the universe!?) Lilith finds the equalizer pretty much right away and laughs at how damn easy it was. Which...yeah.

“We’ll get it back,” Sam snarls and without further ado, Lilith melts the heck out of the gun. Now it’s just a cooling black pool against the asphalt. Oooooookay. Plan...X?

Back at the bunker, the boys fortify themselves with liquor. Sam leaves ANOTHER voicemail for Cas. (Pardon me while I take a short break to weep and rend my clothing.) “We gave him the head’s up on Chuck and Lilith,” Dean says. “What else are we supposed to do?” Oh, I don’t know. Probably apologize? Tell him you love him and value him as a person. That sort of thing. 

Dean’s pretty shattered at the revelation that Chuck’s still pulling their strings. Thanks to Lilith, he understands that Chuck wants an ending where one of them kills the other. Sam immediately ties this into the dreams he’s been having. “You’re just telling me this, NOW?” Dean asks. And…I think that reaction is justified. Sam speculates that his equalizer wound is showing him Chuck’s endings and MAYBE a slice of Chuck’s mind. 

“This was supposed to be over,” Dean says in response. “Are we just gonna keep running in this friggin’ hamster wheel until we die? Or we get boring and he ends us?” I’m laughing at the direct commentary on how TV shows live and die but also...DEAN BBY. 

Sam thinks they can fight. Dean wants to know how the hell they’re supposed to FIGHT GOD.

______________________________

Goldilocks and the Three Quotes:

Poor, faithful Dean. We both knew it had to end this way

I’ll Freud you

Whatever you’re about to say, I want you to know that we’ve heard worse. We’ve heard weirder

I don’t lie to you. I look out for you

That’s not how this story goes

Oh, you would promise a girl the moon, Dean Winchester

Of the three potential vessels, Ashley had the best hair

God? He is not exactly Shakespeare. He’s more of a low rent Dean Koontz

Be a good boy and show me that BIG GUN, huh?

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn 15x05 #proverbs 17:3 #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 15

[hannah-deactivated20220725]

Maxie Learns About the Company

So this is a roleplay that Val and I are currently engaged in... so please excuse the sudden ending...

But here we go... here’s my usual start to these posts:

Words: 1,705

Characters: Maxie & [Dimitri]

Genre: family... informational(??)... family bonding... slightly angsty

Situation: Maxie is over at his deda, or his grandfather’s, house for some family bonding time... little does he know, his whole mindset on his parents and what they do... is going to change this day.

Max was quiet as he led his son down the hallway. "Remember to behave." He said, glancing at the boy, "this is your grandfather's home." He said as they reached a door, and Max got ready to open it.

Maxie laughed at that. "You say that like I'm a bad kid," he said to his father, making a face. "I mean, I know we don't see each other much, but... you ought to know me better than that, dad."

"I know you're not." Max retorted, side-eyeing his son, "but you also hardly see your grandfather, don't go pestering him." He added, before opening the door.

Dimitri glanced up from where he was putting a book away and sighed in exasperation, "Talking to your son about manners when you can't knock on the damn door." He muttered, "hello, Maxie."

"I know you're not." Max retorted, side-eyeing his son, "but you also hardly see your grandfather, don't go pestering him." He added, before opening the door. Dimitri glanced up from where he was putting a book away and sighed in exasperation, "Talking to your son about manners when you can't knock on the damn door." He muttered, "hello, Maxie."

Dimitri laughed warmly, hugging back, "Whatever you want to do, Maxie." He said warmly, as Max rolled his eyes, waving before teleporting away.

Maxie looked up at him with big, excited eyes. "Deda! I brought you something!" Maxie said excitedly, taking the backpack off his back and opening it to hand his grandfather a folder. "I was really excited about spending time with you," he admitted, face turning a bright shade of red as he straightened up and zipped his backpack back up.

"I've been practicing haikus. I hope you like them! Everyone in the family is represented by a page full of haikus."

"That's very cool. Thank you." Dimitri murmured, beginning to read them, "you're very talented kiddo. I should show you some Russian poets. You might enjoy it." He said, reading another, "I'll have to sit down to read them. But for now, what do you want to do?"

Maxie beamed. "I'd love to see them!" He chirped excitedly. Then he slowly calmed down to consider the question. "What about um..." he frowned, unable to come up with anything. "I dunno," he confessed, face turning a shade of pink.

Dimitri laughed warmly, "You're so different from your father." He mused, "He was such a surly child... what do you normally like to do?"

Maxie giggled. "Yeah, I can only imagine," he joked, face turning pink at the comment. "Um... I usually like to read and write, but I'd like to do something a little more... proactive?" He said, tilting his head at his grandfather. "What do you like to do, Deda?"

"Well, when I'm not reading, I enjoy drinking and relaxing. But, you're a bit too young for that." Dimitri said, amused, "I'll admit I enjoy shooting, for target practice. Ah... talking. Traveling. I enjoy the ballet and opera, like your father."

"Oh, come on, Deda! I'm 3/4 vampire! It's not like I can get drunk," Maxie argued, trying to seem innocent while also arguing about drinking alcohol with his grandfather.

Dimitri raised an amused eyebrow, "Be that as a may. And while I am sure you've had drinks before, I highly doubt your mother would appreciate me doing that."

Maxie pouted at that but finally moved to sit on the couch. "Maybe we could have some blood and talk then?" He offered, not really sure what else to do.

"Now, that we can do." Dimitri agreed, "do you want to sit in here, or sit outside? Or the kitchen?"

"In here would be nice," Maxie replied easily with a smile as he looked around the room.

"Alright." Dimitri agreed, "go ahead and get comfortable. I'll pour us some blood." Dimitri said, going over to his bar area and opening a little hidden fridge that had blood and other drinks. He poured them each a glass, handing one to his grandson, "so what would you like to talk about?"

Maxie happily took it, glancing up at his grandfather, not really sure what to say. "Um... I'm curious... what were you and dad's mother like as kids?" He asked, tilting his head curiously.

"My sister, Maxie's mom, was..." he paused, "she could be serious. But, she was also incredibly kind. Loving. She loved her husband and your father a lot." He paused again, "I was always more serious, as the oldest. I could be somewhat like your father... but I met my wife and I... mellowed. Softened."

Maxie stared at him intently while he listened, taking small sips from the glass and let out a soft sigh. "I would have loved meeting her... both of them," he said quietly, looking sad as he gazed at the older vampire.

"Deda, what do you miss most about being married?" He asked suddenly, shifting slightly.

"They would have adored you." Dimitri said softly, with a sad smile. "Ah, marriage... I miss all the little things. My wife was one of my best friends. My partner. She helped... guide me into a better path."

Maxie looked urgently at his grandfather, hearing the sadness in his voice. "I can be your best friend!" He offered, eyes intense. "I... I can be a good influence and show you that you are loved and a good man!"

Dimitri laughed heartily, "Thank you, Vnuk." He murmured, "I'd like that. Though, there are some things it's best to keep you away from, dear boy."

Maxie tilted his head, blinking up at his grandfather. "What do you mean?" He asked curiously, green eyes wide. "Like what, Deda? You're such a kind man! You wouldn't let anything hurt me."

Dimitri seemed surprised by this; not having realized how in the dark his grandson was. "Ah." He began sipping his blood, and suddenly wishing for something stronger. "Well, Vnuk. Maxie." He began rubbing his chin, thinking. "My work, and your father's, is... complicated. And not always the safest."

Maxie blinked up at his grandfather, still obviously not understanding. "What do you mean?" He asked cluelessly. "You wouldn't hurt a fly! Or is it because you protect people and bad people want to hurt you?"

“That is part of it.” He agreed, “there are bad people that can come. But we do business wit-” he began, speaking carefully. But he was cut off by the door slamming open and a man bursting in, “Boss, the Búraló killed one of our informants. What do we-” he began, fading out when he realized who was with Dimitri.

Dimitri shot him a withering look before speaking in rapid Russian, “Find Anton. Talk to him. Go.” He said curtly, unsure of how much Russian Maxie understood. Bowing, the man left quickly, leaving grandfather and grandson alone.

Maxie stared after the man. Everything happened so fast... he glanced over at his grandfather with big, questioning eyes and blinked a couple of times. "Um... people die at your job?" He asked, tone uneasy.

Suddenly, so many things started clicking together and he started to play with his hair as he thought about so many different little things he'd been oblivious to in the past with his father. And even with his mother, though she didn't-

"Wait... does mum work for your company?" He asked suddenly, remembering a conversation his parents had had once when they thought he wasn't listening.

Dimitri sighed, rubbing his face, "I would think your parents would've told you more." He confessed, "But, yes. People die in this work." He confirmed slowly, "and your mother does work for the company, but at the bar with Anton, who I think you've met?"

"Yes, I've met Anton..." Maxie said slowly, eyeing his grandfather warily. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but closed it quickly to go back to playing with his hair, then took a drink from his blood. He sighed quietly. "So... dad could die...?" He asked, getting more to the point of his question. "You could die?" He added, sounding more and more uneasy with every question.

Dimitri stared, then sighed, standing to go to the cabinet and poured them each a drink–whiskey for himself, and some white rum for his grandson. He handed the glass to the boy, kneeling in front of him, "We aren't going to die, Maxie." He said, "but, yes, I won't lie. Our work is dangerous. Complicated. But we are very good at what we do. We–and your whole family–are safe."

Maxie's face went bright red as he stared at his grandfather, barely even noticing the glass he held out to him. "But... what if you do?" He asked quietly, trying not to seem as emotional about it as he felt. "What if something happens? Or someone slips up? It only takes once to-" he cut himself off to stare at the glass, which he finally took.

"We won't." Dimitri promised. "I don't know how to convince you otherwise, but I swear we won't die, Maxie." He vowed, "and if you have questions, I'll answer anything, if it can put you at ease."

Maxie frowned as he drank some of the rum and thought about what to ask. "I don't know what I could possibly ask you to convince me nothing will happen," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry." Dimitri said softly, "I had no idea your parents didn't tell you anything. With your father always working odd hours, I thought..." he trailed off, "but truly, I promise. We will always be there for you. We won't leave you."

Maxie looked bashful as he stared down at his glass, then slowly scooted closer til he rested his cheek on his grandfather's shoulder. "You swear?" He asked quietly, gripping the glass hard enough that it was struggling not to shatter under his grip.

"I swear." Dimitri said quietly, rubbing his back, "watch the glass."

Maxie quickly loosened his grip and took another sip. "Um... can we talk about something else?" He asked sheepishly.

"Of course." Dimitri agreed, "whatever you want. How's school? Your friends?"

"They're good," Maxie said vaguely, looking stressed. "Um... what book were you reading when we came in?" He asked.

#my writing #friends writing #val's writing #val's ocs #my ocs #maxie #max preston jr #max jr #maximillian preston jr #creative writing #my roleplay #family roleplay #family scene #grandfather & grandson

[lanasaved]

cue me, clanking noisily at a nearby manhole as i attempt to scrabble my way bk out of the sewer like the stinky little rat tht i am. enchanté, ghouls! some of u might remember me (nai/from manchester so i pronounce things like a gallagher brother n i’m profusely sry abt it) bt if nt i hd to drop off the face of the Earth rp wise fr a hot minute there bt now im bk n i couldn’t resist reviving lana so???? here we r. u kno the drill more abt her under the cut!!

( cis-female ) haven’t seen LANA JAMESON around in a while. the KRISTINE FROSETH lookalike has been known to be (+) VIVACIOUS & (+) ALLURING, but SHE can also be (-) UNRELIABLE & (-) CARELESS. The 22 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in BALLET. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/ha/the beast from split. )

some random aesthetics: a red water pistol topped up with caribbean rum and covered in stickers of cartoon pin up girls, a vinyl record whirring silently because you got too distracted by a stranger’s hands to reach over and flip sides, giant inflatable flamingos floating in the aftermath of a pool party, smudgy lipstick kisses left like an autograph on someone else’s mirror

SO i think in terms of explainin where she’s been fr the past month i’m gna say tht she didn’t rly.... tell a lot of ppl??? probably only a select few bt to others im guessin she was pretty vague bc she hates discussin anythin serious/personal. anyway essentially she’s been back @ home helpin her brother out n i won’t elaborate much more bc im a thot

frm this point on ive jst pasted her old intro bc im the laziest woman alive n that’s jst life Babey

she’s local to the ny area i jst havent decided where exactly she grew up tbh. probably somewhere upstate

okay so her mum is an old money socialite / three time campaign model way back when n her dad is a big record label mogul. he owns a label called jameson records n they repped a few rly big rock bands back in the eighties, altho they’re mostly known for ‘poppy injects’ whose lead singer had a big heroin scandal tht brought down his career. lana p much grew up around musicians snorting lines instead of spooning down cereal fr breakfast n her parents were v much absent her whole life

they’re pretty well off obviously n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst.... a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pastel coloured fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her. it was v clear that she was an accident after her older brother caleb n that even when they just had him alone they weren’t cut out for parenthood. they always kind of jst… ignored her n hoped she’d go away. she had to mke herself microwave meals when she ws only like 12 bc they’d forget to get her anything. once she went like 6 days without her mum even looking her in the eyes once

despite this tho!!! she’s always been insanely close w her brother caleb. he’s her whole world. thts why when he decided to sign up to the army she ws understandably scared bt supported him regardless. bt then he wound up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed his best friend die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home n he was never the same n lana kind of felt like he’d died out there too. he’s in n out of hospital a lot n it’s rly hard on her bt she doesn’t tlk abt it to anyone rly

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. jst literally…. knew everyone n everyone definitely knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character

she’s always been insatiably spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

anyway so after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. in fact she’s so… shameless in her endeavours tht she’s actually currently having an affair w her ballet instructor tanya who’s engaged to b married

she also currently? is working as a cam girl. she found this website bc she trawls… porn stuff a lot n she wound up applying to work as one bc she thought it’d b fun n wld earn her some disposal income (even tho she frankly doesn’t need it bc she’s already well off). the guy tht manages all of the girls on the site is kind of suspect n it’s a whole plot i’m gna unravel where it’s actually like the front for a cult or something wild so. stay posted ig. kgjdkgjh

new development!!!!!!!! cue me trottin around doin jazz hands. she’s actually been cut off by her dad so she’s….. living off the money she has left n has to look to find a job which is jst. a nightmare fr someone like lana bc she’s insatiably irresponsible n destined to be fired from anything she tries to hold down bt. it’ll be interesting bc this means she genuinely has to keep on camming even tho she’s starting not to want to any more bc of other circumstances i won’t elaborate on jst yet winks

personality/some fun facts: uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. her fav book as a child used to b alice in wonderland n she’d fantasise abt having her own little wonderland too where everyone knew her name n asked her things n took her on adventures. at the time it didn’t rly strike her how evident it was tht that was bc she was so lonely. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s strawberry laces or gummy bears or cherry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. wildflowers r her favourites bc they’re the brightest and u can’t buy them. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

plot ideas: exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. let’s get wildt!

#water:intro #inhales a deep breath before slappin down these tws #theyr all only briefly touched upon / vague bt! jst to be sure #rape tw #statutory rape tw #abuse tw #ptsd tw #hospitalisation tw #hypersexuality tw #death tw #mental illness tw #drugs tw #also im literally 2 lazy to finish doin her blog so if u click on the pages n r shocked by the barren findings then i jst. i jst dnt kno #wht to tell u

[eerythingisshaka]

Pt. 2: The Wine Down

(M’Baku x Black!OC)

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 1

A/N:This is a continuation of my Day 24 Fictober prompt.  I recommend going back to that if you want to enjoy this fully!  This will be a short little series, probably five chapters or less.  Let’s just see how it goes!

When Gina trotted backstage, wiping her brow elated, her friend Chandra was beaming at her.

“Ok!  We got a full session tonight!  Good job!”  

They shared a high five as she primped her makeup.  “Yeah, and the funny thing is, it was a guy I knew actually.”

Chandra stared at Gina suspiciously.  “Uh-huh, is he gonna be a problem or…”

Gina waves her off.  “No!  At least I don’t think so, I just met him today anyway.”

Chandra scoffs.  “If this don’t sound like some stalker shit, then I don’t know what is!  You meet a guy and a few hours after that he is showing up at your job?”

Gina takes a sip of water, rolling her eyes.  “It’s not like that!  Listen, let me do my rounds out here really quick and I’ll tell you all about it, ok?”

Gina got herself ready to serve patrons out in the lobby drinks and snacks as they played pool and lounged before and after a show.  She could here the raucous crowd as she began to step from behind the curtains of the dressing room and it was a boisterous crowd indeed.  A bunch of well dressed and rowdy Black men scattered about the room with cigars talk to one another in pockets of conversation.  Before Gina could make her way to the bar area, she saw him.  

He was standing by a chair, bent over talking to a friend sitting down who seemed to have had more than he could handle.  Gina scurried back to the other side of the curtain, running into Chandra, heart threatening to pop right out of her chest.

“Damn, Gina!  What the hell is going on?”  She exclaims.

Gina fans her face as she sits down in agony.  “He is still here, right outside.”

Chandra trots to the curtain, peeking.  “Which one??  Looks like it’s a bachelor party!”

You describe his hulking build and appearance ad Chandra spots him.  “Oh ho ho.  Girl, he is beautiful.  Mm, filling.”

“Don’t be gross, Chandra, dang!”  Gina moans.

“What can I say?  That’s a meal that’ll stick to your bones, honey.  You got a good palate after all.  No way in hell you can go out there though, rules and shit.”

Gina nods.  “I know, and trust me I don’t want to.”

Chandra looks at Gina pitifully.  “If you wanna take off, you can.  I’ll let Dean and them know you weren’t feeling good or something.”

Gina gets up to hug Chandra gratefully.  Chandra was a grad student in the physical therapy field.  She wanted to help children who suffered from debilitating illness and traumatic events push through their disabilities to live normal lives.  So, in the end, they had a lot in common being two working girls hustling for an education.  Before Gina started at the club, she prayed she wouldn’t find herself in a Player’s Club type of situation, but thankfully things never were like that for her, especially with Chandra’s guidance.

“Thanks, Chan.  I owe you one for real.”  Gina changes herself into some regular clothes before making her way to the back exit, and out of the door.

A  couple days later, after hours upon hours of studying, Gina was ready to take her microbiology exam.  The lecture hall was fullest at this time naturally, but long as she had a seat, that test was going to go down with a TKO.  And she was sure of herself when she walked out, having completed it.  She put in enough time where the test almost felt like she wrote it herself.  The answers just flowed from her onto the bubbles on her scantron and she felt better than ever for its completion.  It was time to celebrate.

After a much needed nap, Gina woke up in the evening to head over to the store.  She had a How to Get Away with Murder marathon waiting, and all she needed was some drink to wash all those ridiculous Final Destination-like plot twists down.

Heading to the liquor section, Gina perused the categories of Vodka, Rum, Brandy, Beer, and all the wine varieties before settling on a semi-sweet red that was locally made.  The price wasn’t bad, so she got another one in a sweet white before heading around to the register.

Then came the collision.

Gina tensed up as she came into contact with a big figure, nearly dropping her bottle out of her basket.

“Oh!  Sorry, I didn’t s-”

The figure started to apologize and the voice was very recognizable to Gina as she looked up at him and saw his face, appearing to have seen a ghost with that kind of expression.

Silence fell between them as their eyes locked on one another, not saying anything but saying everything that was spinning around in their minds.  When his eyes fell out of focus, Gina shuffled her weight, preparing to leave.

“It’s nothing, thanks.”  Gina muttered as she walked around M’Baku.

“Wait!”  He calls out.  

Gina stops, cursing under her breath as she turns around.  “Yeah?”

M’Baku looked around nervously, walking up to Gina with a half smile.  “Do you not remember me?”

Gina could’ve fallen through the floor at that moment and it would’ve been a nicer situation than her current one.  “Listen, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’m-”

“The produce aisle?  With the viruses and disease, right?”  M’Baku says slowly and expectantly.

Gina closed her eyes, exhaling sharply.  His politeness was barely making this easier as she kicked herself for her past brazenness.

“Riiiight….still, I’m kind of in a hurry, so…”

“Have to pop those wines bottles in an ice bucket, I get it.”  M’Baku chuckles.  “But I’m sorry if I am overstepping.  It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable, we just had a nice conversation the other day.”

Gina stares him down.  “M’Baku, are you talking to me for THAT or for what you saw?”

M’Baku took a deep breath.  “I hoped you remembered my name.  It’s foreign to America’s standards, so that’s even better on you, Gina.”  

Gina scoffs.  “I’m glad you are impressed.  But so you know, something that does not impress me is a question not being answered.”  Gin turns on her heels to walk down the aisle.  

As she sets her items for self-checkout, M’Baku posts up at the checkout beside her.  “I didn’t want to be rude.  I figured I should not lead with...that as a part of us reintroducing ourselves, if we met again.”

Gina tries running the white wine across the bar code reader and it refuses to scan.  She sets it down frustratedly.  “Do you think I am ashamed of it?  That it is  secret life or something?”

M’Baku walks over to take the bottle of wine.  “Never said any of those things.”

“You didn’t have to, I can tell.”  Gina slides her card, grabbing the wine as the receipt prints.  M’Baku rings up the white wine without issue.  “I knew you were intelligent with your facts on foodborne illnesses, but I didn’t think you would be a fool when it comes to getting to know a person.”

Gina whipped around to M’Baku in shock.  “Is that what you think?  I’m foolish?  Then tell me, why exactly are you trying to talk to me if not for my club performance, huh?”  Gina crossed her arms waiting on bated breath for M’Baku to respond.

Calmly, he finished his transaction with the white wine, bagging it up.  “You are adorable when you find yourself to be right.  It was pleasing to watch when you discussed the fruits with me, discussed our backgrounds.  Made me feel I was christened by a Queen, even though your appearance was humble, I could tell that you held yourself in high regard.  I wanted so badly to know you more but the timing just wasn’t there, and I didn’t sense you would take my number, so I left it in Hanuman’s hands.”

“Hanuman?”  she asked.

“Oh, yes.  It is part of my religion, which I can go into depth more if you wanted to crack open this wine?”  M’Baku raised his eyebrows as he held to bottle out to her.

Gina pursed her mouth.  “I didn’t ask you to buy that for me.”

M’Baku groans.  “The amount of assumptions you make, I am surprised you are not a philosophy major!  Let me be nice to you, I have not brought up a single weird or out of place comment, and that will not happen if you would give me a chance.”

Gina took the bottle, looking at it as she mulled over the possibilities.  He was right, not once did he even bring up her stage performance, but that would come up eventually, no doubt.  He got the wine, but wasn’t expecting anything, though still she didn’t know him like that.  But she kept pepper spray and lived in an apartment with nosy neighbors and thin walls, so maybe this wouldn’t be a worst case scenario.  

“Ok, you have charmed me into submission!”  Gina says.

M’Baku kisses his teeth.  “I won’t go where I’m not wanted.  I don’t force myself where I m not allowed entry.  So please, enjoy your wine, I’ll be on my way.”  

As he walks off, Gina calls to him.  “What?  Wait!  I thought you wanted to come over!”

M’Baku continues to walk out of the automatic door.  Gina stands there frustrated a moment before taking off after him.

“M’Baku!  Hang on a second, will you!”  

He stops at his car to unlock the doors before turning to her.  “Yes, Ms. Gina?”

She huffs as she takes her phone out clumsily while balancing the bottles.  “Let me at least get your number so I can get back with you...”

M’Baku smirks as he takes the bottles from her, holding them easily under his meaty arms as he typed.  Giving the phone back, Gina looked it over before putting it away.

“I texted you, so…”  Gina mutters in a low voice.

M’Baku stands against his car holding the wine.  “You know, you are a good dancer, technically.  Good control.”

“Annnd there it is!”  Gina says laughing.

M’Baku shrugs.  “It does not influence my desire to know you, however.  I wondered what you may think of me, being a patron!  It was my first time at something like that, the groom and best man had covered us to be able to enjoy ourselves fully for the night, and needless to say I maxed out.”

Gina smiles, looking at her feet.  “I know, I saw the party afterwards.  I snuck out early so I wouldn’t run into you.”

“Yet here we are…but you probably have readings to do and the like, so...”  M’Baku says, studying her face intensely.  Gina got a vibe from him that pulled her closer, she wanted to know more about this foreign man who was taken with her.  Plus it warmed her for him to have  remembered her name, her studies, and not taking her shit.  She had already had her nap, so she was far from tired.

“I actually, just finished an exam, so I’m on a break!”

M’Baku smiles genuinely.  “I’m sure you did well.”

“I know I did, like taking candy from a baby.”  Gina clears her throat.  “So, if anything tonight could be a good night to...hang out?  I just wanted to chill, so if you're cool with boring, you can come by.”

M’Baku stands up from his car, hands folded in front of him as he stands right in front of Gina, looking down at her pleasantly.  “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Masterlist

#m'baku x oc #m'baku imagine #m'baku fanfic #black panther fanfic #shakafic

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Second-hand Negotiations 11/28

Michaux Vidal jerks his head up quickly as the door suddenly opens, while under his desk, a hand moves instinctively toward a hidden dagger. But then he hears Lebeaux's voice and sees the blinding white figure before him, and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I though I'd locked that," he comments before rising. "This is an unexpected visit. Come to inspect my equally abysmally uninspired apartment?" His tone is playful, and he's smiling now, despite his momentary shock.

Lebeaux Desrosiers sniffed mildly in distaste as he smoothed the lapels of his coat. Enjoying being a glimmering beacon of white in an otherwise dark room. “How charming, you’ve decorated it rather like your natural habitat. All it’s missing is stalagmites.” He teased lightly as he closed the door behind himself and made his way over to the desk. “I have indeed. As well as to keep you abreast of the brewing situation that may or may not end in your death.” Lebeaux also set a small paperbox down on the desk. “Since you don’t seem to fancy sweets. These are spiced rice crackers from Kugane. They may be more to your taste.” At least he’d brought a gift to go along with the bad news.

"If you think this place looks like a cave, you should see my room at Scho-- I mean, the Dove Roost. All stone, just one window, and even more books. If I could put stalagmites and stalactites in there, I probably would." Then again, Lebeaux probably shouldn't go anywhere near the Dove Roost right now, given that Solenne is currently living there. Bad, bad idea. Michaux walks around the edge of the desk, letting the fingers of his left hand trail lightly over the wooden surface as he moves. He smells of greenery and earth today, clearly having spent at least part of his morning in the field. His hair is wind-tousled, and he's clearly dressed for field work. He days Lebeaux's mention of the business that could result in his death with an almost placid air, as if he's used to finding himself in such situations. Which would be true. "Very well, let's hear it." But then he's distracted by the box. He reaches for it, opens it, and eyes its contents. "That's surprisingly thoughtful of you."

Lebeaux tilted his head thoughtfully. “That sounds miserable.” Both the dark, stone room and the fact that it was in the same building as Idristan and Solenne. “I’ve spent far too much of my life in dark, cold stone rooms I will pass on that.” He offered cheerfully, folding his arms lightly across his chest.  He smiled serenely as Michaux accepted the offering. “Leon has chosen to change the terms of our arrangement. It isn’t enough for you to simply stay out of his way.” Lebeaux explained calmly as he leaned lightly against the desk. “There are two options. You remain out of Kugane for the foreseeable future, until Leon gets himself killed specifically. Or you perform a task that has not yet been set to prove your obedience and willing to do as I say.”

Michaux Vidal hums. Fair enough about the dark, cold stone rooms. he's seen enough of Ishgard to almost lose his own taste for stone. His expression darkens at the mention of Leon's name. "I can try to stay out of Kugane, but I can't make promises. And Leon could still kill me over here. Or have one of his spies do it for him. According to Solenne, there aren't many places I could go to escape his reach. Or his master's reach, more accurately." He sighs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "What task does he want me to perform to prove my obedience? He must have mentioned something."

Lebeaux reached up to remove his hat and set it down on the Duskwight’s desk. “Unpleasant conversations are best had over tea or brandy.” He suggested calmly. “Both would be the preferred method.” He suggested as he strode past Michaux, reaching out to trail fingers lightly along the other’s smooth chin, before helping himself to one of the nearby seats. “Your hospitality matches your décor.” He teased lightly as he settled in.

Michaux huffs, but his subtle smile returns. "So both Daijiro and Iskandar tell me." He walks to the cabinet and pulls out a half-full bottle of brandy. It isn't quite top shelf stuff, but still a decent Ishgardian vintage. He touches his fingers briefly to the teapot to reheat the tea within, and pours a cup for Lebeaux. He sets it upon a tray along with the brandy, cream and sugar, and carries it to him. Since there is no table in his makeshift sitting area, he sets the tray on a pile of books. He then realizes he forgot to include a spoon, so he goes back for one. He definitely needs to working on this host thing. "There," he finally sighs, flopping into the chair beside Lebeaux. "Enjoy."

Lebeaux waited patiently for the tea to be prepared and brought over. His pale gaze drifting over some of the titles on the shelves around him. Once it was served he took his time adding in generous amounts of sugar, cream and brandy. He held the tea in his lap, stirring lightly as he finally turned his attention back to Michaux. “Your presence has been requested at the interrogation of a Ruby Sea sailor. I negotiated for control over the time and the place in an effort to ensure no traps would be laid for us, but the entire situation hinges on your cooperation.” He explained calmly, smiling all the while. “I’m sure he desire that you use your dark arts to pry the truth from her.”

Lebeaux would find mostly history books on the wall, neatly organized by category and author, but there's a substantial and growing section devoted to books on magic. Some of the titles in both sections are rather controversial, especially among the magical works. But none are actually illegal to own. Those books are locked away somewhere in the Dove Roost. Michaux's expression grows darker as Lebeaux lays out the facts of the situation, and finally he rises in agitation and walks back to to the cabinet. A bottle of Limsan rum soon emerges. "Of it would be that. He would demand I do something that he knows I'll refuse to do. He just wants an excuse to kill me, doesn't he?" He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and then he walks back to his chair and drops into it with a groan. He starts drinking his rum straight from the bottle.

Lebeaux at least pretended to be civilized enough to be drinking tea, even if the majority of the cup he brought to his own lips was brandy. ”Yes, well. It’s a rather difficult situation all around.” He agreed. “He is demanding that this is the price you pay to continue living. Though should you bend this once to his whims there is really nothing to stop him from using this ploy over and over again.”

Michaux unconsciously places a hand over his lower belly where Leon stabbed him. He still starts awake at night sometimes, thinking that he's been stabbed again, or worse, that it's Lebeaux, or Pahja, or Idristan, Sollenne, or Adeya who has been nailed to a wall. His eyes fall shut briefly. "So it sounds like my choices are to be on high alert for another attack for the rest of my life - and hope Leon doesn't decide to target my loved ones instead - or get ready to compromise everything I believe in and act as his puppet for the foreseeable future." He blinks his eyes open and raises them to Lebeaux's face. "Not much of a choice, is it?"

Lebeaux tilted his head and his brows soon followed suit. Summoning up a fair imitation of ‘sympathetic’. Though still his sharp, chilly eyes watched the Duskwight carefully. Inspecting his body language in addition to the words he was saying. “You would know him better than I would.” The Ishgardian noted before a slow sip of his brandied tea. “How ruthless or true to his word he is. If I were in his position, I would wring you for all you were worth. Yet he seems to despise you, despite realizing there is some value there. Perhaps being utterly repugnant to him would be enough to discourage frivolous favors. You tell me.” He mused thoughtfully.

Michaux snorts at Lebeaux's offhanded remark about what he would do to him in Leon's position. "I've no doubt you would, but you wouldn't hate me for the same reasons. It's that hatred that really makes this tricky. I think he wants to kill me, and he's already demonstrated that he's capable of it. If I turn out to be useful after all and he's forced to let me live, he'll probably do his best to torture me with increasingly unpleasant 'interrogations' until I can't stand it anymore. Then my usefulness will be gone and he'll be permitted to get rid of me." He takes another swig of rum and rubs his forehead. "I'm already repugnant to him, I think. Because I'm a Duskwight, and I'm proud of it, and I've immersed myself in my clan's history. I'm happy with who I am. Leon detests Duskwights, and yet, according to Solenne's intel, he's half Duskwight himself. I bet he can't bear the fact that I'm all right with being a complete abomination when he's mortified by being half of one."

Lebeaux frowned slightly as he considered Leon. Race amongst elezen was a more trivial matter in Ishgard, save for a few jokes about a certain High House’s tendency to dig themselves into trouble, rather literally. “How amusing. He looks more a Duskwight than several actual Duskwights I have met.” He mused with a low chuckle. Shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Nonetheless. I’ve nothing he wants so I am unable to influence this transaction much save for warn you when I hear of a new turn of events.” He smiled thoughtfully upwards. “And in that matter, if I were he, I would likely feed me false information to flush you out into the open where you could be more easily disposed of.” He chuckled quietly at the thought of it. “Any roads. I have laid the matter in your hands. Now it is your decision what you will do with it.”

Michaux is starting to eye Lebeaux rather uncomfortably. "Stop planning how you would control or kill me. I'm starting to get nervous." He drinks a bit more rum as he thinks over all Lebeaux has told him. Then he sets his bottle down and rises. "I've been given two options, and I like neither of them." He disappears around the edge of a bookshelf, and the doors of his wardrobe can be heard opening and shutting. Then he returns, carrying the beautifully ornate wakizashi across his palms, complete with its original scabbard. Now that it's been cleaned up a bit, it looks more like a work of art than a weapon. Who knows how much Leon actually spent on it, but it must have been a grand sum indeed. "I will choose a third option and kill Leon with his gift to me, as I promised."

@secrets-and-aetherlight

#lebeaux #michaux #leon #ominous foreshadowing

[piritskenyer]

Science officer M1. C. Kort, personal log, entry 1011

I am slightly inebriated. The Human crew has finally accepted me as a member of the crew, despite me only being on an observation mission. To celebrate this, some of the marines and seamen have invited me to “drink”. I thought they were talking about simple rehydration, but I was quickly reminded that Humans consume ethanol (and other mind altering substances) for recreational purposes. The terms seem to be interchangeable somehow.  When I entered the mess hall, I was cheered for some reason, and someone shouted “Kort, you are right on time, it’s happy hour!” to which someone reacted “It’s always happy hour, you retarded cunt!”. A minor verbal exchange ensued, to which I feared there would be a violent incident, but all that happened was that a group of Seamen (I found out they are also called “sailors”) and a group of Marines were exchanging verbal abuse and challenging each other to a “drinking contest” (the point of the excercise is to ingest the highest possible amount of ethanol while remaining conscious. There seem to be no physical price awarded for this activity). Before I realised what had been happening, Iwas shoved into a seat and Staff Sargeant Elektra Mobal jumped on top of the table and screamed “Alright you ingrate shits, it’s Kort’s birthday, you better pay the fuck up”. I was confused and asked her what she meant to which Lieutenant Ariadne Kistev explain to me that Humans, registering every single revolution of their planet around their star keep records of an individual’s life cycle and use it as a reference point to determine maturity, unlike us who use the Horm test to determine that. I hadn’t realised, but they were actually right, it was actually 40 revolutions of Raydan around our star since I hatched. Before I knew it, there were literally 32 small containers, called “shot glasses”, in front of me, each containing what they called “hard alcohol” (which seems to mean 30% or above v/v% concentration) of different kinds. They were all synthesised on board by the drink dispenser, but they all had different names: yaeger, a black liquid, vodka, a clear liquid, “white rum” another white liquid, “dark rum” an yellowish.brown liquid (which supposedly bears kinship to the previous liquid), palinka and schnaps, both clear liquids I could make no difference between, but Lance Corporal Fekete and Machinist’s mate, first class Honecker swore they were nothing alike. There was also “Ouzo” to which Private, First Class Sarakis said was unrivaled, but Sargeant Bouchard came up with “Pastis” that seemed to have the exact same composition. Chief Torpedoman Higgins approached me with a clear liquid he called “Moonshine” while the rest of the crew was laughing and calling him “fucking redneck” (a nickname that I found quite disrespectful but that he seemed to shrug off and even take pride in). I drank everything the Humans gave me, despite knowing full well, it is qualified as poison. My sense of balance has regressed, but I can still walk. The people present were cheering me on as I was consuming the “shots” (they apparently called them that way because of how they have to be gotten over with like a shot to the head - a clear example of their dark humour tied to death and suicide), and I think, I am not sure, that I have earned a macabre sense of respect for having been able to drink the poison they gave me without losing consciousness. Apparently 32 (+5) shots are a lot.  To my utmost shock, the ship’s commander and first officer stopped by the mess hall to drink with me, as seemingly “gaining years” remains important in human society even after reaching percieved maturity. They both wished me a long and full life, I assume tat is a standard “birthday” greeting. Before I knew it, the people present split to two groups, “sailors” (Seamen) and “rocking horses” (Marines) and started shouting insults and taunts at each other. They also started singing songs where one group would start a verse and then stop and leaving the other to finish. I cannot describe it any other way but this: It was a display of love between two groups divided by the pride of rivalry. After they had consumed enough ethanol (and some other substances) the two groups playfought, where they stood at the two ends of the mess hall, and then ran at each other. when the two groups met, some rolled on the floor hugging each other laughing, while others would be grappling on bigger counterparts only to be shaken off. This playfight was interrupted by the appearence of Major Henriksdotir, commander of the Marine contingent on the ship, at which point everyone, no matter how drunk, just stood upright, silent and unmoving (I am told that is the state of “standing at attention”) until Major Henriksdotir said “Fuck off, don’t stop on my account” at which point all of the Humans standing in perfect stillness and silence just collapsed to the floor laughing. The Major came to me to drink for my birthday. She deprated after having a single shot, stating that she had to “keep her head” (another one of those strange Earthling expressions) because she was on watch. I got away from the drinking after most of the company present had been overcome with ethanol stupor and were in stasis emitting strange noises on the floor of the mess hall. I am going to conclude this log entry with the statement that we should probably stop thinking of Humans as bloodthirsty, as they seem to have enhanced bonding reactions under the influence of ethanol.

PS: I am told that the substance called “yaeger” is written as “Jäger” and the full name is “Jägermeister”

EDIT: This is a note I am adding two days after the events described above. I am told by SSg Mobal that Ethanol may influence humans differently. It would enhance whatever their current emotion, namely if angry, would make them more aggressive and destructive either towards themselves or others, if cheerful, it would make them happier, if sad it would make thm suicidal or angry as in the first point.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space vikings #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians

[grimoiresontape]

Ritual Magic at the Museum of Witchcraft

I returned from the UK at the end of last week after attending the annual Museum of Witchcraft and Magic conference in Boscastle, Cornwall. The conference, which I attended last year, continues to grow from strength to strength. This year's theme was Ritual Magic, and the range of talks delivered really showcased how a great title like this allows speakers to bring a refreshing variety of approaches to such a topic.  This also linked the conference to the current exhibition “Dew of Heaven: Objects of Ritual Magic” running until October 31st 2018.

As always, there is so much to be said, and so I am just going to summarise some of my favourite papers. I apologise to any speakers who feel I have grossly misinterpreted their key points. Any errors or over-emphases are mine and mine alone!

Dan Harms' talk, A Liverpool Cunning Man and his Magical Manual, took us into the eccentric consultation room of William Dawson Bellhouse, a nineteenth-century "surgeon, professor, and astrologer" whose cunning craft was melded with Bellhouse's interest in Galvanism and the potentially therapeutic effects of (hopefully mild!) electric shock treatments. Charting those bizarre overlaps of medicine and entertainment, Bellhouse's magical practice seems a fascinating admixture of the techniques and services of traditional English cunning folk and the instrumentations of the new sciences. Of particular interest to me was the rundown of the library of one technically unnamed cunning man operating in the area whom Harms seems sure refers to Bellhouse himself. The books used by this nineteenth-century practitioner should be very familiar to the early modernist and those interested in this kind of British folk magic: Agrippa's Three Books, the Fourth Book, Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, Hiebner's Mysterium Sigillorum and a whole host of charms only thus far found in manuscripts. Dan ended by sharing an incredibly detailed list of ingredients and instructions for constructing a witch-bottle which - beyond the usual urine and pins - included dragon's blood, "devil's dung" (i.e. asafoetida), and other choice materia magica. You can listen to the whole talk right here.

My other highlight of the first day was undoubtedly Peter Grey's poetic reflection The Shining Land: Ritual Magic in Cornwall. Not content to simply be a report on what makes some kind of "authentic Cornish magic", Grey's narrative exposed the very modern folly of such an attempt at constructing such an authenticity at the expense of the actual storied, cross-sectioned, and re-storied history of that land. More than a summary of all the magical things of Cornwall - and there are undoubtedly many! - it was a profoundly moving and potent meditation on the importance of place and the land in any magical practice. Those familiar with Grey's Apocalyptic Witchcraft should hardly be surprised by this, but the manners in which engagements with terroir were modeled in this piece were especially inspiring. I was personally delighted to discover Paracelsus' work in Cornish mining communities directly fed into his Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, and to hear Peter's rendition of the Prayer of the Gnomes - a prayer I use heavily in my geomantic consultations - was a particular treat.

The evening's entertainment came in the form of my dear friend and Golgothan co-host Jesse Hathaway Diaz of Wolf & Goat giving an extended and interactive presentation on Quimbanda. As precisely no-one familiar with Jesse and his work was surprised to discover he effortlessly introduced this Afro-Brazilian witch-cult, grounded it in its historical and social contexts, before going onto explore the influence and contribution of European grimoires to this particular melting-cauldron of a necromantic tradition. There was singing, a lot of laughter, some shocked gasps, and plenty of excited chatter about it all in the bar afterwards. As is only proper.

It is said on this night that candlelight filled the afterhours Museum and the sound of rum-fueled carousing might have been caught on the wind. But who can say...

My two favourite papers delivered the following and already-upon-us final day of the conference were undoubtedly those of Tim Landry and Peter Mark Adams. Anthropologist Tim Landry gave an absolute tour-de-force in his presentation Willful Things: Sorcery and Encountering Ritual Magic in West Africa and Beyond. The task ahead of him - of introducing and contextualising the key epistemological and ontological differences between a European approach to magic and a West African approach to those activities and engagements sometimes characterised as equivalent - was not straightforward. Yet Tim demonstrated both great depth and clarity of analysis in presenting how West African modalities of sorcery impact on everything from basic social provisions to efforts to protect endangered species. Ending his talk on a definite high, Dr Landry posited that to examine this material and these practices responsibly we should move away from considering ritual magic as the manipulation of some emanated symbols in a (Neo)Platonic idealist universe, and towards a recognition of sorcerous potency in that which could be biologically dead but still ontologically alive. That, moreover, we benefit from considering ritual magic less as dealing in symbols, and more in terms of entering into relationships with non-human persons. I could not have applauded harder and more vehemently.

My final favourite was Peter Mark Adams' wonderful presentation on the Sola Busca tarocchi deck. While I have a copy of his excellent Game of Saturn, I must admit I have not worked my way through its entirety: this paper definitely highlighted the broader, deeper, and more practical utilities of his voluminous research into this elite Renaissance Italian Saturnine cult. Adams' work indicating and assessing the history and utility of ritual gesture alone was worth the price of admission, and his case-studies of but a few of the beautiful cards of this deck were so captivating there was an audible room-wide sigh of disappointment that the ride was over when he announced his last slide. Peter's conception of different levels of analysis - the historical, the alegorical and the magical - "trapdooring" down into further levels of each other has certainly given me plenty of methodology to muse on in my own work.

And speaking of my own work, I was very pleased to be able to present my paper on Ritual Magic of Early Modern Geomancy. This essay combined specific and general attitudes. In the case of the former, I sought to make assessment of geomancy's specific sorcery, considering especially the talismanic and semiotic consequences and utilities of Agrippa's assessment that geomantic figures and their sigils fell "betwixt images and characters". In service of the other, more generalist goal of this paper, I attempted to ruminate more broadly on ritual magical interrelations of all forms of divination and operative sorcery: how categories of divination become tools of enchantment, and how the lots of fate can be not simply read but re-written.

Threading these various presentations together like pearls on a tightly woven cord was Judith Hewitt of the Museum staff, framing these talks within an ongoing and unfolding revelation of the relationship between the Museum's founder Cecil Williamson and the work and disciples of Aleister Crowley. Owing to a last minute cancellation, Judith stepping in to fill the dead air and actually got to present and develop some of her own notions and questions of how Williamson considered and used the Museum, and this kind of critical reflexivity upon the Museum's own alchemical and thoroughly magical existence and operation was a perfect conclusion to a wonderful and expertly run conference.

I will continue to recommend the conference to anyone who can get a ticket quick enough! Long may it continue to pull practitioners, scholars, and seekers together under its sign to share their thoughts, their secrets and their rum! Long may it continue selling the wind!

[worryingthing]

TYN 7/20

I am thankful for the mornings where Boris comes up on the bed and presses his flat face to mine, as if to give or receive kisses. I am thankful, always, to wake up in a bed with an animal, nestled and soft, a comfort that never loses its potency. I am thankful that spending time with four very different cats has shown me so much about affection: how it is shown, how it is received, how it is asked for and given. They each like things a certain way, and I am thankful to learn how and to be granted the trust and companionship of each of them.

I am thankful that I could go to bed and wake to that grey little fluff ball giving me soft kisses, and for the realization that I can sleep safely and soundly together. I am grateful for how happy D was this morning just to be cuddling for an extra while before he left for work. It is a revelation to bring someone that happiness, somehow, to be a part of the source of it. I am grateful to realize it’s ok to just sleep, and I owe nothing, and that my body is not only safe but loved and respected, and not just a means or an object. It will probably take me a while to really learn that, but waking into that realization was like stepping into the sun on a chilly day. Warming, liberating, heartening.

I am grateful that the man who came to fix the roof at least heard me protest from the bed that he couldn’t come in, so he didn’t walk in to find me in a state of undress and only under a sheet. I am thankful that is was funny and not harrowing, because I can imagine how that might have startled someone else. I am thankful I was aware there was an issue with the bit of roof outside the window, because I think that helped to mitigate the fear of a total stranger unlocking and walking into an apartment that isn’t even mine.

I am thankful for these notes, because at least it gets me to write, and I can sit down in the evening with a drink and not worry that any of it will actually be good or have a well rounded conclusion. I am thankful I can almost be in the midst of hot hurting tears, but then stop myself to do this, because giving thanks seems to calm me and force me away from a consuming bitterness. It could seem like gas-lighting myself in a way, but it doesn’t. I should feel worse, likely, but I don’t, and that’s miraculous and I am thankful for that, be it outside influence or general constitution, or who knows.

I am thankful for Lexapro, even when it kind of doesn’t work when I’m about to get my period, which is frustrating, but I am thankful for all the other days of the month that my mind isn’t eating itself with anxiety. It’s been two years now, and I am a different person, or I am myself with far less fear, if you can believe it.

I am thankful for yesterday, for compromising, for actually showing up to something my radio station was a part of because I have missed all the meetings due to a certain falling out. I am thankful D could come and we could stand on the roof of the station building, and that he thought the view looking towards Queens was just as nice or nicer that the one looking towards the city. I am thankful I could wear the silk dress I got on sale from Madewell that has little strawberries on it, and that the weather was perfect for it. I am thankful that the moment the wind completely blew the back of my dress up, nobody seemed to be looking or facing the direction of my mostly exposed ass.

I am thankful for free rum, because it’s sweet and nice, and taking a picture of my rum and coke on the roof reminded me of how I used to get coke or jack and coke on flights and how the light shown in from the windows and made the ice cubes and soda look cosmic. I am thankful because I remember seeing a photo or a painting someone did of this same thing, and it’s nice to think one of the thousands of people currently in the sky right now might be looking at their half soda glass with wonder at its glow and depth of color, too.

#tyn #july #thank you notes

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. What was the last Youtube video you watched? An ASMR video.

2. When was the last time you were bitten by an animal? What kind of animal was it? I have a teething puppy, but thankfully I haven’t been bit. Yet. My dad and brother have.

3. What was the last alcoholic beverage you consumed? I think it was a rum and Coke, but I’m not sure.

4. What was the last TV show you watched? Botched.

5. Where was the last place you worked? I’ve never had a job.

6. When was the last time you got something for free? What was it? Hmm. I don’t recall.

7. Where was the last place you drove to? I don’t drive. The last place I went in which someone else drove was Wal-Mart.

8. What kind of car was the last car you drove? My mom drives a Honda.

9. What was the last meal you cooked? How did it turn out? I don’t cook.

10. When you last went to the theater, what did you see? Beauty and the Beast.

11. When was the last time you crossed state lines? Where did you go and why did you go? Arizona to visit my grandparents.

12. When was the last time you left the country? Where & why? Almost 8 years ago when I went to Mexico.

13. What was the last band or artist you discovered? *shrug*

14. What was the last song/band/artist you listened to and didn’t enjoy? Hmm. I don’t know.

15. When was the last time you “jumped on the bandwagon,” and what was it? Hmmm, I feel like I definitely have an answer for this.. and I can’t think of it now. <<<< Same.

16. When was the last time you were kissed? Are you with that person? Almost four years ago. No, I definitely am not.

17. When was the last time you had sex/did something sexual? How was it? Never.

18. When was the last time you did something illegal? What did you do? I don’t know.

19. What was the last colour you dyed your hair? Red.

20. Tell me about the last thing you bought: Food and a chew toy for my pup.

21. When did you last try something new (i.e., a new food, a new activity, picked up a new hobby, etc.)? Hmm. It’s been awhile, I’m not sure.

22. When was the last time you locked your keys in your car or your house? How did you get back in? Several years ago I forgot my keys and was locked out of my house.

23. What was the last really chaotic thing to happen in your life? I’m really blanking in this survey, man.

24. When was the last time you got a ticket (if ever)? What was it for? I don’t drive.

25. When was the last time you rode on a plane/train/bus? Where were you going? The last time I rode on a plane was over 10 years ago.

26. Who was the last person you hung out with? My brother.

27. Who was the last person you told off or got really angry with? I was a little pissy about something my brother said yesterday.

28. What was the last concert you went to? Who did you see & how was it? Green Day ft. Franz Ferdinand.

29. When was the last time you were under the influence? What did you take & did anything interesting happen? I haven’t drank for about 4 years.

30. Who was the last person you messaged/emailed/IMed? I last text messaged my nana.

31. What was your last Halloween costume? A couple years ago I wore an Alice in Wonderland costume, but added a zombie twist.

32. What did you do for Christmas last year? How about for last New Year’s? Christmastime was a very hard time last year. I was really going through it health wise, but things really took a turn for the worst a couple days before Christmas and it happened so fast. The Friday before Christmas, my dog got sick. We didn’t think too much of it because she had a sensitive stomach, so she sometimes would have an upset stomach and would throw up her food. She would just take it easy for a day and then she’d be back to normal the next and all was fine. Well, that Saturday, Christmas Eve, she still wasn’t feeling well, but she was still up and around. She ate a little, but her appetite was off. She was still drinking water. We had family over for Christmas Eve dinner and I was sure she would feel better by that Sunday morning. Things took a turn for the worst so fast. Sunday was really bad. She couldn’t even get up and walk. She wouldn’t eat anything and towards the end of the day she wouldn’t even drink. She didn’t respond to her name or anything. It was a Sunday, Christmas Day, and there wasn’t any vet open to take her to. I was Googling her symptoms and thought that she would need to be hospitalized with IV and antibiotic treatment, but that she would pull through. I was refusing to believe that she wouldn’t despite how bad things had got. We were going to take her that Monday morning, but she passed away in the night. :( That day was one of the hardest days of my life. It really just all happened so fast and we don’t know what happened that caused her to get so sick and pass away unexpectedly. She seemed completely and 100% fine that Thursday before she got sick and then she was gone in a matter of two days.

33. What was the last thing you celebrated and who did you celebrate it with? Father’s Day with my dad and family.

34. Who was the last person you know to have something big happen to them (i.e., get engaged/married, have a baby, etc.)? It’s been awhile since anyone I know has had anything like that happen.

35. What was the last book you read? Did you enjoy it? I’m currently reading Chasing Polaris. I do enjoy it, but I’ve taken awhile to finish it because I haven’t been reading as much as I normally do.

36. What was the last movie you saw? Did you enjoy it? As far as a new movie, it was Beauty and the Beast. Yes, I enjoyed it very much.

37. Tell me about the last really cute thing you saw: My puppy, Leia.

38. When was the last time you did some kind of physical activity? What did you do? Does chasing after my puppy count? ha.

39. When was the last time you painted a room/house? I never have.

40. What was the last thing you made by hand or from scratch? I’m not very artsy crafty.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[almostafantasia]

fast food and five dollar wine

Written as part of the Clexa Valentine exchange as a gift for  @dreamersdeservebetter.

Summary: Both single on Valentine’s Day, best friends Clarke and Lexa decide to be each other’s date as part of a joke that stops being funny when they wake up next to each other the following morning.

Read on AO3.

It turns out to be impossible to find a table in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day without booking.

It turns out that it doesn’t even matter.

“If only all first dates were as cheap as you.”

The look that Clarke receives in response to her teasing comment is a smouldering glare, accompanied by a single fry that soars through the air and collides with the side of Clarke’s face. On any other occasion, Clarke would grow pale at the thought of having food thrown at her face on a first date, but this is not a typical first date in more ways than one.

The most glaringly obvious difference is that Clarke’s date for the evening is Lexa, who is completely off-limits even if Clarke was interested in ruining the best-friend-slash-roommate thing that they’ve had going for the last couple of years. This is not the usual first date full of nerves and painful smalltalk, this is two incredibly single best friends who have decided to be each other’s date for the evening in a reminder that you don’t need to have a significant other to have fun on Valentine’s Day.

The result is that there is no need to attempt to impress the other – they’ve both already seen each other at their worst – which sees the pair crammed into a tiny booth in a fast food joint peeling back greasy paper to take bites from sloppy burgers.

“So where would you normally go on a first date if not to In-N-Out?” Lexa asks with a teasing smile.

Clarke wipes the grease from her mouth with a flimsy paper napkin before shrugging in response.

“Somewhere fancy. Nothing too expensive but…” Clarke pauses and nods her head at Lexa, before continuing, “you know. Nice food, bottle of wine.”

A slow smirk spreads across Lexa’s face, not only tugging at the corners of her mouth but filling her green eyes with a look of mischief that has Clarke both excited and terrified at what Lexa’s next words might be.

“So after this we’re heading across the road to Walmart and picking up a bottle of cheap red for under five dollars?”

Clarke swallows her mouthful of burger and grins across the table at Lexa.

“Like you even have to ask.”

The wine costs them four dollars and eighty-nine and it tastes like piss but Clarke doesn’t even care. She can’t think of anything she’d rather be doing on Valentine’s Day than sitting on a park bench drinking shitty wine with her best friend.

“Dinner. Wine. What comes next on a Clarke Griffin first date?”

Clarke leans into Lexa’s side, huddling together as a cold gust of wind has them both shivering, then passes across the bottle of wine with her gloved hands.

“Depends how much I like them,” she replies thoughtfully.

“Let’s say the date has gone pretty well,” Lexa prompts her. “You’d like to see them again.”

Clarke pauses, using the silence to accept the bottle from Lexa and to take another swig that is less about the wine and more about buying herself time to consider her answer.

“I’d probably walk them home, give them a goodnight kiss, then maybe send them a text when I get home thanking them for a great night and saying how much I’d like to do it again.” After another brief moment of thought, Clarke smiles to herself and jovially adds, “Maybe I’d put three kisses at the end of the message instead of two.”

“Boooring,” groans Lexa, dragging out the vowels as she snatches the bottle back from Clarke and tips her head back to take a long swig, as if Clarke’s answer to her question is so terrible that it has reduced her to alcoholism. “I thought you had game.”

“I’m single on Valentine’s Day, I can’t have that much game,” Clarke reminds Lexa, though she can’t help but feel a little disgruntled at Lexa’s disapproval of her usual plans for a first date. “What would you do next, Casanova?”

“If the date is going well I wouldn’t want to walk her home just yet because I wouldn’t want the date to end. So maybe we’d go for a drink after dinner and I’d turn on the classic Lexa Woods charm.”

Clarke lets out a little snort, glad that Lexa currently has the wine bottle, for if she had been drinking in that exact moment, there is no doubt that an unattractive fountain of wine would have left her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

“What charm? You’re single too.”

“But I’m on a date with you,” Lexa points out, a little hint of smugness creeping into her voice. “How do you know that wasn’t my plan the whole time?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and lets her elbow dig into Lexa’s ribs, taking a little bit of pleasure in the tiny yelp that Lexa lets out and using the moment to take the bottle from Lexa so that she can take another drink.

“So we’re going to a bar next?” Clarke suggests, changing the subject.

It’s only just gone eight o’clock and they have to do something with the remainder of their night so that they don’t end up spending Valentine’s Day holed up in their respective bedrooms, watching Netflix and binging on snack food. Progressing to a bar seems like as good an option as any other.

“Let’s go to a gay bar,” Lexa agrees decisively, getting to her feet and taking one of Clarke’s hands in her own in an attempt to get Clarke to follow her. She grins wickedly and continues, “Maybe you can get lucky.”

Clarke lets Lexa drag her up to her feet and takes another long swig from the nearly empty bottle of wine. (She spent four dollar and eighty-nine cents on it, you can bet she’s going to get her money’s worth from every last drop.)

“Maybe you can,” Clarke retorts, recoiling at the nasty aftertaste the wine leaves in the back of her mouth.

“Maybe.”

“Ah, the stench of desperation,” Lexa says, the very second that they step into the bar, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose for dramatic effect.

Clarke just punches her lightly in the upper arm.

“You are such a douche.”

“What?” Lexa shrugs, taking off her jacket and folding it over her arm. “I’m in a lesbian bar on Valentine’s Day. I’m going to hold my hands up and admit that I want to get laid tonight to distract me from how tragically single I am. As does everybody else here.”

“Douche,” Clarke repeats, rolling her eyes.

Raising a single eyebrow in Clarke’s direction, Lexa takes a couple of steps backwards into the bar and asks teasingly, “Are you going to be my wingman or do I have to do it myself?”

“Douche.”

“So what was wrong with that one?” asks Clarke, when Lexa returns from chatting up a pretty redhead, the third girl she’s hit on in the last hour, and props herself up on her elbows on the bar beside Clarke with a dejected sigh.

“She’s an art history major.”

Clarke gasps, pretending to be affronted.

“Hey, don’t knock art!”

“Art history,” Lexa corrects. “She’s a pretentious hipster. So not my type.”

Clarke sniggers softly under her breath before flagging down the bartender, ordering another two rum and cokes for them both.

“You’re awfully fussy tonight for somebody who just wants to get laid,” Clarke muses, as the bartender mixes their drinks and slides them across the bar.

Accepting her drink with a mumbled thank you, Lexa downs half of it in a single gulp.

“Maybe I should just sleep with you.”

There’s a moment, just a couple of seconds in which Lexa’s eyes meet Clarke’s, an unreadable expression on her face, and Clarke actually thinks that Lexa might be serious. Two long seconds in which Clarke’s brain is filled with a series of lightning-quick imaginings of just what that would entail – thoughts that are far too inappropriate to be having about her best friend. Two seconds in which Clarke’s cheeks managed to turn from their usual creamy colour to a deep shade of red at the mere suggestion of sleeping with Lexa. Two of the simultaneously worst and best seconds of her life so far, before it all comes crashing down when a wicked grin spreads across Lexa’s face and her head tips back in a peal of laughter.

(Clarke doesn’t know whether the feeling that washes over her as she hears Lexa’s laughter brush off the ridiculousness of the situation is relief, disappointment, or an unsettling combination of the two.)

“At least the walk of shame would be short,” she comments drily.

“Come on,” says Lexa, knocking back the rest of her drink in one go and making to drag Clarke by the hand into the middle of the half-full dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

Clarke hates alcohol. Or rather, she hates herself under the influence of alcohol. Not just a mild dislike, but a perpetual hatred of the person she becomes after a drink or five. All it takes is for somebody reasonably attractive to catch her eye across a dancefloor and she gets all sorts of ideas in her head that always lead to inevitable regret.

And the thing is that she always knows that it’s going to lead to regret, and yet the alcohol in her system clouds her brain enough to let her go through with it anyway, no matter how many times she has to go through the inevitable morning after.

It’s even worse when the person in question is her best friend.

When the person in question has their hands slung low on Clarke’s hips, dancing away less than a foot from Clarke like there’s nothing wrong, like they didn’t make a joking suggestion just thirty minutes ago that planted the world’s worst idea in her head.

The world’s second worst idea spills from Lexa’s mouth as the DJ gradually transitions into a new song.

“Let’s get another drink. I’m thirsty.”

Thirsty for you, Clarke thinks.

Like she says, Clarke hates herself after a few drinks.

Which is why the logical thing to do is to let Lexa drag her back over to the bar for another, because maybe if she drinks enough, she’ll just black out completely and not have to deal with her own idiotic thoughts.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the bartender tells them as she slides a pair of clear shots across the bar in exchange for the notes that Lexa pulls out of her wallet.

“Thanks,” Lexa replies smugly, slinging an arm around Clarke’s shoulder as she returns her wallet to the pocket of her pants. “Would you believe that tonight is our first date?”

“Not at all,” says the bartender.

Lexa picks up her own shot and pushes the second one in Clarke’s direction, who takes it and clinks it against the one in Lexa’s hand before tipping it down her throat. The liquid burns as it goes down and Clarke winces at the taste, but slams the shot glass back down on the bar with enthusiasm nonetheless.

“Another?” Lexa asks.

Why the hell not?

“Sure,” Clarke shrugs.

Lexa flags down the bartender once more and gestures at their empty shot glasses as she asks for two more. As the bartender takes the bottle down from a shelf behind the bar and refills their shots, Lexa leans across the bar, resting her chin on her hand. Clarke knows what’s about to happen before it does and rolls her eyes at her best friend’s antics.

“You know, I’m not tied to her,” Lexa tells the bartender, her voice low in an attempt to be seductive that gets cancelled out by the drunken slur in her voice. She points with her thumb in Clarke’s direction, as if Clarke isn’t standing right beside her in earshot of the entire conversation, and continues, “I’m open to other options. If you get my drift.”

Pushing their refilled shots back across the bar, the bartender quips back, “And I’m not one of those options,” before she moves away to serve another customer.

Lexa lets out a long groan of disappointment, then knocks back her shot without even waiting for Clarke this time.

“Lexa, do you always spend a first date flirting with girls who aren’t the one you’re on a date with?” Clarke teases, swallowing her second shot with less of a grimace than before.

Without moving her head, Lexa shifts her gaze to give Clarke the side eye, an amused little smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Only if my date is boring as hell.”

Clarke clasps both hands to her chest in mock offense as if Lexa’s words have pierced and wounded her heart.

“I’m offended!” she pouts dramatically. “I bought you a burger. I spent almost five dollars on a bottle of wine for you!”

“You really know how to treat a girl, Griffin,” Lexa grins. She takes Clarke’s hand in her own, lacing together their fingers easily and dragging Clarke away from the bar once more, though this time it is in the direction of the door instead of the dancefloor that thrums with sweaty bodies. “Come on, this place sucks. Let me take you home.”

Clarke almost trips over her feet at Lexa’s words. There’s just something about the way she says them, something about the inflection in her voice that is so incredibly suggestive, and there’s a small part of Clarke that really likes the sound of what she thinks Lexa might be implying.

“Lexa…” Clarke whines. “You can’t say stuff like that, okay?”

“What?” Lexa asks, turning to look at Clarke with a confused expression on her face. “Wait … you thought I meant … oh, Clarke! No! Not like that.” Lexa says it as if it’s a ridiculous idea, as if she hasn’t been making suggestive comments all night, as if she hasn’t been dancing obscenely up against Clarke and buying her drinks and holding her hand. “We live together, idiot. I meant let’s go home together because home is the same place for both of us.”

Clarke has never felt like more of an idiot.

“Right, yeah,” she nods dejectedly. “Of course. Sorry, I’ve drunk way too much tonight.”

“But,” Lexa says, raising a single finger from the hand not still entangled with Clarke’s, as if she is about to make a profound statement, a mischievous spark in her green eyes as she backs into the door and pushes it open to lead Clarke out into the chilly night air, “if you’d spent over five dollars on the wine, maybe tonight could have been your lucky night.”

“Holy fuck!”

The exclamation pulls Clarke out of her slumber as suddenly as having a bucket of ice cold water tipped over her would. She quickly comes to two realisations; one, that she is completely naked, and two, that the cried expletive came from an equally naked Lexa who gapes down at her with an expression of horror mixed with surprise on her face.

Clarke decides that being woken with a bucket of cold water would probably be preferably to having to deal with the consequences of what this means.

“Shit,” she groans softly, tugging at the covers so that they cover enough of her body to be considered modest, though in doing so, she only manages to draw attention to the sheer amount of Lexa’s skin that is on show. “Did we…?”

Clarke can’t finish her sentence. Verbalising it makes it all too real. And she knows the answer already – the memories from last night are beginning to flood back, but not in the right order. She knows what happened (that much is obvious from their state of undress and the sated ache between Clarke’s thighs, she doesn’t need the memories of what Lexa’s tongue feels like against her most sensitive areas as a reminder of that), it’s just the how and the why that are evading her.

“I should go,” Lexa mumbles, clambering off the bed without making eye contact with Clarke and hastily gathering up her clothes from where they are scattered around Clarke’s bedroom. She doesn’t even put them on, just holds them in an untidy bundle in her arms as she disappears through the door without so much as a goodnight.

“Shit,” Clarke repeats, collapsing back onto her mattress with a soft thud.

The problem with having sex with the person you live with, Clarke quickly realises, is that you can’t pretend that it didn’t happen. Not even for a little bit. Especially not when you both end up eating breakfast at the same time, which is what happens to Clarke and Lexa. Neither one of them retreats back to their own room, because that would mean acknowledging that this situation is awkward as hell, yet neither one of them quite wants to mention what happened. It’s almost like by not talking about it they can pretend that it never happened.

It’s the only thing on Clarke’s mind though, and presumably Lexa’s too, so by not talking about it, they end up not talking about anything at all.

Hence the most awkward breakfast of Clarke’s entire life.

“So,” she attempts to start a conversation, watching as Lexa prods at her plate of eggs without actually eating any of it. “Got any plans today?”

Lexa looks up from her food, one eyebrow arched as if to say seriously?

“Fine,” sighs Clarke. “Should we talk about it?”

A flinch of disgust flashes across Lexa’s face as if there is nothing she would rather do less than talk about the fact that she had sex with her best friend. But after a few seconds of thought, she opens her mouth and says, “I’m sorry for running away like that. I freaked out a little.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke assures her. “I understand. But we should probably at least acknowledge that this is a thing that happened.”

“Oh believe me, I’ve acknowledged it.”

Lexa’s words confuse Clarke. Despite being her best friend, Clarke finds herself completely unable to read Lexa at all this morning, as if exposing all of herself physically to Clarke has caused a mental shutdown on their usually easy friendship.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks for clarification.

After a moment of hesitation, Lexa’s mumbled reply is, “Nothing.” She lets out a heavy sigh, letting her fork clatter to the plate of still untouched food, then lifts her head to look Clarke in the eye as she continues wearily, “And this is why I never wanted this to happen between us.”

It takes a few second for Clarke to process Lexa’s words, a few seconds for her to understand the meaning behind them, but when she does, she is possibly even more confused than before.

“What, so you’ve actually thought about the possibility of this happening? About us..” Clarke trails off as she feels a heavy blush rising to her cheekbones, the skin there burning red. She finishes awkwardly, “…you-know-whatting?”

“Fucking?” Lexa finishes for her, shaking her head as a little smile form on her lips that only has the blush on Clarke’s cheeks intensifying. “We’re two attractive queer ladies living under the same roof, I’d be lying if I told you that I hadn’t at least considered making a move on you at some point.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open at Lexa’s confession, suddenly feeling as though she’s seeing an entirely new side of her best friend than she’s been privy to before. Though that seems to be a common theme for the last twenty four hours – first the “date”, then the … then what came after the date. And now this conversation.

Her mouth dry, Clarke asks, “Why didn’t you?”

“I did,” Lexa answers, raising her eyebrows at Clarke. “Remember?”

“I don’t remember much.”

It’s one of the least truthful things that Clarke has ever said. Sure, the previous night is hazy in multiple places, but she remembers in excruciatingly glorious detail what Lexa’s bare skin feels like against hers, what her kisses taste like, what her fingers feel like curling deep within Clarke as she slowly brings her higher and higher, what she sounds like when she falls apart beneath Clarke’s tongue. Clarke remembers all of it, which is feeling an awful lot like both a gift and a huge problem.

“Because it would make things messy,” Lexa answers Clarke’s earlier question with a sigh. “Because it has made things messy. Look at us, we can barely even make eye contact this morning.”

Clarke glances up from her breakfast, only to find Lexa’s green eyes, so familiar and yet so distant this morning, staring right back at her. It’s too much, and as if to prove Lexa’s point, Clarke looks away quickly.

“Then why did you?” she asks quietly, contradicting her previous question.

“Clarke, both of us did this, not just me.”

“I know,” Clarke replies defensively. “I’m just asking why you did.”

Lexa shrugs and picks up her fork once more as a distraction as she answers, “Because I was drunk, and feeling a little bit lonely, and…”

“Geez, thanks.”

“Let me finish,” Lexa says, holding up a hand to silence Clarke, who obediently quietens and nods for Lexa to finish. “And because I could do a lot worse than you, a lot worse. Last night was good and I … I guess my brain matched up a good night with let’s have sex and it just happened. I guess it was always going to happen at some point. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“Meaning what?”

The look that Lexa sends Clarke’s way, an almost-glare accompanied by the delicate flush that now decorates her cheeks, has Clarke regretting her probing question, but Lexa chooses to answer it anyway before Clarke can tell her to do otherwise.

“You’re … you’re attractive. We get on well and … and you’re not bad to look at. You have assets.”

Deciding to rescue Lexa from her embarrassment, Clarke leans forward in her seat a little bit and then asks teasingly, “Are you saying that I’ve got nice tits?”

Lexa doesn’t say anything, but by way of reply she glances down at Clarke’s chest, pulls a face as if deeply considering the question, then looks back at Clarke’s face with a shrug and a teasing smile on her face. Clarke can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. This kind of playful banter is just how they’d normally behave around each other and for just a moment, it’s almost as if nothing has changed.

“I don’t want things to change between us,” Clarke blurts out.

The smile drops off Lexa’s face like a lead weight plummeting to the ground. She frowns at Clarke but there is a hint of sadness in her eyes, the beginnings of a pleading apology that she shouldn’t have to give.

“No,” Clarke says slowly, shaking her head as she realises what she’s just said, as she realises who she’s just said it to. “Forget that, that isn’t what I meant at all. I want everything to change between us.”

Lexa’s expression changes in an instant once more, no longer apologetic but instead confused. And Clarke, unwilling to hesitate for long enough to let herself backtrack again, launches into an explanation.

“Like you said, we’re hot,” she says, gesturing between them. “And what I remember of the sex was…” Clarke blushes as the memories once again swarm her mind, “Well, I’m not entirely sure I can find the words but that’s a good thing. There are no complaints here. Valentine’s Day is commercial bullshit but at its core it’s about spending time with the person you value most and…” Clarke pauses to take a deep breath and looks up to meet Lexa’s intense gaze, “…and last night was a terrible first date in every way but because it was with you it was the best first date I’ve ever been on. And if you agree, I’d like very much if we could try doing it again, only properly this time.”

Lexa nods slowly, her eyebrows knit together in deep thought as she listens to Clarke’s words and processes them. Clarke swallows thickly, internally dying from the confession that seems so right, yet fills her with dread at the thought of Lexa turning her down. Because they could probably come back from the sex – yes, it would be awkward, but it would be easy enough to brush aside as a drunken one night stand – but this, this is the point of no return.

Her expression softening, Lexa tentatively asks, “Clarke Griffin, are you asking me on a second date?”

Clarke momentarily panics, until the solemnity on Lexa’s face cracks into a grin.

“Yeah,” Clarke replies breathlessly. “I guess I am.”

Without saying anything, Lexa slides back her chair and gets to her feet, circling around the table until she is standing next to Clarke. In a single movement, she reaches out with both hands to cup Clarke’s cheek, leaning down for a kiss at the same time as she coaxes Clarke to her feet. They meet halfway, Lexa’s soft lips crashing against her own in a kiss that is every bit as great as her alcohol-addled brain remembers it to be, and then some.

“Is that a yes?” she asks, when Lexa pulls back just enough to tilt her head to the other side to change the angle of the kiss.

“Yes,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s mouth. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot. Come, we christened your bed, now it’s time for mine.”

Clarke can’t stop the way that she grins into the kiss, the corners of her mouth pushing at her cheeks even as Lexa continues to plant kisses against her lips.

“If I’d known it would only take a cheap bottle of wine to get you to be mine, I’d have done it so much sooner,” she jokes, letting Lexa drag her towards the closer of their two bedrooms.

“Shhh,” Lexa silences her with a kiss, pulling her inside the room and closing the door, only to push Clarke up against it, wandering hands seeking the warm skin of Clarke’s waist beneath the baggy t-shirt that she wears. “It’s so much more than the wine.”

Yes, Clarke thinks to herself as her head falls back against the door and Lexa’s mouth changes its assault to her exposed neck, it’s so much more than that.

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clexa valentine #fanfiction

[dark-angel-of-muses]

Happy New Year

Pendulumshipping on New Year’s Eve

Word Count: 2606

  “Sorry we’re late Yuya, Masumi wanted to take me to dinner first,” Yuzu apologized, blushing from a mix of embarrassment and the cold air. Masumi had her arm linked in Yuzu’s and from their mussed-up hair and smudged lipstick, Yuya could tell dinner wasn’t the only thing Yuzu and Masumi did before coming here. He laughed good-naturedly.

               “It’s no trouble at all ladies, come on in, the party’s just getting started!” Yuya stepped aside and gestured towards the living room. “Happy New Year’s Eve!”

               “You too,” Yuzu chirped back, leading Masumi into the Sakaki house. Inside, the party was loud and a bit crowded. Yuya had hooked up speakers to his laptop and was playing club music. Remnants of Christmas decorations still covered the house. On the walls there was garland that was never taken down, red bows decorated counters and some tables, and stray ornaments still hung from the hooks on the wall. A mix of sodas and alcohols were lined up on the kitchen counter like a bar, and the dining room table was covered in snacks.

Yuya was very pleased with the turnout, he could guess that well over 50 people had come. As he looked around the room, he spotted his close friends among the strangers and acquaintances. Sora was nursing the sweets, picking at the bowls of candy laid out on the corner. Yuto and Ruri were sitting next to each other on the couch, almost close enough to cuddle but by the way Yuto kept warily glancing over to Shun, it looked like that wasn’t happening any time soon. Shun, Kaito, Yuuri, and Dennis seemed to be engaged in some sort of drinking game, each with a set of cards in their hand and shot glasses right next to them. Dennis threw down two aces, and Shun groaned as he poured more whiskey into his glass.

               Yugo, Rin, Sawatari, and Gongenzaka were engaged in a game of twister. For his large size and stocky build, Gongenzaka was surprisingly flexible. Rin was currently practically laying on top of Yugo, and Shingo seemed to be taking enormous pleasure in forcing Yugo and Rin to twist their bodies around one another.

               Serena was standing awkwardly in the corner, chugging a red solo cup and attempting to avoid eye contact with anyone else. Shinji, Crow, and Jack were sprawled out on the couches in front of the TV watching reruns of the Miami Championship. Jack seemed to be criticizing every move the duelists made, complaining about their poor performance and how they could have played their hand differently. Crow would intermittently tell him to shut up and just enjoy the duels, which would only quiet Jack for a few minutes before he started running his mouth again.

               Allen and Sayaka tag dueling against Hokuto and Yaiba without disks, setting out their decks on a mat. Allen was constantly checking Yaiba’s cards, making sure he understood Synchro summoning correctly and rechecking the effects for the umpteenth time. Sayaka was doing fairly well, setting up Allen for an XYZ summon by giving him Fairy Cheer Girl’s effect twice over and allowing him to special summon a Rank 10 Railway almost immediately, putting Hokuto on the defensive.

               The Tyler twins were mingling with some of the guests. It was mostly Grace leading her sister through the crowded room and starting conversations with random partygoers while Gloria crossed her arms and silently glared. Grace was laughing a lot, flitting from person to person with her sister’s wrist in hand.

               “That should be everyone… alright!” Yuya giggled a little, the buzz from having all his loved ones so close making him giddy. It was wonderful, he-

*DING DONG*

               Huh? The doorbell? Who had he forgotten? Yuya tried to run over the list of invitees in his head, but he couldn’t think of anyone who had been left out. Maybe there was someone who had invited along their friend without telling him? Yuya rushed to open the door, putting on a big smile for his new guest. However, when he opened the door, he lost face for a second as he realized who it was.

               “R-Reiji?!” Yuya gasped, “I thought you were too busy to come, and wasn’t there some sort of party at LDS you had to go to…?

               “I decided my time was spent better elsewhere. I assure you, I won’t be missing anything. I apologize for turning down your invitation then showing up unannounced, I hope it’s not too much of a bother,” Reiji said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Yuya blushed, of all people he didn’t expect Reiji Akaba to be the surprise guest. Not that he was ungrateful, he was very glad to have one of his closest friends show up, he was just taken aback.

               “Not a whole lot of fun at Leo, huh?” Yuya tried to return his entertainer smile and go back to talking casually, but for some reason, his heart was beating a little too fast.

               “…You could say that,” Reiji answered after a moment of hesitation.

               “Hey, come in, it’s cold outside,” Yuya said suddenly, not sure why his heart was thrumming against his chest all of a sudden.

               “Thank you very much, Yuya.” Reiji nodded gratefully, walking into the warmth of the Sakaki household. Yuya led Reiji to the wall near where the firepole to the second floor was.

               “So did something happen at LDS or…?” Yuya trailed off, looking expectantly at Reiji.

               “Somewhat. Don’t worry about it,” Reiji said, a little too curtly for Yuya’s liking. Yuya put his hand on Reiji’s shoulder, and he crooked his head to look Reiji in the eyes.

               “Hey, are you ok?” Yuya asked, concerned.

               “I’ll be fine.”

               Yuya didn’t like that answer. “Hey, if something’s bothering you, you know you can tell me. I’d much rather know what’s going on, Reiji.” When Reiji turned his head to meet Yuya’s gaze head-on, Yuya felt his heart quicken pace, and somehow a shiver rolled down his spine. He tried to hide it best he could, meeting Reiji’s gaze as evenly as his jump heart would allow.

               “I… the press is always asking questions about what happened when the dimensions fused. I’m used to dealing with idiotic reporters, but these ones in particular were relentless. They keep-” Reiji stopped to take a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. “They keep attempting to demonize you, which I do not take kindly to.”

               “Oh, Reiji…” Yuya said softly. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”

               “You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault,” Reiji sighed, ‘I’d rather talk about something else, if you wouldn’t mind.”

               “Not at all!” Yuya quickly changed topics. “So, uh, can I get you anything to drink?”  

               “Rum and coke, if you would,” Reiji readjusted his glasses.

               “Alright, I’ll be right back!” Yuya quickly scrambled to grab the large pitcher that he had mixed the soda and alcohol in. Reiji nodded gratefully when Yuya returned with a red cup in hand, offering it to Reiji.

               “Ah, thank you. I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this. I didn’t intend the night to go as badly as it did,” Reiji apologized before taking a short sip of his drink.

               “No, no, I’m really glad you came! It’s a really nice surprise, I was disappointed when you said you couldn’t come at first…” Yuya laughed nervously.

               “Thank you, Yuya.” Reiji took another sip of his drink. “So, where is your mother and father? I haven’t seen them in this crowd.”

               “Oh, they’re out with Yuzu’s dad. Said they had some catching up to do,” Yuya said, and his heart jumped again when Reiji gave him a small smile.

               “Hm,” Reiji hummed before taking another drink. “They trust you to have a party alone with alcohol?”

               “My mom’s the one who bought the whiskey. She told me that my dad made the worst decisions of his life while completely sober, so being drunk obviously isn’t the issue.” Yuya shrugged, and to the detriment of his already unstable heart, Reiji snorted a little in an adorable stifled giggle.

               “Well, you can’t disagree with her. I’ve been far more idiotic when I was of clear mind than any given time I’ve been under the influence,” Reiji quipped, taking another sip.

               “True. Though, you decided to come here while sober, so maybe we should see what you wanna do after you’ve had a few more of those.” Yuya pushed his finger to Reiji’s cup playfully, and Reiji stifled another tiny laugh, which made a grin play its way across Yuya’s lips.

               “Would you like to join me in the land of insobriety?” Reiji teased.

               “You know, that sounds lovely.” Yuya grabbed a cup and the closest bottle of alcohol to him, which happened to be the same rum and coke he poured for Reiji.

               “Cheers.” Reiji held up his cup, and Yuya clinked his own against the plastic rim. The two took a long gulp of their drinks. Yuya started to feel dizzy, and even though the rational side of him knew why, the part of him in denial blamed it on the alcohol.

               “How have you been doing Yuya? We’ve hardly seen each other since the championships last month,” Reiji noted.

               “I, uhm, I’ve been doing good. Er, well. Christmas was a little hectic but I managed to pull through all right. Lord knows my wallet took a hit though.” Yuya laughed, but Reiji’s mouth set itself in an odd frown.

               “You know Yuya, if you were in need of money, all you need to do is ask. I have plenty to spare-“ Reiji was interrupted by Yuya shaking his head.

               “Reiji, it’s fine. I don’t want to just use your money and not work for my own. You earned your keep, I need to work to earn mine.” Yuya brought the cup to his lips, though he didn’t drink from it.

               “Really Yuya, it’s no big deal,” Reiji said, a bit of an exasperated look on his face.

               “It is to me. I don’t know how’d I ever pay you back, and I always HAVE to pay you back. I feel like I’m cheating someone if I don’t do something in return,” Yuya admitted. He dared to stare at Reiji’s royal violet eyes and make his chest flutter and panic once more.

               “I owe so much to you Yuya, I am in your debt in a thousand ways. You don’t need to repay me for doing anything,” Reiji tried to argue. Yuya sighed.

               “Well I feel like I would. Besides, being in my debt for what happened in the other dimensions doesn’t really count.” Yuya shifted uncomfortably.

               “How the hell does it not count?” Reiji asked, probably a little louder than he intended. However, the music and the buzz of people around them drowned him out. Yuya blinked, he never heard Reiji swear, even in such a minor way, before.

               “Because, if we’re counting the other dimensions… then you have to count Zarc,” Yuya argued. Reiji looked taken aback before he sighed.

               “You aren’t Zarc. That wasn’t your fault.” Reiji’s eyes narrowed as he tried to meet Yuya’s gaze, but Yuya’s heart jumped to his throat when Reiji stared at him intensely like that.

               “Y-yeah, I know. I’m probably just being stupid,” Yuya said hurriedly. God, why did Reiji’s eyes have to practically glow in the low light when he stared at him? It did not help his shuddering heart.

               “You’re not stupid, Yuya. If you feel guilty about it, then tell me. I’ll tell you once, twice, a thousand times. However many you need, but it wasn’t your fault,” Reiji said softly, placing his hand on Yuya’s shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, very standard, but Reiji’s touch and the alcohol buzzing in the pit of his stomach made him giddy.

               “T-thanks Reiji.” God why was it so warm in here all of a sudden?

               “Maybe you should have some water before you go for another drink, your face is rather red already,” Reiji observed. Yuya felt the little bubble of excitement in his stomach swirl around.

               “Y-yeah, I think I’m feeling a little light-headed. Do you mind if we step out for a minute?” Yuya stuttered out.

               “Not at all, lead the way.” Yuya nodded gratefully, and he led Reiji out the back of his house, into the courtyard out back. The cold air was relentless on his skin, but he was glad that he had more reason to shiver than just his pounding chest.

               “It’s 11:57. 3 minutes.” Reiji observed, glancing at his watch. “Are you feeling alright Yuya? It’s cold out here, perhaps we should find somewhere else inside?”

               “No, I’ll be fine, give me a minute. I think I drank too much too fast, I’m kind of a lightweight,” Yuya said quickly. God, why was this bugging him so much now? It wasn’t like this before.

               “What’s that?” Reiji was looking upward, and when Yuya followed his gaze, he gulped. Looks like the garland and ribbons weren’t the only leftover Christmas decorations. Mistletoe.

               “Uhhhh, I’m sorry, I’ll take that down.” Yuya hurried to move, but Reiji grabbed his wrist and stopped him dead in place. His heart ran faster.

               “No, I-“ Reiji stopped himself short. “Don’t you think it’s proper to honor tradition?” Yuya blinked twice in confusion before it sank in. Oh. OH. It occurred to Yuya that Reiji had already had enough alcohol to render him legally drunk, and he wasn’t sure that if Reiji was talking to him or the rum was. Reiji stepped back after Yuya hesitated, apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what possessed me to say that, I-“

               “I… think we should too,” Yuya said nervously. Reiji’s eyes widened as he met Yuya’s gaze.

               “Are you… sure?” Reiji asked hesitantly, and Yuya knew he must’ve been drunk from how his voice wavered in a mixture of fear and excitement.

               “I hope so,” Yuya replied. Yuya’s heart felt like it was going 60 miles a minute, and as Reiji leaned in, he could smell the alcohol on his breath, but Yuya knew he must have been just as bad. Reiji hesitated in front of Yuya’s face for a moment and they stared into each other’s eyes, searching the other’s face for the sign to move ahead.

               Yuya pushed himself forward, and his lips crashed onto Reiji’s. They were chapped, and the taste of alcohol lingered on his lips, but god Yuya was kissing REIJI AKABA. He pushed his shoulders forward, leaning into the kiss, but to his surprise Reiji pushed back, seemingly intent on pinning Yuya against a wall.

               They broke apart for a brief second, and Yuya let out a breathy “Reiji” before Reiji pushed back into him, resuming the kiss. No, this was no longer just a kiss. This was a make out session. Yuya let his hand slide up the back of Reiji’s neck, curling into his silver hair and holding onto him for dear life. God, this was intoxicating. If it wasn’t for his lungs burning reminder that he needed to breathe, Yuya would never have wanted to break away. Yuya let the hand not wrapped in Reiji’s hair snake around his back and pulled him closer in. It was way too much, and Yuya broke apart from Reiji one more time to get a breath of fresh air.

               Just then, a large crack like thunder exploded through the air, and the cheers inside the house grew deafening. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

               “Happy new year,” Reiji whispered, before crashing back in for another kiss.

#yuya sakaki #reiji akaba #pendulumshipping #lustershipping #muse writes #yugioh arc v #arc v fic #arcvfic #fanfic