#neil: I GAVE YOU A FUCKING SCRIPT

[aledethanlast]

I like to think that one day, Neil is unable to make a meeting with Ichirou because he’s got a bad cold or something and Jean or Kevin instead must come to Ichirou to assure him that they’re all doing their duty as athletic money makers for his empire. They are freaking terrified, understandably, and as a result, don’t deliver the most eloquent of reports. Ichirou leaves this meeting resolved to never actually get his reports from either of them again, Kevin and/or Jean leave resolved to never be in his presence again, and Neil is informed that he must never get sick again or to simply reschedule the meeting with Ichirou. Neil still has his cold and tries to glare at Kevin or Jean, but poor boy can barely see straight and this intimidation is undercut by the pile of blankets he’s wrapped in (Andrew, heating up a bowl of soup for Neil because Neil fell flat on his face earlier upon trying to get up, finds this conversation ridiculously entertaining. Only Neil can get a mob boss to actually prefer his company and be so efficient that everyone else involved agrees that he’s the only person who can get things done in the preferred manner) (also, Neil did not want to wrap himself in the blankets and would’ve tried to insist he’s fine. Andrew just got tired of hearing his teeth chattering)

Kevin: oh. Hey Neil. So funny you called. Feeling better?

Neil: somewhat. Anything is better than the fever dreams I was having all of yesterday and during the night. I dreamt we were back in college except but the entire team was Nicky.

Kevin: yeesh.

Neil: yep. And then I dreamed that I got traded to the fucking Dolphins. With Freeman in the goal.

Kevin: well dont go putting that image in my head

Neil: yeah sorry. And then, ya know, out of nowhere, I dreamt that Ichirou called me today that he never wants to see your idiot face or hear your idiot voice ever again.

Kevin: ...

Neil: unless there's something you'd like to tell me.

Kevin: I highly doubt he said idiot

Neil: I'M SAYING IDIOT

#aftg #neil: I GAVE YOU A FUCKING SCRIPT #THERE WAS A PRONUNCIATION GUIDE ATTACHED #HOW DID YOU FUCK THIS UP #kevin: im sorry! #neil: youre taking the puma sponsorship #kevin: neil please you cant do this to me

[quietwingsinthesky]

had a dream where they were selling the end of time scripts in a big fancy script book at the store, and obviously, i had to go pick one up, that’s not even a question. i get there, get my copy, and someone says, “oh btw russell t davies himself is Here, you can get it signed.” i walk over to his table (note: i don’t actually know what rtd looks like so my brain gave him the appearance of neil gaiman) and handed him my book to be signed. he looked at me, eyes drilling straight into my head, and he leaned forward and hissed, “I Know What You Are.”

and im standing there, breaking out into a cold sweat because i know instantly that he means he knows im buying this book for thoschei purposes, he sees right through me, and as im beginning to panic, i say the only thing i can think. “I’M NOT THE ONE WHO PUT HIM IN A FUCKING DOG COLLAR, MR DAVIES.”

woke up shaking like that was some kind of horrible stressful nightmare

#no signed end of time script for me :(

[mourntheantagonist]

To Be So Lonely

Chapter 1: The Slip

classification au: little!billy/caregiver!steve

read on ao3

“Don’t blame me for falling. I was just a little boy.”

…

“We just needed a fresh start as a blended family.”

That was the story they stuck to as to why the Hargrove-Mayfield clan had packed up and trekked across the country from sunny California to the middle of bumfuck Indiana. When asked why they chose Hawkins of all places, the script they were given made it crystal clear, Neil had family that lived nearby. It wasn’t a total lie, so long as you considered 200 miles northbound to be nearby. Neil had been sure to have all of the paperwork in order for their eastward migration to ensure that there would be no question as to their intentions. Billy Hargrove was a neutral. It said it right there in bold typeface on his driver’s license.

“It was a one in one hundred chance.” Neil had reminded him on the day of his classification on his drive home from the doctors office. Billy had sat compacted in the passenger seat, his body pressed up against the door to create as much distance as possible between him and his father. “It was a one in one hundred chance and you had to go and be the fucking one.” 

That night hadn’t ended with the comment in the car nor the lecture that followed once they walked through the front door of their house. It ended in Billy’s bedroom behind the privacy of his shut door and stereo volume raised up high where Neil gave the final blow of his discipline, laying down the rules with the whip of his belt.

Rule number one, don’t regress. 

Neil didn’t care about the warnings the doctor had read off of his clipboard. He didn’t care that a little could only put off slipping into their headspace for so long before it would happen involuntarily at the most inconvenient time. He didn’t care that a little who dropped like that—hard and fast—would have a hard time slipping back out of it.

Rule number two, no caregivers.

If Billy were to regress, Neil already had a plan in place. The plan: the garage—food, water, and a bare mattress. Billy would be left to fend for himself as punishment.

It happened once, about a month after his classification. He could feel himself slipping into it during his sixth period, trying desperately to focus his attention on the stoichiometry problems on the chalkboard and not on the overwhelming urge to stick his thumb into his mouth. He told himself that all he had to do was make it home. He held onto the hopeless idea that maybe Neil would be proud he stuck it out long enough to regress in private.

Of course, that hadn’t been the case. After the nightmare of driving himself and Max home from school, gripping the steering wheel tight and clenching his jaw so hard it hurt, he dropped to his knees right on the front porch, breaking out into tears.

He didn’t remember much after that point as the haze took over and he slipped completely into his headspace. He woke up around a day and a half later feeling like shit. His body ached and his skin was peppered with bruises that hadn’t been there before he slipped. His stomach hurt, like the acid was eating away at him from the inside out. The food Neil had left—two cans of tuna and a jar of peanut butter—was untouched. Same with the jug of water, which was still filled to the brim, evident by his dry throat. 

And then there was everything else. His head was killing him from crying for hours on end. His body ached from wounds without an identifiable source and to top it all off, as if it hadn’t already been horrible enough, he was covered in his own piss. It soaked through his jeans and climbed up his shirt and seeped into the old bug-infested mattress below him.

However, the only thing he could think about in the immediate moments after waking up was how even out of his headspace, he desperately needed to be held. He couldn’t think about that though—couldn’t risk potentially dropping again and spending another day covered in his own bio waste. He got up despite his body sending him every signal to stay right where he was and hauled his aching body out the garage door and up the three steps into the house. 

He could tell by the sun outside that it was early morning. The sunrise was almost soothing for a moment before he stepped inside and out of the sun’s rays—the yellow hue fading away into the gray-toned house. He’d hoped that he’d woken up first and would at the very least get to make his first appearance in unstained clothes.

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that he bypassed Neil until he was finally on the other side of a locked bathroom door. He stood there for a second, allowing himself to take a moment just to breathe. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror—he didn’t want to face reality just yet.

He cleaned himself up, tossing his clothes into a garbage bag and hopping into the shower where he stood under the hot water for as long as he could before the dehydration would eventually kick in. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened after that. He just remembered that first stare Neil shot at him when he walked out of his bedroom fully dressed in clean clothes. He gave him a nod, which could be misconstrued as approval, but Billy made no mistake in reading it any other way. 

Never let it happen again.

He tried. He really did, but it was like holding his breath—at a certain point, his lungs would inhale whether he liked it or not, regardless of where he was, even if he was underwater. He made it five long months before his lungs finally gave out, and he broke rules one and three at the same time.

Rule number three, never let anyone find out.

He had been underwater, or rather, at school. That was all he could remember. He was stuck in his headspace for two weeks and when he woke up in that same garage on that same old mattress, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to remember.

That was why they moved. Everyone knew that Billy Hargrove was a little.

- : -

It was a silent car ride. It wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, most of them were. It was always really easy to blame it on it being seven in the morning, but Billy knew why she never wanted to really spark conversation with him. If it weren’t for the fact he’d smashed a plate over the head of someone she called a friend, or pinned and threatened one she would consider a boyfriend, it would be for the fact that he was a ticking time bomb, seconds away from being set off resulting in another Uhaul road trip. 

Though, things had been getting better, not good, but better.

He was used to her being quiet, but she was acting different. Her usual longing stare out the passenger window was gone and replaced by fidgeting hands and a bowed head. Billy couldn’t stop looking over at her, sensing something was wrong.

“You good?” Billy asked her.

She kept her head down but stopped messing with her hands in her lap as she heard Billy’s voice. She didn’t say anything. She just froze.

“Max?” Billy asked again.

She mumbled something Billy couldn’t quite hear, just the soft sound of her voice escaping her mouth like a breath. “What?” Billy asked, his eyes now completely off of the road ahead of him.

“It’s been six months.” she said.

There was no need for further clarification. He knew exactly what she was referring to. 

The last time he dropped was that day in September, before the move—the reason for the move. He knew what she was talking about because he had been thinking about it too. The signs were all right there, flashing in front of his eyes like headlights on a car, warning him of the impending impact. 

“I know,” he said.

Max looked up, not at Billy, but at least she was looking somewhere other than down at her hands. She stared forward for a moment before finally chancing a glance in Billy’s direction. Her eyes were expectant—expecting him to elaborate.

“What?” Billy asked.

“What are you gonna do?” 

Billy shook his head and pointed his eyes back at the road. “It’s not like I really have much of a choice do I?”

He could see out of the corner of his eye as Max looked back down at her lap, fidgeting with her hands once again. “I hate your dad.” she said. 

Billy chuckled to himself, despite him finding absolutely no humor in what was bound to happen soon. 

“At least there’s something we can both agree on.”

- : -

By the grace of god, or whatever being out there cursed him to be the child of Neil Hargrove, he made it through the rest of the day without slipping into his headspace. But, the weight was just growing heavier and heavier and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold his breath.

He couldn’t stop bouncing his leg at the dinner table. 

Max kept staring at him from across the table. Her sad eyes were drilling holes into his soul, begging him to make the dumb decision to bring up the fact that he needed to go into his headspace to his dad. Max wasn’t stupid. She was just stupidly hopeful. She knew what Neil would say to that, but she just had this idea that maybe they would both be proven wrong. 

Max said that she’d sneak in and help him eat and drink and even take him to the bathroom because she didn’t want to have to move again. 

“I have friends here.” She told him in the car ride back home from school. Part of Billy hoped she was just saying that to keep his ego at bay—maybe, just maybe, she cared a little about what happened to him. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe she really just didn’t want to have to pack up and leave her friends again.

Max kept staring at him, her eyes growing more threatening the longer he ignored her. He had no plan to give in.

Billy had been dumb enough to believe that the decision was up to him.

“Billy needs to go into his headspace.”

A dead silence instantly fell over the room. Everyone just froze in the middle of eating, not even silverware clanking against ceramic could be heard. Billy stopped breathing, eyes fixed on Max who had turned to look towards Neil. Billy didn’t have the same strength that she had. He was too afraid to look.

He could hear Neil scoff and drop his fork onto his plate, the first sound to follow Max’s statement. “Billy doesn’t need to do anything,” he said, “isn’t that right, Billy?”

It was like his neck had rusted like an old valve—no amount of force could get it to turn. He was stuck there, staring at Max and gripping his fork tightly in his hand. He knew Neil expected eye contact, but the most he could give him was a “yes sir” through a hoarse and hesitant voice.

Billy had hoped that would be the end of it. He just had to get through the rest of the dinner because the more time he spent in the presence of his father, the more inclined his body was to submit and escape the situation.

But Max was having none of it.

“My health teacher said it’s dangerous for littles to avoid their headspace for too long.” Max just dug the grave deeper for him, simply not getting it, clearly not noticing the way Billy’s head couldn’t even turn in Neil’s direction. 

Billy didn’t even have to look to know that he was fuming. 

“Look at me, son.” he said, his voice low and tight from clenched teeth and jaw. Billy barely moved his neck, instead moving his eyes as far left as they could. He could feel his mind threatening to slip the longer he looked at him. “You gonna let your little sister fight your battles for you?”

“No sir.” Billy’s voice was quiet.

Neil hardly looked satisfied. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, the image of him growing bigger in Billy’s view. “Tell Maxine that you’ll be just fine.” he said.

Billy’s eyes darted back towards Max, whose eyes had fallen back to sadness, finally coming to the realization that Neil Hargrove contained not a single reasonable bone in his body. The table found a second bout of silence as Billy sat there, unable to get the words out. The naive part of him wanted to look to Susan who sat to his right—to give her the same look that Max had given to him, begging. The rational part of him knew it would be a waste because that zipper on her lips was always stuck when it came to defending Billy in any way.

Billy could feel Neil’s eyes still on him like daggers puncturing the skin, while Max’s apologetic eyes softened the edge just a little. Billy took a deep breath, consciously lowering his voice and annunciating his words and holding back the flood of tears that were threatening to break through the dam. He just kept his eyes focused on Max as he told the lie that his father demanded.

“I’ll be fine.”

He knew he wouldn’t, so did Max. It was only a matter of time.

- : -

The night didn’t end at the dinner table. He hadn’t expected it to. The night had ended just like any other night Neil’s buttons were pushed and his blood pressure exceeded normal. Locked bedroom door. Stereo blasting. Belt Undone.

He was in utter disbelief when he woke up in the morning with just the looming presence of his need to be little. He was hovering right on the edge, inching closer with every painful move he made as he pulled himself from his bed. His legs shaked underneath him and his back stung from the friction of his shirt rubbing up against leather-induced wounds. He was close to slipping, but he hadn’t slipped yet.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, the aches and pains serving as a constant reminder and trigger to flashbacks.

It was the mind's innate reaction—fight or flight. Billy liked to play the role of the fighter. He’d pick fights out of nowhere just to prove to everyone around him—mostly Neil—that he was tough… that he wasn’t a baby. But when it came to real fear, he never fought. His physical body would freeze up, and his mind would desperately try to flee into his headspace.

The mind doesn’t just let up. Billy couldn’t pull back on his mind running away from him, all he could do was hit the pause button. It was like there was a little person inside his head, ankle tied to a rubber band as the person tried to run away. If Billy were to pull back on the rubber band, he’d only stretch it thinner, bringing it even closer to snapping.

Six months of hitting the pause button over and over again wound up in a band pulled to its absolute limit. He could almost hear it tearing apart, ready to launch. Hard and fast.

He kept his breath held tight within his throat as he got ready, showering and dressing as quickly as possible hoping to beat Neil out the front door. He didn’t need anything else to add to the already massive pile weighing him down, pulling him closer to the cliff's edge, pulling hard on the rubber band, compressing his chest and pushing the air out of his lungs. 

Fortunately for him, Max had already been waiting for him in the car in the same exact state she had the day before. Silent. Head hung low. Hands fidgeting in her lap. 

He didn’t bother asking her what was wrong. He knew.

Billy stuck the keys into the ignition and put his foot down on the clutch, but he couldn’t move. His leg wouldn’t stop shaking. Everything was foggy. He knew he was losing control quickly with the way every sound slowly entered his ears and echoed, like he was in some kind of chamber. There was a filter over his vision, making his view out the window momentarily cloudy.

Billy looked over to Max. She was looking at him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

No. It wasn’t okay. He couldn’t even get his foot to press all the way down on the clutch.

Billy sat there, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, eyes looking past Max, like she wasn’t even sitting there. He didn’t want to look her in the eyes and admit that he was weak—so weak that he wanted to cry.

So he didn’t. He didn’t even entertain her with an answer. He just pulled his seat forward, pressed his foot down as hard as he could manage, and threw it into first gear, burning off the tires and lurching forward just enough to get the car moving.

- : -

He felt like he was floating—like he was high on something, and not the good kind of high. It was the kind of high where his heart would beat out of his chest and he felt like everyone was staring at him, the kind of high that made him break out into a sweat and forget how to breathe.

The kind of high that would make him forget he was supposed to be holding his breath.

The kind of high that would make him forget he was underwater.

He watched the clock on the wall sitting in the back row of his third period class—English—trying to mute the discussion over Johnny Cade.

He was trying not to think about how much his path and Johnny’s seemed to overlap. 

Neglected. Abused. Only Johnny became everything Billy couldn’t. He was good. Johnny was a tragic hero. Billy was just tragic.

So much for not thinking about it.

Maybe he could have had it not been for the bruises and welts throbbing with every minor movement.

The seconds ticked by slowly. The haze only intensified. His mind was sprinting away from him.

He tried to pull away, desperately clinging on to whatever he could find to ground him. Pushing away the need to cry, the need for pressure, the need to be comforted. He tried. He really did. 

But the rubber band snapped. He inhaled. He fell.

Hard, and fast.

next chapter

#classification au #harringrove #stranger things #steve harrington #billy hargrove #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #warning child abuse

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 20 - Love Is Blindness

Masterlist; Chapter 19

Summary: The confrontation by the turnstile brings more tension into the scene. You and Neil have an opportunity to talk but it goes awry...

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: So more of that glorious outfit, am I right? (and R here does have some fun with it) And more tension because why not (plot reasons). Ever so slowly we’re getting closer till the end but before we do let’s finish the Estonian chapter. I really hope I did the scene justice... I hope you’ll enjoy! Feedback in every shape and form always welcomed! 

The ride to Sator’s compound could not possibly get longer. Or tenser. For some unknown reasons, at least to you, Neil jumped into the same SUV. The lack of space in the cramped vehicle, which was already aggravating previously, got unbearable. Ives gave you the job of checking the route to make sure you were heading in the right direction (and avoiding the police patrols), which you took as a gesture of mercy. At least it meant you had something to stare at that was not the proximity of Neil’s knee next to yours. Still, your brain could not get past the fact that his shoulder, in that bloody navy shirt, was pressed against yours. The touch that normally set your whole being ablaze was now a harsh reminder of the lie you let yourself fall for. He did not love you. What is more, your feelings for him were a mere inconvenience rather than something he treasured. And the pain of that realisation broke your heart into pieces. You were foolish and naive; it was all that could be said. Whenever your thoughts wandered onto that territory, it was hard to hold back tears.

And so, you focused all the field of your attention on the map, giving out directions when needed. The rest of the squad was quiet, as though not knowing how to react to the show you and Neil put on. You could not blame them. After all, they have heard everything and now knew exactly how badly you fucked up. The least you needed at the moment was pity. You managed well to avoid even looking in the direction of Neil. It was as though the right side of your vision did not exist. On a few occasions, you could feel him stealing glances, increasing all the feelings tenfold. But, by far, the worst part of the journey happened near the end of those dreadful fifteen minutes. Just as you have been nearing the destination, Michael made one wrong turn. With the emotions heightened, that was enough to make you lash out:

“Fucking hell! Can’t you tell bloody left from right?” yelling, you met the soldier’s wary gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“I’m sorry” he hissed as though holding back harsher words “Where do I turn now?”

“I don’t fucking know”

Your hands were shaking. The additional strain of making sure you never touched Neil in any way, even passingly, made every move more difficult. And so, when you tried to grab the paper map of the area stashed in the seat back pocket, the tablet cluttered onto the car floor.

“Christ” you seethed to no one in particular and glanced at where the device had fallen.

The perfect spot was right on Neil’s shoes. A place you could not possibly reach without breaking the no-touch rule you have set for yourself. Just brilliant.

“So? Where do we turn?” Michael’s panicked voice broke through the paralysis.

Huffing, you checked the map. But it would not do without knowing your exact location. Fuck.

“One second” grudgingly, you turned your head to the right, doing everything not to lay your eyes on that blonde head.

Or the piercing blue eyes that landed on you. You were terrified of the coldness you could see there. Or worse, the indifference. But before you could dwell on those fears for much longer, Neil did the unexpected. He placed one of the gloved hands on your forearm, stopping any movement you intended. That was enough for you to face him. And feel close to tears again.

“I’ll get it” he leaned down and retrieved the tablet “There you go” placing it in your lap you were shocked by the tenderness of his gestures.

If anything, after that argument, you expected him to never willingly touch you again. But then, supposedly, he was conflicted. Enough. Shaking off the dangerous hopefulness, you muttered:

“Thanks”

After that, you have managed to direct Michael onto the right tracks again. Only when your SUV arrived with a halt in front of the building, you had to face your new reality. Because neither you nor Neil were paramilitaries, you were told to stay at the back and only enter the space after a signal from the team. You have fucked up while exiting the car, stumbling due to the overwhelming tension and nerves. Of course, Neil noticed that, shooting you a worried look. For a moment, you wanted to scream at him, yell, burst into tears or do anything else that could show the extent of what he has done. But that would be humiliating. So you met his gaze with defiance, as though trying to say: I’m bigger than this. Bigger than you.

“Everyone ready?” Ives’ voice brought you back to the moment “On my signal” he extended a hand and then motioned for the squad to begin the action.

You watched as they broke through the door to the compound and dealt with the mercs inside. The building itself was rather mundane, with a fence separating it in half. Inversion technology more than likely. It had access to the port dock as well. After a few audible salves from the rifles and a yell, you got an ‘all clear’, saving you from the awkwardness of being stood next to Neil. Surging forward, eager to enter the building, you got stopped by a strong grip on your arm. You turned sharply only to meet those damned blue eyes looking back at you with determination:

“Let me go in first” not exactly a plea, more a command.

You have never been more grateful for the layers of clothes separating his touch from your skin. Otherwise, you could never find the spark to light the anger once again.

“Neil-” he rushed to interrupt you, but you kept talking, “I know that you’re desperate to make my life a living hell, but believe me when I say that I can handle myself” you shook off the hand still wrapped around your arm “I don’t need you” you threw all the leftover passion and fury into those four words.

For a second, Neil looked shocked. As though your outburst caught him by surprise, and he did not know how to deal with it. But then he scoffed:

“That’s-”

Somehow you knew where he was going with this.

“A lie?” you interrupted him sharply “Maybe” meeting his eyes, you shrugged casually and stormed off into the building.

If he was allowed to lie, so were you. Even if to show him that he had not won.

Could the day get any worse? The moment you marched into the room, you knew the answer to the question. A turnstile, proving window, one side tinted red, the other blue. All too familiar at this point. Space was in disarray after the storming of the building. Instantly you spotted TP, hunched by the wall, as though in shock. Glancing at the other side of the room, you could see a woman in an elegant two-piece suit. Kat, Sator’s wife that Neil told you about. She was collapsed in the chair. The bullet hole in the glass was a giveaway. You flinched. An inverted round was a messy wound to deal with. As you stared, Wheeler and Michael joined Kat on the other side:

“She’s been shot” the female paramilitary shouted to Ives.

“Get her this side” he ordered, looking around the space, collecting information, taking control of the situation “Was she shot with an inverted round?” he asked TP, and you were struck by the look on Ives’ face.

Of course. He has not seen a younger version of his boss before. To him, the man was dead. You shuddered, almost missing the moment when Neil entered the room.

“This is Ives. He’s one of us-” before you could perceive the movement, TP stood up and grabbed Neil’s shirt, pinning him to the wall.

Fuck. Your heart sped up, soaking the tension that instantly permeated the room.

“Us?!” putting Neil in a chokehold, TP spit out the words, “Who are these guys?”

From where you were stood, you could see the utter panic and anguish in Neil’s eyes. This was off the script. TP was not supposed to know and yet you had no clue how else he could be placated. Despite everything that happened in the last hour, you could feel your heart cracking in sympathy for Neil.

“Priya’s. Ours” his voice was hoarse from the grip on his throat.

That answer was as good as any. You were silently praying the boss will accept it, move on, let the farce continue. But then he spotted you, stood on the side. Shit. You knew he recognized you from the way his dark eyes flashed. More confusion, and then anger. Neil’s eyes darted to you too. Panic and desperation.

“What is she doing here?” TPs question made you both snap your attention back to him “You lied about her too”

Somewhere on the periphery of your vision, you could see the squad deal with Kat. Only Ives seemed frozen in the spot, watching the confrontation with wide eyes.

“She’s my... She’s-” Neil’s stuttering made you stare at him in shock.

My? My what?

“Yeah? Who is she?” before you could dwell on it for too long, TP’s cold eyes turned on to you again “Who are you?” the simple question made your blood turn cold.

Sighing, you came up with the only answer possible:

“I’m one of you. Same as Ives and the squad” you meet the gaze of the man in question “Same as Neil” the blue eyes were trained on you with a strange emotion visible.

“So you lied?” you could hear the remorse in TPs voice.

“I had to” shrugging, you smiled sadly, unable to meet his gaze for any longer.

You could hear the breath he let out then. Defeated and disappointed. It hurt, and you could only begin to imagine how did it feel for Neil. But it was not the end…

“How did Sator know about the ambush?” the stronger hostile edge in TPs voice made you flinch.

“Posterity. An ambush on the streets can’t stay out of the record-” the strain in Neil’s voice made you look up again.

You were shocked by the deepening horror in his eyes. This was bad. You wanted to explain everything, all the reasons why you were forced to lie. Forced to depend on half-truths you despised so much. But you could not.

“Bullshit! He knew every move we made! Somebody talked, was it you?!” the accusation was thrown with surgical precision.

Looking at them, seeing the way Neil winced as though he was slapped, you felt faint again. He broke your heart earlier, but this was unimaginable. Slowly, you felt the resolve to hurt him back crack under the pressure of the situation. It was replaced by the wish to touch him again. To give him comfort in any way you could. Even if it would mean absolutely nothing to him.

“No…no” the stuttering in Neil’s answer only increased the feeling.

Christ. Almost unconsciously, you took a step forwards in their direction. This had to end.

“At every stage, you’ve known too much. I’m going to ask you again. Did you talk?” TP kept the chokehold strong, making the blood drain from Neil’s face.

You were close enough to try to grab TP now. But one stern look from Ives made you freeze. He approached them cautiously:

“Nobody talked. They’re running a temporal pincer movement” the reluctance in Ives’s eyes was new.

None of you expected the situation to go this way. Glancing around, you could see the squad help Kat with certain hesitation in their movements. First, you and Neil arguing, and now this. God knows they needed a rest from tension and conflict.

“A what?” the confusion in TPs eyes was palpable.

Only in moments like this did you remember that this was not exactly the man who chatted to you over dinner about the algorithm mere months ago.

“A pincer movement. But not in space, in time. Half his team moves forwards through the event, he monitors them, then attacks from the end, moving backwards. Knowing everything” you could see hints of frustration in Ives’s eyes as he explained the term.

It must have felt strange to go back to the basics with the man wearing the face of one’s boss. And not only the face but also the voice, the mannerisms were all there. Making this TP seem like a clueless stand-in for the original.

“Except where I stashed the plutonium” his statement drew your attention back to the scene.

He seemed to consider his options quickly, with a certain degree of remorse in his eyes, before letting go of Neil.

“Which isn’t really plutonium, is it?” the inquisitive look was focused on the blonde man.

You saw Neil shift nervously, smoothing the wrinkled shirt fabric and taking a deep breath that he has been denied for the past few minutes. You too felt as though a weight has been lifted. At least he wasn’t being choked…

“I told you it’s what he’s after” the conflict visible in the blue eyes made you stare at him longer “And you just told him where it was” Neil was disappointed.

You realised that you nearly forgot about the actual reason for the Tallinn mission. 241, the last part of the algorithm that you could still take hold of. Well, apparently, not. A knot tightened in your stomach.

“I lied”

What?

“Jesus…” Neil swallowed hard, looking across the room at Kat on the stretcher “You lied about it?” the bitterness in his voice made you follow his gaze.

The woman was bleeding out on the gurney, scowling in tremendous pain. Your heart broke for the tenth time. No one deserved agony like that. Let alone an innocent woman, unfortunate to have married a monster. None of this was her fault yet looking at the grim countenance of Henrik you knew that she was likely to die because of it.

“He couldn’t verify from inside the room he’d have shot her anyway. Lying is a standard operating procedure” the matter-of-fact tone of TP’s voice made you stare at him with disbelief.

Surely he couldn’t be serious?

“Standard operating procedure?” Neil muttered, making you look at him again.

For a moment, your eyes met. TP has joined Ives by the stretcher, and in a second, it seemed like it was just you and Neil suspended in the space. You could easily read him now. The pain, conflict, and worry in his eyes made your head spin. None of it made sense. Most of all, the way he gazed back at you hopelessly, as though unable to tear his eyes away. He was not like that familiar stranger that shattered your heart on the Estonian highway an hour ago. But neither was he the man you considered your lover. This was something else, someone unsure of anything in his life. The resolve kept on crumbling, and all you wanted was to know his mind. To understand what was going on.

“It’s spread too far” the grave nature of Henrik’s voice made your frown deepen.

“Meaning what?” seeing the fear in TPs eyes, briefly you wondered about his attachment to the wounded woman.

He cared; that much was obvious. The only question was how much exactly.

“She’s going to die” Ives got straight to the point, increasing the tension in the room.

You wanted to have something to hold on to. But the only hand you could hold was unattainable. His dark countenance, enhanced by the red lights in the room, made the beauty especially striking. It was in moments like this that you remembered why Neil could be seen as intimidating. With the sharp cheekbones, dark irises, and clenched jaw, he was an object of awe.

“Can’t you- can’t you do something?” the panic in the eyes of your boss was a startling wake-up call.

“Can’t you stabilize inverse radiation by inverting the patient?” Neil spoke for the first time in a while, nothing but business.

For some reason, it was almost refreshing to see him back in action. You could only stare, watching the situation unfold.

“That takes days” Ives being the voice of reason, looked at TP sceptically. It did not work.

“Let’s go” your future (?) boss stared at you all with newly found motivation, pointing at the turnstile.

“We took control of this machine minutes ago. Before that, it was Sator’s” Ives sighed heavily, already tired of the situation.

You heard of this way of stabilizing the inverse radiation during training you knew that it would take a while. And there was no way of knowing whether they could be brought back then.

“How long will she live on this side?”

“Three hours, tops” the medic shrugged helplessly.

That was enough to light the fire within TP. His back straightened as he took the control back into his hands.

“I’m taking her through. I’m not going to let her die. I’ll take my chances out there”

“Chances of what? We’ve got no way of bringing you back” the skepticism in Ives’ voice made you smile in sympathy.

While you understood the wish to save Kat no matter the circumstances, it did not look doable. Or wise, for that matter.

“We find another machine” the blind conviction in TPs eyes was almost admirable.

If he only knew… It took you good few weeks to learn the locations of the turnstiles strewn across the globe. Nothing seemed close enough. Or feasible.

“A week ago? Where?” Ives articulated your thoughts with that sarcastic edge to his voice.

That was when you realised. A week ago. Turnstile. The two men with a gurney, running across the tarmac as you stared. The blue eyes that met yours across space. It was so simple.

“Oslo” you blurted out before thinking.

All three pairs of eyes snapped to you. Unconsciously, your gaze flitted over to Neil first. He looked shocked, staring at you intensely, trying to understand. Then it was TP with palpable confusion in his expression, mouth open as though he too was about to mention the Norwegian capital. Ives just looked unbothered as though he was certain you have lost your mind.

“That facility’s impregnable. It’s inside an airport security perimeter” he explained, plain and simple.

Maybe to him. Before you could open your mouth, a familiar cheeky tone pierced the silence:

“Mmmm… Not last week, it wasn’t” glancing at Neil, you saw the famous smirk grace his features.

At least that was still intact, you mused while letting yourself observe him a little longer. He caught your attention with a curt nod. Well done, at least he was impressed. But it seemed like TP was the one who liked your idea best. He gave you a small nod of acknowledgement before addressing everyone:

“We’re going in. You might as well help” that last quip, aimed at Ives, was received with a roll of the eyes and a huff.

All back to normal. Or almost normal, you remembered as Neil passed by you on the way to the stretcher. The signal was clear. The boys were heading back to Oslo, and you wondered whether you could have time to talk. To try and make sense of what happened. On the periphery of attention, you could hear Ives introducing TP to the art of inversion (as you sometimes referred to the technology in the quiet of your mind). Taking your place next to Wheeler by the gurney you soaked in the look of surprise and uncertainty on the face of the boss. This would be his first inversion. You could only hope he will take it better than you did. At the memory of that afternoon in the courtyard, your cheeks warmed up. Your racing heart, Neil pressing your palm against his chest, prolonged eye contact interrupted by the unfortunate agent. Back then, you tried your hardest not to die from shame afterwards, wondering if it has not made you seem a fool in the eyes of the intriguing stranger. Now, knowing how it looked like from his perspective, you wondered whether he did not see it as a mistake.

“Let’s go” Ives’s command threw you out of the grim thoughts.

You helped the squad wheel the gurney into the turnstile, relishing in the familiar motion and sounds. In this whirlwind of a day, something as ‘simple’ as an inversion was almost a relief. This was recognizable. Everything else was not.

Exiting the machine on the other side, you met TPs wild gaze, as he kept on staring at you and then at the proving window, where your future selves were busy getting into the turnstile. You offered him a small sympathetic smile, the only comfort you could think of. As he joined Henrik at Kat’s side, you just watched, wishing you were useful somehow.

“How long does she need?” TP asked.

“4 or 5 days. A week to be sure”

“Figure out how to get us to Oslo” TP met Neil’s gaze “I’ve got to get back out there” you could see the surprise in those blue eyes.

A hand on your arm stopped you from listening to the conversation. It was Wheeler, evidently tired, annoyed, and conflicted. You could suppose that was the general mood among the squad:

“Can you help Henrik with her?” she asked tentatively as though unsure you were fit for the job.

“Yeah, sure” you nodded, glad to be given a task “Frankly speaking, I need something to do” you admitted while dropping your voice.

Wheeler gave you a shoulder squeeze and marched off, trying to get control of the squad. You approached Henrik, offering him your services as a provisional nurse. For the next few minutes, you were relatively at peace, occupied with the task. All you had to do was to pass him the needed instruments, disinfect the wound and make the process of field first-aid as smooth as possible. Despite not knowing Kat, you hoped she would make it. Henrik has assured you that he has seen worse but also that she may need a lot of luck. And that there will be a scar. You vowed to give the woman all the remains of good fortune you had.

The other advantage of the situation was the fact that you did not have to stress over the unfolding developments. From the corner of your eye, you could see Neil talk to TP and then to Ives. The word ‘container’ was mentioned. So that was their way of getting back to Oslo, you mused while passing the surgical suture to the medic. It most likely meant a whole week (or more?) of not only not being able to see Neil but also contacting him in any way. But maybe that was exactly what you needed…

“Wheeler, brief him” Ives walked over to you, looking completely done.

“What’s going on?” you asked while taking off the latex gloves.

You have finished the task. Now it was only a matter of getting Kat changed and the container ready for the weekly stay. You could see the team busily taking hold of the needed equipment and supplies.

“TP is heading out there. No fucking clue as to why” the squad leader answered your question with a shrug.

“I see…” turning around to the centre of the commotion you could see the boss putting on the mask.

Wheeler was giving him a summary of the effects of inversion and how to survive outside. But your gaze settled on Neil, taking hold of the various bits of equipment, lost in the madness of the moment. The ache in your chest was ever so persistent. The only thing you were sure of was that you had to talk to him before they left. Even if it meant another argument. Or definite rejection.

The moment you saw TP step out of the airlock the whole squad let out a breath. At least now, you did not have to watch your every move. All that proceeded was simple. Prepare the container, wheel in cots, food supplies, water bottles, oxygen tanks and masks, protective suits. You were given the job of assembling needed ammunition and artillery in case they ran into trouble. Handling the guns and bullets never felt quite this pleasant.

“Y/N?” Wheeler’s voice made you look up.

“Yeah?” you put down the Glock, looking around quickly.

You have found a secluded spot among the rows of containers. It was ideally placed because from there you did not have to see him all the time.

“You and Neil should talk” she eyed you pointedly.

She did have a point. Since you have exited the turnstile, you only exchanged two sentences. Both of them have been related to the type of gun Neil had on him. And even then, your usual dynamic was nowhere to be found. It was all strained voices, metres of space, and awkwardness that made you want to scream.

“That is assuming he wants to,” you noticed quietly, feeling the nerves come back.

“Maybe he shouldn’t be given a choice…” the implication in her voice made you think.

Tempting, but…

“Should I just go in there and make him talk?” you looked around the corner at the chosen container.

Just as you stared, Neil entered it, carrying some crates.

“You know him best” Wheeler’s comment made you frown.

“After today, I’m not sure I know him at all”

But maybe this was your chance… You hesitated, staring at the metal box, weighing your options. Gathering courage.

“Go. I’ll tell everyone to stay away for as long as it is possible” she whispered into your ear and joined the squad.

“Thanks” you muttered and took a deep breath.

You took off the protective helmet. Some used to dress up for the battle ahead, but you chose to make yourself more vulnerable. Smoothing the hair, you stopped right at the airlock made from foil. It was unzipped, and inside you could see Neil fumbling with some equipment. Suddenly he cursed under his breath as an oxygen tank rolled in your direction. That was the perfect cue. Without announcing your presence, you entered and picked up the cylinder. He turned with a question that died on his lips as soon as he realised it was you. Bloody brilliant. Meeting his intense, gaze you took a step forward, closing the space. Only when you were within reach, you dared to speak:

“Be careful with those” you handed him the tank with a small smile.

“Thanks” was all you got in return, as Neil turned back to whatever he was doing.

From how tense he was, you assumed he expected you to leave. Abandon any foolish ideas you could have had and ideally never speak to him again. Well, tough luck. You observed his chaotical movements for a beat before saying:

“Neil,” he somehow tensed up even more, “I think we should talk” you finished the sentence, studying him curiously.

His back was still turned to you. The hand with which he was trying to attach the tanks to the oxygen masks was shaking. And all because of you. Jesus. As the tears threatened to well up again, he muttered a response:

“I’m busy” it was that constrained voice again.

As though speaking to you was painful. Contrasting that with your recent phone calls, anger flared up within your heart. He owed you an explanation if nothing else.

“No, you’re not” you wrapped your hand around his bicep, ignoring the ache in the heart “Leave it” forcing him to face you “And just look at me” you met his gaze with newly found determination.

The conflict and anguish in his eyes shocked you. You could see him hesitate, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on. And then he exhaled, defeated. Shifting, he perched on the edge of the cot, seemingly eager to hold that conversation, only…

“We already talked” the darkness in Neil’s eyes reminded you of the hostile face he showed on the highway.

The drastic changes in his behaviour were more than confusing. Glancing down to gather your thoughts, you could feel his gaze on you. Analyzing, examining, almost caressing if it was not for the lack of affection there. He truly was a stranger.

“That... that wasn’t a conversation,” you blurted out and raised your head again 

“I hoped that you’ve got enough decency to reject me in plain terms instead of whatever it was back there”

That sentence hit the mark. Neil’s eyes widened, mouth opened and then closed. He seemed paralyzed with the implication of your statement. You were unsure whether that reaction was better than him openly admitting that everything you had was a lie. You took a step closer, awaiting the inevitable. Now you were within an arm’s reach. Just in case.

“I don’t...” he tried and then gave up with a heavy sigh.

I don’t what? It was his turn to stare at the floor. Dragging a hand through the hair, he made the strands stick up. In the yellow light of the container, they looked almost golden. Your hand twitched, wanting to smooth them. You tightened it into a fist. That was not within your rights anymore. You could feel the emotions threatening to overspill at any moment. Forcing all the strength to keep the tears at bay, you spoke:

“I’m afraid you need to be a little clearer. Because what you’re saying and doing doesn’t make any sense” your throat tightened as though acting on its own accord “I’m just tired…” your voice cracked, and you breathed out the rest of the sentence “…of not understanding” a single tear trailed down your cheek.

Fuck. That was it for pretending to be strong. You let out a shaky exhale, trying to stop yourself from crumbling in front of him. When you felt Neil cup your cheek, your heart stammered. You raised your head, glad for the gloves separating his skin from yours. The heartbroken expression in his eyes was too much to take.

“See? This doesn’t make sense” you whispered, encircling his wrist with your hand.

Once your fingers made contact with his bare skin, Neil gasped and shivered. More confusion. Touching his pulse point, you could feel the rapid heartbeat. Suddenly, an idea struck. If words were not working, then maybe… One look at his tired face made you decide. You took another step forward. His knees were touching your thighs now. Your proximity made him look up at you with bewilderment. The feeling only deepened when you took one of his hands in yours and undid the Velcro strap around the wrist. Then with a swift motion, you slid off the glove and placed it next to him on the cot.

“What…” Neil swallowed hard when you brushed your fingers over his knuckles “What are you doing?” the uncertainty in his voice strengthened the conviction.

Maybe he did not love you, but this still meant something.

“I wanted to hold your hand” without waiting for him to respond, you got rid of another glove “And to make you more comfortable” you met his gaze, shrugging.

There was something almost endearing in him at this moment. The blue eyes tinted with confusion, brows furrowed, lips parted. Hair falling into his eyes. The wrinkled shirt and the vest that was undoubtedly your very next target. Finally, the now bared hands folded awkwardly in his lap. You focused your attention on them, taking both palms into yours and tracing the tracks of his veins up the forearms. The goosebumps in the wake of your touch encouraged you to say:

“You were right about some things, you know...” looking into his eyes, you added, “If that means anything to you” you knew he caught on to the meaning because of how his cheeks turned red.

Could that be shame? Surely not. You intertwined your fingers with his, pressing your palms together, reveling in the familiarity of the feeling. It felt like a stolen moment. Something that is about to come crashing down at any moment. And yet, you could not let it go. There was still so much you wanted to do if it was the last time. Neil had no answer for you, however. He was watching you wearily, guarding you from seeing more than he wanted you to. Using his moment of reverie, you released his hands and reached around his waist for the vest straps. That was enough to wake him up.

“What the hell?” the startled blue eyes met yours.

With how close you were, your arms still wound around his waist, touching the buckles, his nose brushed over yours. It was too easy to lean in. Despite everything that he has done, the pull was still there. And so, you gave in, leaving a sweet kiss on his lips, undoing the straps at the same time. He was too shocked to react at first, staring at you. Utterly speechless. Some things never change. You took a half step back, taking out the gun and the radio from the pockets of his vest and then taking off the article itself over Neil’s head. Only once that was done, he spoke:

“Thought you wanted to talk” the spite in his voice was tangible.

And yet, as your brain helpfully noticed, he was not stopping you. He has not pushed you away. Not even now when you allowed yourself to invade his personal space. It was as though in practice, nothing has changed, but at the same time, everything has. You gave him a quick once-over and rested your hands on his knees. Simple intimacy.

“I’m the only one speaking, and I’ve had enough” shrugging, you met his gaze with nonchalance.

Using the newly found dynamic, you slid your hands higher, up the thighs. Feeling the muscles tense in the wake of your touch. There was something strange in his eyes. A hint of the passionate darkness you were used to but tainted with apprehension. And boundless struggle.

“But… why this?” he raised his hands helplessly “I’m really not in the mood” Neil looked at you sternly.

Fair enough. Lifting your palms from where they rested on his thighs, you put them on his shoulders instead. Smoothing the wrinkles in the shirt, toying with the collar. Something in his eyes shifted. The sudden softness made the pain in your chest worse. The words you tried to swallow got stuck in your throat. It was as though after this mess of a day you could no longer pretend. Not when you were alone with Neil. Not when he was looking at you as though you could be the solution to every trouble in his universe. And you had no clue why.

“As I said... you were right” you smiled nervously before confessing, “I want you”

It was simple enough to say. Suppose when one has nothing to lose, it doesn’t matter anymore. Neil’s reaction to your admission was to be put on the long list of confusing things he did. He leaned forwards and pressed his forehead against yours. Breath ghosting your lips as he asked:

“… why are you saying this now?” the hesitancy in his voice only made the feeling stronger.

You knew that there was no question of ending this moment without confessing too much. He broke your heart with ease, but he was your everything. And those feelings were hard to ignore. You met his eyes without holding anything back and touched the tie delicately.

“Suppose I’ve lost my mind” was as good an explanation as any “Can I?” you asked for permission while loosening the knot.

“Might as well” Neil nodded, and you took off the tie, placing it along with the rest of the garments.

Then you undid the first two buttons, letting your fingertips ghost over his neck and shadow of the collarbone visible underneath the material. Neil sighed and put his hand on your waist, keeping you in place. Nothing made sense anymore. It was as though after the drama of the highway and the confrontation with TP, he did not know what he wanted. You still mattered to him. But that did not explain the things he said. Or the sudden switches in his behaviour when he seemed so distant and cold. At once, you wanted to shake him, to demand answers, and to keep on touching him, exploring the familiar angles and letting yourself get lost in the moment.

“This break might do us good” he broke the silence, making you look up.

Straight into the blue eyes that always sucked you in. It was not different this time. Another confession was on the tip of your tongue. This time there was no passion to blame it on. Nothing stopping you from jumping off that cliff and falling to demise. Just you and him, bathed in the yellow light of the container. Too close for people who had nothing keeping them together.

“If you say so” you muttered and took a deep breath “Neil, I-”

“No, don’t you dare” he interrupted you harshly before letting go.

A breach. But it was nothing. Only the more reason to say it. If truly everything was beyond saving, then why not? After all, it was there. Before he could stop you again, you spoke:

“I know that you don’t want me to… but, I love you”

It was like ripping off the band-aid – sharply, with no hesitation and dealing with the ghost of pain afterward. Neil looked as though you punched him. Fuck. You knew it was a mistake, but his answer was certainly not what you expected.

“Christ… you’ve really lost it” he sighed before looking at you calculatedly “All that talking about how much those words mean to you and now-” you dropped your hands from his shoulders and slapped him across the face.

Why? Maybe hoping it will wake him. Make him admit what you once believed to be obvious. But it was all a lie. The pain was almost unbearable. The mess of thoughts and feelings making you sway as you stared at Neil. He gazed back, for once completely stunned. That was enough to find the needed words.

“And now I wasted them on the wrong person? Yes, I’m aware” you let out a bitter laugh, feeling the situation dawn on you.

You confessed the truth without anything influencing the choice, and he turned it back on you. You were the stupid one. Guilty of falling for the wrong person once again. Sentenced to live through the heartbreak while Neil would walk free, unbothered. His heart was intact, guarded heavily against the inconvenience of your love.

“It’s not what I meant” Neil’s words broke through your thoughts.

He stood up, defensive and shaken. As though he had the right. The anger burning through your veins made you advance on him again, closing the distance until there was barely half a meter of space between your bodies.

“What then?” you looked up at him, spitting the words in his face “What did you mean?”

“I… don’t know” the restraint in his eyes made you furious.

“Fuck’s sake…” cursing, you placed a hand on his chest over the heart, feeling the rapid beat.

You have had enough. Acting on the most primal of instincts, you crashed your lips into his. Fueled by the anger and desperation, you started kissing him hungrily. He did not belong to you, but you were willing to show him the extent of your recklessness. Tugging at the lower lip, you groaned into his mouth, feeling him tense up beneath your palms. Just when you were sure he was going to push you away, Neil’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him. He opened his lips, letting you deepen the kiss and allowing your tongues to begin the dance. You were furious, upset, and careless. That was enough to give you the courage you have never had before. Biting down on his lower lip, you felt Neil pull you even closer as though he wanted you to melt into him. You tugged sharply on his shirt collar, forcing him to bow down ever so slightly. Tangling the free hand in his hair, you drew out a moan. It only got louder as you burst the blood vessel, piercing the thin skin on his lip. The coppery taste tainted the kiss, waking up a stronger desire. You wanted all of him. Everything at once. Sucking on the split skin, drawing blood from the cut, your soul was set alight with the need for Neil. He gasped when you licked over the damage done and leaned back. His wild, dark gaze was the only sign needed to continue. You pushed him back until his legs hit the cot, and he was forced to sit down. Entirely at your mercy.

Undoing another two buttons on his shirt, you kissed him again. His hands traveled to your hips, pulling you even closer to stand between his spread legs. Breaking the contact after a long, slow kiss, you assessed your work. Messed up hair, swollen lips tinged with blood, eyes hazed with want. Not yours. Ignoring the growing ache in your chest, you kissed the sharp edge of his jaw, sucking on the skin, making him shudder. Then your lips moved south, exploring all of his neck and throat. Making sure not to leave a mark this time but still hoping Neil will understand. His hands roamed across your body, unable to find anything uncovered in the protective suit. A frustrated whine he let out when your teeth grazed over his collarbone made you stop and look at him. Seeing despair in his eyes, the breath caught in your throat. How could he not feel anything back? Swallowing the panic, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling different muscles beneath the material. Then you let your palms settle on his sides, just above the belt, and you picked up the exploration, lightly biting the skin near his pulse point. In response, Neil shivered and pulled you closer, bucking his hips into yours almost uncontrollably. You wanted him to do it again, to feel something. Anything. Even just that pure want that had nothing to do with love. You captured his lips, everything but tender and slow. It was chaotic, breathless, carnal in how you did everything to get a reaction. And it worked. Neil broke the kiss, gasping for breath, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“Christ…” he breathed out, hands secured onto your waist.

Nudging your nose with his as a means of a break, you spoke:

“If you want me to stop, tell me, and I will” you met his eyes with certainty.

Then, not letting a single precious moment go wasted, you kissed his temple. Leaving butterfly touches on the cheekbones and over the eyelids, ending with a gentle nibble of the earlobe.

“N-no” the tenderness made Neil stutter, increasing the deluge of affection in your heart.

You realised that if he asked, you were ready to give him everything. No matter the fact that he did not feel the same. You were his, and that was unchangeable. At least for the foreseeable future. With the infatuation burning through every single cell in your body, you kissed the skin beneath his ear, getting lost in the sounds he let out. If he was unwilling to give you anything else, you had to take what was there. Even if it meant nothing. As though Neil was reading your mind, he made you stop, squeezing the hand that was stroking his chest. You met his gaze cautiously:

“I can’t say it back” Neil whispered as though ashamed to admit it “Not like this”

But you knew. It was nothing new. Shaking your head slightly, you gave him the best smile you could muster.

“I know you don’t love me” placing hands on his shoulders, you noticed the denial in his eyes “But it doesn’t change anything” you shrugged and closed the distance again, “I’m still here” the last word was placed on his lips ardently.

He responded with a kiss, bringing you closer with one hand tangled in your hair. The familiarity of the moment and the terrifying implications of it all were both responsible for the tears that started falling then. The salty undertone of the next kiss was more than appropriate. Lost in the moment, neither of you noticed the footsteps:

“I’m sorry, but it’s time” Wheeler’s voice made you stumble a step away.

Blushing, you met her gaze across space. You were sure she saw enough to understand how the conversation went. Hurriedly, you brushed the tears away, acutely aware of the other pair of eyes fixed on you.

“What happened?” Neil’s hoarse voice broke the silence.

“They set his car on fire. He’s in hypothermia” you inhaled sharply at the news “You should get going” with that, Wheeler left.

For the last time, you glanced at Neil. The perfectly ruffled golden hair, flushed cheeks, dark intense gaze, partly unbuttoned shirt, hands idly folded in his lap. The object of your utmost desire and love. Beautiful, elusive, like a masterpiece that is meant to be admired but never owned. There was nothing left to say. Nodding formally, you picked up the helmet and left before the pain could get any worse.

*** There was not much time to think, as TP and Kat were packed into the container. You were busy checking everything was ready for their journey until the very last moment. When Neil zipped up the foil and motioned for Ives to close the outside door, you felt the sting of tears. That was it. And you did not even say goodbye.

The feeling got worse when Ives turned to you then, digging something out of his pocket. Without a word, he placed a set of keys on your palm:

“What’s this?”

“Neil told me to give it to you. In case he couldn’t come back with us” the leader shrugged “Before all this” he added upon your inquisitive glare.

“Right” you swallowed, feeling worse than ever.

“They’re for his London apartment. I suppose he wanted you to have them” he walked off, leaving you with the problematic set clasped in your fist.

Brilliant.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion #gifs not mine

[whats-rambled-rambled]

stuck in stories - a hostage situation

Neil x Reader

summary: the intel you’d received was shit lacking, and as the mission got awry, you had to improvise.

+ song: Nothing But Thieves - Particles

warnings: language, some violence, blood mention, hand content

author’s note: thank you so much for inspiring me to write this little piece, my dear friend. And for that fantastic song.

This one is more action-packed than the previous works, I hope you’re going to like it!

This is a one-shot, but as usual - hits differently in you’re familiar with Neil and Reader from Stuck in Reverse series.

Enjoy and let me know what you think! 

___

You ducked between the crates. The dim light of the warehouse was working to your advantage. 

But you could already hear the ruckus at the corridor, the doors you’d barricaded were not going to hold for much longer. 

You checked the ammo - two bullets left. 

“I’m almost out, you?” you whispered as you stopped in the darkest spot you could find.

Neil crouched right next to you and shot you a quick, panicked look. 

Shit. 

You gritted your teeth, your mind racing to find a solution for the unfortunate situation you’d found yourselves in. Aborting the mission was one option, but both of you knew that an opportunity like this is not going to happen anytime soon. What else? 

“We could wait for them here, let them spread out, and take them one by one.”

Neil raised a brow, quite amused at the idea. “And rely on your sneaking skills?” he snorted and shook his head. “Just shoot me now.”

“Fuck you, darling,” you huffed, punching him in the arm. He got a point though. You sighed. “Fair enough, we need a distraction, then. Any ideas?”

He chewed on his bottom lip as he glanced over his shoulder at the other side of the hall. His face was tense, but the corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “You’re not going to like it.”  

You were sure of it. But the time was running out, and so were your options. 

“Hit me.”

Neil took a deep breath. “Remember Munich?” he said and his eyes lit up. “I believe it’s my turn now.”

Of course you remembered. You’d had to improvise to buy some time for the rest of the team to get on the site, so you’d acted as a decoy. What you also remembered was spending the next two weeks in the hospital. 

And that agonizing pain.

You winced at the memory. You were not willing to see anyone in that state ever again. Especially not him. 

“Forget it, I’m not leaving you--”

Neil turned your way and placed both hands on your arms. “Those guys are pawns. I’ll be fine.” His voice was calm, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine anyway. You knew he’d made up his mind already.

A loud bang on the other side of the hall. 

They were getting closer. 

A spike of panic was trying to force its way through your mind, but you were so deep in your mission mode, you barely felt it. The only indication of its presence was the pulse pounding in your ears. 

“But-”

Neil’s gloved hand covered your mouth as he peeked from your cover. He clenched his jaw and looked back at you with determination. “Don’t argue with me. Get the pass-codes and radio-in the cavalry,” he said, searching your eyes for any sign of compliance. You stared back at him in a silent protest. “Please.” His dark gaze got softer, finally breaking your will. 

You nodded. 

Neil exhaled slowly and lowered his hand. You grabbed it and squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

“I’ll find you.”

He quickly pulled you closer into a kiss. “I know. Run.”

And so you did. 

You reached the first door and managed to force a lock when you heard the sound of the barricade being breached. You rushed into a corridor and cocked your pistol, just in case there was any leftover security personnel at this side of the compound. There shouldn’t be any, but the intel you’d received at your briefing had already turned out to be lacking. 

Finding the right room wasn’t a problem. Neither was overriding another, more advanced lock. Late-night lessons with Neil turned out to be invaluable. You could almost hear his clear instructions in your mind, walking you through the whole process. 

The memory of one of your first lockpicking lessons flashed before your eyes. Losing your patience and groaning in frustration after breaking yet another tool. Neil’s arms wrapped around you, his hands on yours, slowly but steadily guiding your movements.

You smiled to yourself as the door gave in with a quiet click. You slipped into the room and looked around. Someone definitely tried to make it look like an elevated boss office, but you didn’t have time to muse over the poor choices in interior design. You jumped to the desk, reaching for a pendrive hidden in your vest. As you plugged it into the computer and ran a script to help you sneak into the system, you could finally signal the team. 

“Ives, do you copy? We need a backup over here,” you barked into a walkie and tossed it on the desk. 

“Copy. ETA to secondary breach location - thirteen minutes. Hang in there.”

No questions asked? Must have been something in your tone. 

A minute later, you gained access to all files and after a quick search, you found what you’d been looking for. You copied the files and hesitated. Biting your lip, you typed in a few commands and pulled out feeds from the security cameras on the screen. You browsed through the images from different locations, trying to find any clue about Neil’s whereabouts. 

You inhaled sharply. There he was, sitting on the chair in the middle of a room, with his hands tied behind his back. A woman in a black security uniform was standing in front of him, her back facing the camera. She punched Neil in the face, the force of that blow almost sending him to the ground. You spurted out a litany of cuss words as you unmuted the feed.

“I’ve asked you a question, pretty boy.”

You clenched your hands on the edge of the desk, watching as Neil spat out blood on the ground. 

“So that was the annoying ringing in my ear,” he scoffed, his lips curled in a sly smile. “Blimey.”

The next punch landed on his stomach, making him bend in half breathless.

“Where is your partner?” the woman snarled, grabbing Neil by the hair and making him look at her.

“Got out and left me here,” he said, coughing out. 

“If you’re lying-”

Even with the questionable quality of the feed, you could see his eyes lighting up. “What, you’re gonna beat me?” he mocked with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh honey, I’ve barely touched you,” the woman chuckled, taking his chin in her palm and squeezing it. She glanced over her shoulder and you realized there must have been someone else in the room with them. “Check it.”

“Take your time!” Neil called after the person leaving the room. For a brief moment, his gaze focused on the camera, as if he knew you were watching him. He shifted slightly, wincing. You noticed a trickle of blood coming down his face from the cut on his cheekbone. The way he wanted to look relaxed, leaning back on the chair with his legs spread wide, made you grit your teeth. The corner of his lips twitched as he raised a brow. “So... you come here often?” 

A hysterical giggle escaped your mouth. Oh god, he was going to get himself killed.

You reached for the walkie. “Got the codes, on my way to the rendezvous point.” 

“Copy. Meet you there in five.”

Packing your things and erasing every sign of your presence from the room, you took one more look at the screen, just in the right moment to see a precise kick landing on Neil’s ribs. You closed your eyes, but you could still hear his muffled groan.

“Ives,” - you said, turning off the computer and making your way out - “hurry up, please.”

With the help of the squad, you secured the area in no time. As you burst into the room where Neil was being held captive, you didn’t hesitate. It took you a second to lock on the woman you’d seen on the screen just minutes before, another second to put a bullet into her head. Few more shots echoed through the room. Only when Wheeler called all clear, you allowed yourself to look at Neil, sitting still on the chair in the middle of the room. 

The vacant stare he gave you made your heart clench in your chest.

Before you could run to him, Ives grabbed your elbow. 

“Child’s play, eh? What happened here?”

You glared at him, flashing your teeth in frustration. 

Couldn’t it wait?

“We’ve run out of luck. Or your intel was shit. You pick.”

“Fucking hell,” Ives let go of you, his face tense as he considered your words. He glanced towards Neil and rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, stop slacking, could have gotten out of those knots like three times since we came in.”

That made Neil finally focus his gaze. 

As you walked up to him, he blinked a few times and winced, releasing his hands from the ropes. He rubbed his wrists and scoffed, “A little sympathy wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

Now that your adrenaline rush was wearing off, you were slowly getting overflown by the emotions you’d kept bottled up since the moment you split up in the warehouse. Seeing Neil’s face up close, covered in bruises, bleeding from cuts on his eyebrow and cheekbone, brought a choking lump to your throat. 

You knelt in front of him and carefully took his hands in yours, only then realizing that he no longer had his gloves on. You held your breath as your eyes ran along the wounds on his knuckles. His long fingers trembled lightly as he interlocked them with yours, making you glance up to meet his eyes.

Neil looked at you tenderly, but he clearly struggled with concentrating his gaze on a single point.

“I’m fine,” he said softly and gave you a weak smile.

You bit your lip. You desperately wanted to kiss him, but you were too afraid to hurt him to even graze your fingertips against his face. There was also the tiny part of you not willing to make a scene in front of your team, but to be honest, you were way past caring at that point. As your thumbs gently stroked his fingers, you let out a shaky breath. 

You stood up and reached out your hand to help him get up, but he waved at you dismissively. You rolled your eyes, still ready to provide a safeguard at any moment.

And you were right to do so; as soon as Neil got up and tried to take a step, he lost his balance. 

“I’ve got you,” you said, taking his arm and tossing it on your shoulders, wrapping your own arm around his back. Neil leaned on you and frowned, shooting you a thankful look. 

As you guided him towards the door, you noticed his clenched jaw and a pale shade on the uninjured parts of his face. 

He was far from fine and both of you knew it.

And to think he could have escaped his bounds way before you got to him if only he’d wanted to. You shook your head. “Why the hell did you let them do all of that to you?” you said under your breath.

His brows drew together as if you just asked about the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because as long as they were focusing on me, they wouldn’t be focusing on you.”

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson #stuck in stories #stuck in reverse #tenet #tenet fanfiction #neil tenet fanfic

[onebizarrekai]

Meme Waker: That Final Thing

okay aight here we go here’s the big idea compilation you’ve all been waiting for or something like that

since I’ve finally accepted meme waker’s inevitable fate, I’ll share what I’ve had laying around about it. prepare yourself for a wild ride.

first of all, what existed of the planned character key:

Nightmare = Link Dream = Aryll Cross = Tetra Ink = The Entire Pirate Crew Granny Gertrude = Grandma Horror = Quill Killer = Medli Color = Komali Dust = Makar XGaster = Tingle (yes, you read that right) Fresh = Fado (?) Geno = Laruto Blueberry = Niko Error = Ganondorf Giant Flying Chicken = Helmaroc King Core Frisk = The King XChara = Zelda

So XChara was going to fill the role of Zelda–basically, what was going to happen was that when Cross and Nightmare reached sunken Hyrule, which was replaced by the Omega Timeline, they encountered Core Frisk and with their magical Core Frisk powers that apparently exist, separated XChara from Cross’s body. Because Error was hunting him down for whatever villainous reasons (I dunno, maybe he wanted to find Overwrite or something), XChara was going to spend the near remainder of the comic hiding in the Omega Timeline from Error. It was a pretty neat reference to the fact that Error doesn’t know where the OT is.

Unsurprisingly, considering when I was working on this, Nightmare and Cross may have eventually started dating. They were going to kiss during a fight that involved them accidentally rolling down a hill and then likely spend the remainder of the comic referring to each other as boyfriends, with no further indication of romance between them. I never really mentally decided whether I was actually going to incorporate this or not.

In moments where someone needed to present a musical instrument, Cross was going to play a keytar.

There is a very high chance that the entire comic was going to end up being an elaborate prank set up by Ink and Error.

After being rescued from the Forsaken Fortress, Dream was going to get crossbows and… I dunno, maybe be useful with them sometimes. One consideration was that he was going to complain about being stuck in a glorified retirement home and request joining the party.

Nightmare was going to have a fake ID with the name “Nathaniel Meyer” on it.

When Nightmare eventually pulled up the Gaster Sword, he was basically going to do a magical girl transformation and get a new outfit. I was considering holding a contest where people would submit new designs for Nightmare before I realized that I may have wanted to do it myself. Meanwhile, Cross’s design change at the same time was going to pertain to the fact that he had such a hard time with his uniform that he just wanted to start wearing normal clothes.

When XChara was separated from Cross, it would indicate that Cross can’t use the hack knife anymore, so I had to think of a new weapon for him. I considered giving him arm mounts with knives in them for no reason other than being extra, but I was probably just going to end up going with a regular sword.

Nightmare and Cross were going to be mistaken for missionaries at some point due to Nightmare introducing Cross as his ‘companion’.

Nightmare’s fake ID is actually a driver’s license. Cross questions how he could get one when he’s only fifteen, and Nightmare responds with “what can I say? I live in the country.”

The Giant Flying Chicken was going to evolve into the Cyborg Giant Flying Chicken before Nightmare and Cross fought it. It was already a robot, but someone decided it would be fun to make it look more robotic for some reason. Maybe too many people tried to eat it.

Because Blueberry was going to replace Niko, that meant there was going to be a form of challenge that he would present to Nightmare and/or Cross. They were probably just going to play Dance Dance Revolution.

The dress that Granny Gertrude gave Nightmare was actually going to be infused with magical powers. Either Nightmare could only access the power of the Triforce when he’s wearing the dress, or it was going to be a piece of equipment that turned his sword into a fire sword.

Nightmare was going to come back to the Village of Old People to see that his grandmother had conquered it with capitalism.

Dragon Roost Cavern was going to be replaced with a Pokemon gym.

When Nightmare supposedly kicked Error’s ass at the end of the story, he was going to say something along the lines of “Because fuck you!” and it would be the first and only f-bomb in the whole comic. Nightmare would proceed to say that it was the first time he’d ever said fuck and that he felt dirty.

The Triforce of Courage was just going to be called the Triforce of Porridge for exactly zero reason.

Some incarnation of Buffmare was going to exist in the comic, but only in a sequence taking place in Nightmare’s imagination.

When Cross realized his backpack was missing, it was because I realized his backpack was missing. I forgot to draw it. I decided that the backpack actually fused with him to create a Zelda-style magic pocket.

Nightmare was going to try to control a seagull with the command melody, but he was accidentally going to start controlling Cross instead and make him run into a tree.

The Tree Spirit was going to hold official interviews for placeholder guardians in Dream and Nightmare’s absence. These placeholder guardians were going to be Neil, the overenthusiastic French furry, and Ccino, the local emo kid who is absolutely done with everyone’s bullshit, and exclusively because they were the only ones who applied for the job. Neil was going to have an ulterior motive of becoming Gaston’s successor.

Neil and Ccino were eventually going to ‘get together’, if you can even call it that, and for no other reason than shitpost reasons.

Nightmare may have had a showdown with the Giant Flying Chicken while riding the Great Charizard from Dragon Roost.

Another possible concept for whole story was that it was a bad self insert fic written by a younger version of Nightmare, but it’s really unlikely that I would’ve gone through with that.

Nightmare and Cross may have needed to go on a fetch quest to find Ink’s brush in the ocean because they accidentally lost it, but honestly that would’ve served nothing for the progression of the story. Because XGaster put a tracker on Ink’s brush, they were going to have to enlist his help.

and that about wraps up my notes, now let me throw what I had sitting around of a script draft–reading this was a trip because I forgot that literally 60% of it existed:

(inside the mountain)

Cross: holy shoe, EVERYONE has wings? how is this a thing??

Cross: I’m frickin jealous

Chief: Oh. You must be. Those guys.

Horror: yeah man, I enlisted their help to capture the Chicken Terror, but then they were all like yo, it’s a robot!


Chief: horror robot or not I told you that we weren’t going to capture the chicken terror for food because we’re not cannibals we don’t eat birds

Horror: but

Horror: we’re hardly even birds!

Chief: you know your job Horror. now get back to work. your actual work.

Horror: But… being the mailman sucks!


Chief: Do I need to confiscate your axe again?


Horror: OKAY FINE. I’M GOING. (flies away in a huff)

Chief: AND DO YOUR GODFORSAKEN LAUNDRY!

Chief: I apologize for that… so, how can I help you two today?


Nightmare: You guys have like, some pearl thing or something? We need to like, collect three of them in order to… save the multiverse… or something like that.

(Camera dramatically darkens.)

Chief: It’s just as the prophecy foretold…

Nightmare: oh god what

Chief: You see, young whippersnappers… legend tells of a great hero that would rise up and save a bunch of people in times of desperation that they don’t even realize are desperate. the great hero would travel far and wide in search of the Pearls of Shiny to finally retrieve a great weapon that he would use to strike down the evil that few knew existed. also the hero would have a sidekick wearing stupid clothes.

Cross: EXCUSE ME

Chief: THAT’S JUST WHAT THE PROPHECY SAID

Nightmare: okay, y’know, I’m just gonna roll with it. where can I get the pearl?

Chief: Well… that’s where the hard part comes in. You see, the pearl belongs to my son… but he’s been acting like an edgy teenager lately.

Nightmare: Great…

Cross: Is there a reason he’s being edgy? Maybe there’s something we can do to appease his hormones.

Cross: Free food works like a charm for me.

Chief: No, it’s more complicated than that. When one of our people becomes of age, they climb to the top of Charizard Island to receive a scale from the Great Charizard that will allow them to grow wings.

Nightmare: the… great charizard.

Chief: But lately, the Great Charizard has been throwing inexplicable temper tantrums. No one can get close to him anymore. And with my son being of age, he’s decently pissed off about this.

Chief: We’re thinking that the Great Charizard is displeased about something, and it is also causing our shortage of food.

Nightmare: Wait, you worship something named after a Pokemon?


Chief: Anyway, perhaps you two will be able to talk some sense into my son. Maybe he just wants to talk to someone his age that isn’t Horror or Killer.

Nightmare: What kind of names are those?


Chief: There’s a letter that I wanted my son to read, and I’ve given it to Killer to hold onto. You can go get it from him upstairs in the first room near the stairs, just tell him I sent you. He’s the little guy in the short shorts, you’ll probably recognize him when you see him.

Nightmare: Can’t you just call him here?


Chief: No, it is of upmost importance that you experience a basic fetch quest in order to become a great hero, because those fetch quests will become needlessly complicated before you even realize it.

Nightmare: ?????

Nightmare: I can’t even tell if you’re joking or not–

Cross: dude let’s just go get the letter

(scene transition)

(Killer dramatically turns around and it zooms in and says his name SSB style)

Nightmare: Wait, why do you get a dramatic introduction?


Killer: Dayum. New faces.

Nightmare: Why is everyone ignoring my questions??

Killer: (needlessly sensual voice) So, what brings you here? (walking closer)


Nightmare: (backs into wall) NO BUENO

Cross: You have a letter or something?


Killer: Oh. Yeah. Chief gave it to me for some reason. Yo, catch.

(He chucks it like a ninja star. Cross catches it between his hands in front of his face.)


Killer: Ey! You actually caught it!


Cross: I’m a trained ninja.

Killer: So like, who are you guys?

Cross: I’m Cross. He’s Larry.

Nightmare: NIGHTMARE. MY NAME IS NIGHTMARE.

Killer: Aw man, I know the feel of having a really lame name and wanting one that’s cooler.

Nightmare: No. Like. My name is actually Nightmare. My senile grandma called me Larry earlier today and this loser picked up on it.

Killer: There’s no need to lie. I understand.

Nightmare: I’M NOT LYING!

Killer: anyway make sure you get that letter to Color there’s something I have to do–

(Killer zips out the door behind them.)


Cross: what even the frick?


Nightmare: that guy freaks me the frick out.

Nightmare: literally. I felt like he was coming onto me.

Cross: you’re imagining things.

(SCENE TRANSITION)
 Cross: all right Nightmare I literally do not trust your ability to communicate with another person in a way that will make them feel inclined to give us something so just let me handle this okay

Cross: okay better yet wait outside the room

(Nightmare makes a less than amused face.)


Cross: it’s for the greater good

(Cross walks into the room.)

Cross: hi my name is Cross and

Color: LEAVE

(Cross immediately exits the room.)

Cross: this is a lost causeNightmare: what

Cross: go make him bleed with your words

Nightmare: dude isn’t this the part where we give him the frickin letter

Cross: (pauses) :o

Cross: OH RIGHT

(Cross takes the letter and goes back into the room, leaving the door open)

Cross: oh yeah this letter is for you it’s from your dad or something

Color: Oh, wow. Can’t even be bothered to talk to me in person.

Color: Give me that thing.

(Color stares at the letter. It’s actually a letter from Killer filled with really bad pickup lines and other really creepy compliments.)

Color: What the hell, you said this was from my dad!

Cross: We thought it was–??

(Killer teleports in behind them, scaring the shit out of Nightmare)


Killer: Suuuup~

Color: Killer I swear to god.

Killer: Here’s the actual letter, though you might not be happy with it.

(He flings it at Color and it lands in front of him. He reads it over, rolls his eyes and throws it in the trash.)

Cross: So uh… I don’t know what the letter says but apparently we’re prophesied heroes collecting a bunch of pearls to save the multiverse and the pearl you have is–


Color: Can everyone just get out of my room already?

(everyone just leaves)

Nightmare: What even was the point of that stupid fetch quest?

Killer: Oh yeah, can you guys help me with something? Just a smalllll favor. And I can’t ask anyone else because I’m not supposed to do it.

Killer: I need some strong, reliable people…

Nightmare: Don’t touch me.

Killer: It’s just a small favor! And I mean actually small, it’ll take like two minutes.

Nightmare: I have doubts about this.

Killer: Great! Meet me out back by the spring.

Nightmare: Wait which side is the back–

(Killer is gone)

Nightmare: Cross which side is the back.

Cross: I don’t know??

(after spending twenty minutes going through the various exits trying to figure out how to get there)

Killer: What the hell took you so long.

Nightmare: Directions would’ve been helpful. There wasn’t even a freaking map anywhere in there!

Killer: The hollow is like the size of a middle class house! How difficult could it be to find out where to go?!

Nightmare: IT’S A DOME THERE IS NO BACK

Cross: OKAY, what matters is that we’re here, what the heck do we do now.

Killer: Okay, okay. (steps backwards) Look, if you look around here, it’s all a dried up spring. The Great Charizard was throwing a tantrum, a boulder fell down and it coincidentally plugged up the spring for the third time this week, which is literally our main source of fresh water. I’m honestly getting sick of this so I’m going to climb the mountain and see what’s going on because everyone else is too scared to do it.

Nightmare: God. You’re not gonna make us go with you, are you?


Killer: Oh, no way. I just need you to throw me up that cliff over there so I can get into the cavern that leads up the mountain.

Nightmare: Can’t you fly?

Killer: Not thirty feet straight up. Do these noodle arms look like they can manage that?


Nightmare: Whatever. But quick question. How the hell does one throw a person.

Killer: I weigh like fifty pounds. It shouldn’t be that hard. Also, if you’ve noticed, the wind is rapidly changing directions, so you’ll probably have the best effect throwing me when the wind is blowing that way.

Nightmare: Mhmm. Sure. Let’s just get this over with.

(Nightmare crouches down and Killer fuckin walks onto his shoulders)

Nightmare: Hey! Watch it!

(some way or another he throws Killer and Killer barely makes it to the cliff, face planting into the ground)

Nightmare: Well I guess that worked.

Killer: THAT WAS TERRIBLE!

Nightmare: YOU’RE WELCOME! COULD’VE JUST USED A DAMN LADDER!

Killer: NOBODY OWNS A LADDER HERE BECAUSE EVERYONE CAN FLY!

Nightmare: Then how the frick do people get up this cliff?!

Killer: THERE’S NORMALLY A BRIDGE BUT IT BROKE AND PROBLEMS LIKE THESE ARE PRECISELY WHY I’M CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN TO BEGIN WITH! ALSO I’M LEAVING BYE. (turns and leaves)

(cricket cricket)

Cross: Nightmare we should probably follow him.

Nightmare: No.

Cross: What else do we have to do. We solve their problem, Color can get his wings and then he stops being emo and gives us the pearl out of the goodness of his heart.

Nightmare: I’m not risking my life for this! If that guy is willing to do it himself I’m going to let him do it!

Cross: Dude, look at that guy. He looks about at capable fixing whatever the problem is as Ink is at providing emotional support. If this happens to be anything like a video game, we’re the only ones capable of solving anything. Besides, what else are we supposed to do? Hang around and wait for something to happen?

Nightmare: All right, fine. But how are we supposed to do something? It’s not like we can climb up a thirty foot cliff.

Cross: No, but we can swim, right?Nightmare: What?

(Cross draws a line around the rock covering the spring. It dematerializes into red squares and water starts to spew out of the spring. They both run back towards the side and climb up the cliff they came from)

Nightmare: Dude, what the hell was that?

Cross: I can draw lines around things with my sword and they do that and go away.

Nightmare: … do they go somewhere?


Cross: I dunno.

(Meanwhile in Xtale, a boulder slams into the floor and almost crushes Fresh because of course he’s there)

(The spring fills up)


Nightmare: You know I’m starting to have second thoughts about this swimming thing seeing as how I’ve never actually–(Cross kicks him into the water)


(LATER)


Nightmare: YOU ASSHOLE I ALMOST DROWNED

Cross: You’re exaggerating.

Random Dude: STOP RIGHT THERE!


Nightmare: who.

Random Dude: YOU AREN’T GOIN ONE STEP PAST THIS POINT! YOU’RE LIGHT YEARS FROM FACING BROCK!

(nightmare squints)

(comic suddenly goes into a battle sequence)

Nightmare: whoa whoa what the hell is happening

Cross: oh my god it’s pokemon NIGHTMARE IT’S POKEMON

Nightmare: I DON’T HAVE ANY POKEMON CROSS THREATEN HIM

(Random Dude sent out MEWTWO)

Cross: DEAR GOD

Cross: LISTEN THERE’S A HUGE MISUNDERSTANDING WE’RE NOT TRAINERS WE DON’T HAVE POKEMON

Random Dude: tHEN WHY ARE YOU IN A POKEMON GYM HUH

Cross: Uh… touring?

Random Dude: OH

Random Dude: I SEE

(The Random Dude returns his Mewtwo.)

Random Dude: THERE HAS BEEN AN UNFORTUNATE MISUNDERSTANDING

Cross: Say uh, you didn’t happen to see a scrawny dude with wings pass through here, did you?

Random Dude: Oh yeah, he went into the next room and took the elevator to the top.

(silence)


Nightmare: Why are there always elevators.

(two seconds later, they reach the elevator and there’s a dude standing in front of it)


Nightmare: um excuse me we need to use the elevator

Dude: oh man I can’t find my glasses anywhere what do I do

Nightmare: excuse me I said move

Dude: oh man I can’t find my glasses anywhere what do I do

Nightmare: HELLO

Dude: oh man I can’t find my glasses anywhere what do I do

Nightmare: MOVE ASSHOLE

Cross: I think it’s a preprogrammed NPC.

Nightmare: UAGGGGHHHHH

(Nightmare throws himself into the person, but he slams into the STEEL WALL OF NPC)

Nightmare: CROSS TELEPORT HIM AWAY

Cross: wait are you serious what if that freakin kills him I don’t know where these things go

Nightmare: YOU SAID IT YOURSELF HE’S AN NPC

(Cross shrugs. He draws a line around the NPC and the NPC disappears)

(one elevator ride later)

Nightmare: (chokes) oh god

Nightmare: the altitude

Cross: nightmare this island is still lower than ink’s house.

Nightmare: PSYCHOLOGICAL ALTITUDE

(fwip)

Cross: Oh look, it’s that guy from earlier.

Nightmare: Got captured somehow. Why am I not surprised?

Killer: YOU KNOW WHAT SCREW YOU GUYS

(A really buff guy abruptly slams into the ground)

Buff Guy: FEAR MY WRATH, FOR I AM BROCK! LEADER OF ALL THINGS ROCK HARD

Nightmare: Look man, we really don’t have time for this, just let the shota hoe go, we’re just checking up on the huge-ass Charizard up there.

Killer: excuse me

Brock: I AM THE LOYAL GUARDIAN OF THE GREAT CHARIZARD! You can only pass if you defeat me!


Cross: what the hell is even happening anymore

(Loud gym battle music as the gate at the entrance of the clearing slams shut)

Nightmare: LOOK WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS WE DON’T HAVE ANY POKEMON

(Brock war cries as he sends out a very anime geodude)

Nightmare: can someone please tell me I’m hallucinating all of this

Brock: WELL, IF YOU DON’T HAVE POKEMON, YOU’LL HAVE TO USE A RENTAL

Cross: What? But rental pokemon always suck.

Brock: YOU MUST PROVE YOUR WORTH SOMEHOW! AND BECAUSE YOU’RE SMALL CHILDREN YOU OBVIOUSLY CAN’T PROVE IT THROUGH SUMO WRESTLING.

Nightmare: I’m fifteen!

Cross: Nightmare I think you’re missing the point.

Killer: Good god, just let them through and let me out of here, they’re the heroes of prophecy.

Brock: PROPHECY

Brock: GOODNESS ME I APOLOGIZE FOR THAT

(Brock returns his geodude)

Brock: YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING

Nightmare: That would have worked?

Brock: BUT! IF YOU WANT TO FREE THIS TINY FELLOW HERE, YOU MUST COMPLETE A DIFFERENT CHALLENGE! FOR YOU SEE, HE TRIED TO PASS THROUGH HERE WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION!


(Killer rolls his eyes. Nightmare squints, literally pulling a notebook out of his shirt. He writes something in it, walking up to Brock and holding it up. It says “Let the guy out of jail you dick”)

Brock: AHA

Brock: WELL

Brock: I CAN’T ARGUE WITH THAT

(He stomps his foot on the ground and the bars in front of Killer go up)

Brock: DON’T BE CAUSING TROUBLE NOW KIDS


(He ascends back into the sky)


Cross: I’m not even going to ask. That entire conversation felt like a drug trip.

(Killer dramatically throws himself onto Nightmare)


Killer: I knew you would come around, my knight in–

Nightmare: Why did I assume that you had become any less creepy in the last ten minutes. Why did I even do that?


Killer: Because your heart told you to.

Nightmare: Dear god stop touching me or I will literally pick you up and slam you into the floor.

Killer: Feisty. Anyway, I figured out why the Great Charizard is freaking out all the time. His tail is hanging down into the room below him and something is chewing on it like all the time.

Cross: What? Then why doesn’t it just, I dunno, pull its freaking tail out of the room like a reasonable creature? Or maybe take care of the problem on its own?

Killer: The Great Charizard is like a five year-old. It’s self aware, but it expects all of its problems to be solved by everyone else and throws tantrums when that doesn’t happen.

Nightmare: Well that’s stupid. Why does everyone act like it’s some holy being then?

Killer: Because it’s a massive, terrifying dragon that can breathe fire?

ok unfortunately this is where the script ends but I hope you enjoyed that

oh yeah, and some extremely old art that I found:

as well as a brief consideration to make the characters human before deciding that I just didn’t want to work on the comic anymore.

basically you will notice that most of this doesn’t have a solid outline, and you’d be right: I never actually planned it that meticulously. I mostly just winged it and threw stuff in over the course of time and never even really planned anything close to a definitive ending beyond “maybe it was a prank”. sorry if this is like… anticlimactic, but it’s all I could find!

#meme waker #long post

[badsext]

I wish you would write a Leon fic.. that's it. That's the message 😅

Scene Partners: Leon X Reader

Thank you for the request @misskittysmagicportal.  I love Leon.  I hope I’m doing him justice.

Summary: After Leon’s ill fated role as Neil Armstrong in the fake moon landing, he decided that fancy acting classes would be just the thing to launch (pun intended) his career as a serious actor.

Warning: Very irresponsible and spontaneous smut (Please use protection IRL) 18+ and suggested assault of a character within a play.  I hid the smut under the ‘read more’. These warnings make it sound heavier than it is...it’s actually super light and fun.

________________________________________________________

Johnny looked at Leon incredulously. “Where are you going at 10:00 AM on a Thursday morning?”

Leon looked his best mate in the eye and lied. “The pub, of course.”

In fact, this was the first day in months he wasn’t drunk or high...Alright, maybe just a toke or two to take the edge off. He even washed his hair and put on a turtleneck because that is what serious actors wore. Leon had lied and stumbled his way into a local university Theatre School, financing his tuition with a fraudulent cheque.

It was only an introductory scene workshop for beginners, but after watching the real Neil Armstrong walk on the Moon, Leon aspired to do great things. He arrived at the theatre more or less on time and with an inflated sense of purpose. It smelled like dust and leather and old wood. Framed photographs of former students lined the hallowed halls. Nervousness began to set in. He felt like an imposter, just like he did when Johnny had asked him to impersonate Stanley Kubrick some months ago. Accept this time, the only thing he had to impersonate was a man with confidence. After a brief internal struggle, Leon decided that he would go to the pub after all. There was always next Thursday.

As he reached for the door, a young woman had just entered, shaking the rain off her umbrella. Seeing how cute she was, Leon immediately changed course.

“Are you here for the workshop?,” she asked politely.

“Yes, I am,” he replied with a bashful smile. “I’m Leon.”

When she took off her coat, he saw how she wore a very similar black turtleneck.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you, Leon.” She paused, looking up from her cat eye glasses. “I think we might be late!,” she added urgently.  He followed her onto the workshop, sitting beside her in the back row of chairs. His interest in y/n distracted him from the enormity of the theatre and his growing stage fright.

The professor explained the warm up exercises, but Leon learned nothing. He was watching y/n chew on her fountain pen. They started with a series of vocalizations and deep breathing. Leon watched y/n’s chest and diaphragm expand and contract with each concentrated breath. Once she caught him staring, he would look up to the rafters or down at his shoes, thoughtfully scratching his beard. She smiled at his lack of subtlety.

The professor distributed scenes to the students at random. Leon looked down at his script. His stage fright resurfaced as he read the words at the top of the page. ‘Macbeth: Act 4, Scene 1.’ The ‘Second Witch’ part had been highlighted.

The students were given fifteen minutes to rehearse their scenes wherein Leon mumbled and stumbled through his lines. The actresses playing the other witches were good-natured about it, but everyone knew the scene would be shit.

He broke into a sweat as the actors were called to the stage.  His mind was nothing but static at that point.  He watched the actresses move their lips, hunched in crone-like fashion and wiggling their fingers over an imaginary cauldron.  They chanted in unison:

“Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

When they stopped, everyone looked at Leon.  This was his line.  The last ‘bubble’ just hung in the air while the silence took over.  He gave it his best effort, though his voice was weak and his hands were shaking.

“Fillet of a fanny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of twat and tongue of hog.”

His hands shook with such force that he dropped the script.

“Oh, bollocks - It’s gone in the soup!”  He improvised rolling up his sleeve and fishing it out of the hot cauldron.

“Leon...Leon!”  It took the professor several tries to rouse him from his panic.  “That’s enough, Leon. We mustn't paraphrase Shakespeare.”  The students giggled.   The professor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  “Let’s try something else, shall we?”  

He turned and pulled two scripts from his briefcase, handing one to Leon.  “We need something to build your confidence.  You will play Stanley Kawalski.  He’s a proud, domineering brute.” He beat his chest for emphasis.  “And you...y/n, you will play Blanche, the jealous, simmering sexpot,” he said, casually handing her the other script.

“A Streetcar Named Desire?  Wasn’t that a film with Marlon Brando?,” Leon muttered nervously.

The professor put a hand on each of their backs.  “I’ll read the stage directions.  Don’t think, just use your instincts.”

Leon read the lines with as much bravado as he could muster. “I've been on to you from the start! Not once did you pull any wool over this boy's eyes! You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume and cover the light bulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile! Sitting on your throne and swilling down my liquor! I say--Ha!--Ha! Do you hear me? Ha--Ha--ha!”

“Okay, now he walks into the bedroom.”

Y/N cried out a warning as Blanche, “Don't come in here!” 

“That was quite good,” Leon whispered, eliciting a small smile.

“Stanley goes into the bathroom and Blanche picks up the phone.”

Blanche: “Operator, operator! Give me long-distance, please.... I want to get in touch with Mr. Shep Huntleigh of Dallas. He's so well-known he doesn't require any address. Just ask anybody who--Wait! I--No, I couldn't find it right now.... Please understand, I--No! No, wait! ... One moment! Someone is--Nothing! Hold on, please!”  

Leon grinned out of character, so impressed by y/n’s acting.

“Blanch is going mad now, pacing back and forth.”

Blanche: “Operator! Operator! Never mind long-distance. Get Western Union. There isn't time to be--Western--Western Union!  Western Union? Yes! I--want to--Take down this message! "In desperate, desperate circumstances! Help me! Caught in a trap. Caught in--" Oh!

Stanley: “You left th' phone off th' hook.”

“Now he blocks her from the door.”

Blanche: “Let me--let me get by you!”

Stanley: “Get by me! Sure. Go ahead”

“But he only gives her an inch.”

Blanche: “You--you stand over there!”

Stanley: “You got plenty of room to walk by me now.”

Blanche: “Not with you there! But I've got to get out somehow!”

Stanley: “You think I'll interfere with you? Ha-ha!”

Blanche: “I warn you, don't, I'm in danger!”

“He takes another step and she smashes the bottle breaking it.”

Stanley: “What did you do that for?”

Blanche: “So I could twist the broken end in your face!”

Stanley: “I bet you would do that!”

Blanch: “I would! I will if you--”

Leon’s reading becomes increasingly stilted and awkward.  “Oh! So you want some rough-house! All right, let's have some rough-house!”

“He springs out at her.  She swipes the bottle at him, but he captures her wrist and overpowers her.”

The professor read the stage directions, but Leon wouldn’t move, delivering the next bit of dialogue with a sigh of regret.  “Tiger--tiger! Drop the bottle top! Drop it! We've had this date with each other from the beginning!”

“Overpower her, Leon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that, Professor.”

“It’s acting, Leon...It’s pretend.”

“I don’t even want to pretend.  Stanley is horrid and I hate him.”

The professor rolled his eyes, disregarding Leon’s protest. Then he clapped his hands together addressing the other students.  “Okay, everybody, that’s it for today.  I want you off book by next week.”

The students started getting up from their chairs and shuffling their things.  Y/N approached Leon who was staring down at the stage with his arms folded.  He looked up anxiously as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.  Meet me in the ladies room in five minutes.

Leon was at first confused, then his eyes widened with surprise when he realized what she meant.  She laughed and swaggered away.

Y/N spotted Leon lurking by the door.  “Leon, that was three minutes, at most.  Luckily everybody left after class.  At least I think so,” she added with a cheeky grin.  “Come here.”  She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the cubicle.  Do you want to shag?

Leon nodded his head. “Y-yes.”

“I liked what you did today,” she said, removing her knickers.  “It was very chivalrous of you.”

Y/N tilted her head and kissed him.  He inhaled at the contact of her lips.

She pulled back and looked him in his glistening green eyes.  “Go on then.”

“What ‘d ya mean?

“Fuck me, Leon.”

“Shouldn’t I, you know...foreplay?”

“Leon, I’m already soaked.  Get your cock out and fuck me.”

Leon quickly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall down around his ankles.  She turned with her back against the partition wall and one foot on the toilet seat.  He lifted her tartan skirt and drove up inside her, groaning at the tight wet sensation. She inhaled through her teeth, clutching  at his shoulders, then wrapping her arms around his neck.  Leon closed the gap between them, his pelvic bone at the base of his cock creating a throbbing pressure on her clit as he thrust.  The hard bouncing rhythm made her glasses fall askew.  She whimpered and moaned as the orgasm pulsed through her, overwhelming her senses.  

“Was that?...Did you?”

Her eyelids drooped peacefully.  “Um hm.”

He smiled, encouraged and continued thrusting.  His eyes shined like Christmas trees. She pet his curls, watching the pleasure wash over his face.

“I’m gonna…”

“Don’t stop, sweetie.”

He plowed into her, releasing his warm seed with a hearty grunt.

“Bravo, Leon,” she smirked.

@bubblyani @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @helena-way07 @chipster-21 @punknatch @slutforrobbiebro

#Leon x reader #leon x reader smut #Robert Sheehan character fic #Robert Sheehan fanfic #Robert sheehan request #moonwalkers #moonwalkers fanfic #robert sheehan imagine #smut

[warren-lauren]

Hello!! I love your writing so much! I have a request if that’s okay? I was wondering if you could do a suuuuper fluffy piece where maybe Gwil teaches reader how to kiss? Like maybe they really like eachother and he leans in to kiss her and she’s like WAIT and is super embarrassed and tells him she’s never kissed anyone before and he thinks it’s adorable and offers to teach her and it’s really soft and fluffy? Omg that would mean the world!! 💖💖

I feel like this isn't great but I hope you like it!

Warnings: swearing

Again and again...

Along with Neil, Fiona and the other cast, you sat beside Gwilym going over the script. For the first time since your first table reading with them, you were nervous.

When you joined the show a couple of months ago, playing the character of John and Sarah's niece, you were excited and nervous all at the same time, this was your first real acting job. You'd stumbled into acting a couple of years ago when your best-friend asked you to help out with her theatre piece and instantly fell in love with it.

"So, the next scene after is the big one," The director teased. Everyone shared a chuckle as they looked over to you and Gwilym. "We'll open the scene with Gwilym and Y/N sharing their first kiss on the sofa, slowly leading to a heavier one and then that's when Neil, you walk in."

"Oh, hmm, sorry, Nelson-"

"Sir!"

"Oh God!"

A nudge to your foot under the table drew your attention away from Neil and Fiona, and to Gwilym. He subtly pushed a piece of paper towards you.

Drink after?

You gave him a small smile and nodded. Gwilym grinned taking the paper back and scribbling something else.

You look pretty.

You scoffed, covering your mouth as eyes moved over to you, causing you to blush. "Sorry, guys, just a cough-" You coughed into your hand before giving an apologetic look to Neil.

Once the reading was over you and Gwilym headed to pub. Your nerves were still there, bubbling away in the pit of your stomach but they were always there whenever you were around Gwilym. It was always the same. The feeling of butterflies whenever Gwilym smiled at you or touched your hand slightly, you felt like a teenage girl with a bloody crush.

"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Gwilym asked after the two of you had been sat in silence for a few minutes. You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. Gwilym's brow creased as he looked at you. "Are you sure? You didn't seem yourself in the reading. You seemed, almost... Nervous?"

Your eyes widened before you looked down to your hands. "Oh, hmm... I guess, maybe, just a little." You whispered and looked down embarrassed.

"Oh. About what?" Gwilym asked, popping a peanut into his mouth.

"Hmm... Well, tomorrow... We, have to film, that... Hmm... Scene, together." You blushed even more.

"What scene? We've filmed loads of them together. What's different about-" Gwilym began to blush as it dawned on him what was going to be different. "Oh, that, scene."

You nodded, "I haven't, hmm, done one, before." You whispered.

Gwilym nodded, "Oh... It's not that bad, really. You just, give a little kiss," He chuckled. "Unless, you don't want to kiss me?" He nudged you, making you grin.

"That's definitely not the reason." You smiled.

"Oh, so you do, want to kiss me?" You nodded, your face growing redder as you looked up to him. "Oh, good... Cause, you see, I want to kiss you too...." He whispered and leaned in a little. "So, why don't we just, practice, you know?"

You gulped, your eyes glued to Gwilym's lips as he slowly leaned in. "I-" You placed your hand on Gwilym's chest and pushed him back. "I can't."

Gwilym frowned a tad, "You can't what?"

"Well, it's not that, I can't, it's... I," You closed your eyes and looked away from Gwilym. "I've never kissed anyone."

Gwilym sat back in his seat. "Oh, like, not just acting?" You shook your head. "Oh... Well... That's..." Gwilym slowly began smiling as he watched you get embarrassed and your cheeks flush. "God, your fucking adorable." Gwilym grinned.

Your head shot up in surprise. "What? I'm a grown ass woman, who's never kissed anyone before. How is that adorable?" You pouted and folded your arms over your chest.

Gwilym chuckled, "Because, you're adorable. And beautiful, and smart and..." Gwilym looked around the pub with a slight frown. "C'mon," He stood up, holding his hand out toward you.

"What?"

"Just, c'mon," He grinned taking your hand as you stood up.

Gwilym lead you outside into the cool air, the sky had darkened as night slowly crept in. You followed Gwilym over to the green opposite the pub and sat down on a bench that was slightly under a tree but not completely covered so you could still see the stairs.

"Look at me," Gwilym whispered as he slipped his arm around your shoulders. You turned to look at Gwilym, a shy smile on your lips as the two of you faced one another. "You know that it's not a big deal, right? It doesn't change the way I feel about you."

You gulp, running your tongue over your bottom lip. "How, do you feel?"

Gwilym smiled, his eyes flicking to your lips before he looked into your eyes. "The same way you feel."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Oh," You slowly began to smile shyly at him.

"Can I kiss you?" Gwilym whispered. He lightly brushed his fingers over your cheek, pushing your hair back from your face.

You nodded, "I won't be that good,"

Gwilym shook his head gently. "Then we'll kiss again and again," He grinned making you blush.

You nodded, "Okay... Kiss me." You smiled.

Slowly as Gwilym leaned in, his soft hand laid over your cheek, bring some comfort to you as you leaned into him. Your fingers  tangled in his shirt and jacket as you felt his warm breath tickle your lips.

You closed your eyes the moment you felt Gwilym's nose nudge yours. A soft moan left your lips and mixed with Gwilym's as his lips pressed against yours. His fingers tangled  in your hair as his other arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"Hmm," A giggle slipped out as you pulled back, panting as you rested your forehead against Gwilym's.

"That was absolutely terrible, Y/N." Gwilym teased, a big grin on his face. "Think it's going to be a long night of practising, don't you?"

You grinned. "Definitely."

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee x reader fluff #Charlie Nelson #charlie nelson #gwilym lee #fluff

[hyuckles-chuckles]

𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚡 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚝 — 𝚗𝚌𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖

pairing ; nct dream x actress!reader

genre ; fluff, bf!dream · word count ; 1.4k · rating ; 13 · warning(s) ; one swear word. spoilers from the following netflix shows; the end of the f***ing world, you, umbrella academy, 13 reasons why, the series of unfortunate events and stranger things (these are all shows that i watch and enjoy, give them a watch if you have access to a netflix account😏)

request ; “maybe a reaction to watching you make your big tv show debut on 13rw???????” by @chensblessing​

a/n ; i decided to change the request a little bit hehe, i feel like i would’ve gone crazy trying to associate a girl in that show + gif credits go to nakamotens

reacting to your netflix debut is copyright 2020 hyuckles-chuckles, all rights reserved.

—𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗

“the show is about what?” renjun asks in shock as you join him on the couch with the snacks you brought from the dorm’s kitchen. “it’s about a boy who wants to kill me and then we fall in lo—” renjun stops you with a brief kiss to your lips. “don’t spoil the end of the fucking world for me,” he says as he takes the remote and presses play as you rest your head on his shoulder.

the episode starts and you look to renjun every once in a while, to see his reaction to your debut as an actress. you’re just lucky that your debut happened to be something that he would really enjoy, with all of the murdering that occurred. you were especially excited to see his reaction of your kiss with your co-star — the kiss that was oh-so awkward to film considering you were the only one putting in the effort.

at the end of the episode, you paused it so that you could ask what he thought about it. “it was amazing!” renjun exclaimed as he brought you into a hug. “but that kiss…” what was he going to say about the kiss? “…if he’s going to be kissing my girlfriend, he might as well put some effort into it,” he said as he grabbed your chin and planted a loving kiss to your lips, as if to show off to your co-star how to kiss you.

—𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚘

you snuggle into jeno’s side once again as you press play on your laptop to begin watching your first netflix show you. with the days leading up to the premiere, the two of you had binged the first season to remind yourselves of what went on so you could watch the new season with ease. “i’m so excited to see you act,” he whispers as the episode starts. “thanks, baby,” you say before you kiss his clothed chest.

jeno liked to talk during shows so you knew exactly what he was thinking and how he would react to the scene that played. when you appeared as ellie, he shook you in his arms and squealed silently so that he could hear what you had to say. when your character left the scene, you looked up to him to see he was pouting at your character’s departure. you giggle at him which he feels on his chest. “i miss you,” he mutters. “i’m right here,” you chuckle. “yeah, but seeing you on netflix is different,” he says as you both return your attention to your show.

at the end of the episode, you look to see jeno’s mouth hung open due to the twist at the end of the episode. “i guess you want to continue?” you ask him as you let the next episode play. “of course! only to see you though, obviously,” he says with a kiss to your forehead.

—𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗

“you got it ready?” haechan asked as he came with snacks for you both to eat while you watched umbrella academy, your netflix debut. “yup, i was just waiting for you to come back,” you smile as you take a chip from the table.

“did you read the comics?” he asks as you as he drapes an arm across your shoulders. “one or two when i was on set,” you answer truthfully. “you’re literally starring in one of my favourite comics and you only read one or two? wow,” he says as he munches on a candy. “i bet you don’t even know what number you are.” you roll your eyes as you press play, “i’m number 3.”

he gasps as the show begins, “i thought you’d be number 1 because that’s what you are to me.” you chuckled as you take a hold of his hand, “well, i heard a rumour that you kept quiet during this episode.” and just like the bad guys who you beat up in episode one, he acted as if you really had that power and kept quiet for the time being.

“you were oddly quiet,” you tease as the episode finishes. “what did you think?” haechan ponders his thought before he answers, “i wanted to comment on your mask protecting me from seeing your face in the first scene you were in — ow!” he exclaims as you hit his chest playfully. “i was only joking, you were amazing!”

—𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗

you knock on the door to nct dream’s dorm and are met with jaemin’s arms wrapped around you in a greeting. “i’m glad you arrived right now, renjun was about to start the episode,” he said, giving you a kiss and leading you to the living room. “she’s in 13 reasons why, she doesn’t need to watch it,” renjun defended himself. “i would like to watch it,” you said as you took his bowl of popcorn and sat next to jaemin.

your appearance as courtney is brief, but it makes an impact on jaemin as he strengthens his grip on your arm. “are you seriously jealous of courtney hugging clay? it’s literally in the script,” renjun taunts him. “promise you don’t kiss him,” jaemin pouts at you. to avoid spoilers, you whisper, “no.” jaemin is happy at this news and gives you a kiss on your cheek, but he still doesn’t know about what happens with your character when it gets to your episode.

so, when your episode comes on, the boys go ballistic when they see you in just a bra kissing hannah. jaemin got up from his spot and covered you on the screen as you laughed with the others. “you promised no kissing!” he yelled over the audio. “i promised no kissing clay!” you laughed as you brought him back to your place on the couch, covering his face with kisses as he pouted for the rest of the episode.

—𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚎

“neil patrick harris is in this? I’m not going to pay attention to you the, sorry,” chenle said as he jumped onto your bed, making some snacks fall onto your blankets. “he’s the bad guy,” you complained as you both cleaned up the snacks before you pressed play. “babe, it’s neil patrick harris — there’s no competition,” he said as he wrapped a blanket of yours across both of your shoulders as you listened to the theme song that would soon to change with coming episodes.

you watched as chenle’s mouth was open in shock from the plot of your debut netflix show. “the series of unfortunate events is dark,” he whispered to you. “what did you expect from the title, silly?” you said as you bumped his shoulder with yours. “i mean, how did they come up with this concept?” you took some popcorn into your hand which invited chenle into eating it out of your hand, causing you to laugh. “it’s a kids book,” you told him. “a kids book?!” he shrieked. “shh!” you said as you gave him the remainder of your popcorn to occupy his mouth from shrieking once more.

“that was really confusing,” chenle admitted when the episode ended, pausing it before the next episode started. “but did you like it?” you said as you turned to face him, your blanket falling off your shoulders. “i liked seeing you act — you’re as smart as violet,” he said as he reattached the blanket to your shoulders, ready to press play.

—𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐

“is this necessary?” jisung asked you as he entered your fort in your living room. “it’s completely necessary. how dare you be my boyfriend and ask such a question?” you asked as he handed the remote that you forgot from outside the fort. “i’m sorry, i guess,” he mumbled as he joined you on your floor surrounded by the sheets, blankets and pillows from your bedroom — as well as the snacks that you got. “come on, let’s start!” you exclaimed as you found season 2 of stranger things and pressed play.

you and jisung spent the next couple of minutes finding comfortable positions to spend the next 8 hours in for your binge, until your character max came into the scene. his eyes widened as he saw you exit your co-star’s car and then skateboard away from the scene. “when did you learn how to skateboard?” jisung asked you as he laid down on his stomach, closer to the tv. “just before i started filming,” you said as you joined him on your stomach, bringing pillows so you both would be comfortable. when your character appeared next, he unintentionally reached for your hand.

“how did you get so much cooler?” jisung asked you after the episode ended. you shrugged your shoulders as you giggled softly. “maybe we can go skateboarding on our next date,” he offered. “totally,” you said as the intro ended, giving him a kiss on the hand that you held.

© hyuckles-chuckles, 2020. please don’t copy or repost without permission.

#thekpopnetwork #neowritingsnet #adobe's writing #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct renjun #nct jeno #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #renjun fluff #jeno fluff #haechan fluff #jaemin fluff #chenle fluff #jisung fluff #huang renjun #lee jeno #lee haechan #na jaemin #zhong chenle #park jisung #nct reactions #nct dream reactions #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 reactions

[nekojitachan]

okay, so I posted last week (?) about an AFTG fic idea based on an old movie.

this isn’t it - blame/thank this on @sig66, as we began talking about classic movies and this one came up as a possibility for an AFTG fic, and I’ve been working on it and backstories ever since (think I’ll save the other one for either a possible big bang or a ‘proper’ fic).

Anyway, thank @sig66 for this - no idea of when I’ll be updating this, but for now, it’s a tumblr story and I’ll TRY to get it updated inbetween ‘proper’ fic updates (so maybe every other week, possibly sooner?). I’ve a lot of backstory for this, so while the movie is the backbone of the fic, expect it to expand from it (if you’re at all familiar with the film).

As for this first part, it really just sets things up.

Only trigger warnings should be for Neil’s past in Baltimore (and vague at that).

How to Steal a (lot of) Million(s) Part 1/? *******

Nathaniel sat hunched over in one of the waiting room’s plastic chair, desperate to quiet, to be still, to not draw any attention to himself like his mother had taught him. Each time the elderly woman behind the desk looked his way to give him a reassuring smile or someone came into the room he nearly flinched before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to react, that reacting was bad. The bruises and neatly stitched cuts hidden beneath his black pants and black, green and white plaid sweater reminded him of just how bad it could be to show any negative emotions.

It just… it was so hard when his mother wasn’t there to shield him from the worst of the curious looks, to give his arm a warning squeeze and whisper ‘Abram’ in his ear to remind him when he got out of line. Normally he was with her back with the doctor, was the reason for their visit (‘a fall down the stairs’, ‘a fight with another boy’, ‘an accident in the kitchen’), but for some reason she’d gone there alone.

What had she done to upset his father so much?

He shoved that thought aside as quickly as he could.

Fortunately, it was just another few minutes before she came out through the one door, her face set in a blank expression which made him clamor onto his feet in an instant and stand up straight while some middle-aged man in a white coat continued to talk to her in a hushed voice. She brushed him off as she motioned Nathanial to the door leading out of the doctor’s office, which he scrambled toward without seeming to rush (he’d learned how to do that in the last year or so).

She didn’t speak until they were out in the blue sedan which she hated for some reason. “It’s all right,” she told him once they were on the highway which would take them back to the house. “Your father knows where we were today, I told him it was a regular check-up.” She motioned to her purse while she spoke. “That I needed a new script.”

Nathaniel didn’t quite understand what she meant by the last part but nodded along; what mattered was that he didn’t have to lie about where they were after his mother had picked him up from school. “All right.”

It was quiet for another couple of minutes. “I want you to pack a few of your clothes in a small bag, just some random ones. Not many, only what you’d need for a couple of days. Then put that bag in the back of your closet. Can you do that, Abram?” she asked without looking at him.

Long used to his mother asking things of him without any explanation, Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, Mum.”

“Good boy. Now, let’s review your latest French lesson.” They spent the rest of the drive back to the house going over various verb tenses until he almost felt at peace, until the anxiety was almost gone (but it was never truly gone, not when they always went back to that place, when Father or Lola or Patrick would be waiting for them).

He put her request out of mind once he’d done what she’d asked, aware of the risk he faced if his father caught him (pain until he answered, pain for not giving any good explanations, pain and pain and pain), and life went on as ‘normal’ in his father’s house (pain).  All Nathaniel wanted was to get through the day without setting off the man, without being a disappointment somehow, with not having to go into the basement to learn cruel lessons, to take up knives or have the blades turned on him.

The only true thing he knew about life was that it was filled with disappointment and pain.

Then about a week after the doctor’s appointment, his mother woke him in the middle of the night, told him to be quiet and to grab the bag he’d prepared, then snuck him out of the house while everyone else either slept or were gone (inflicting that pain on others). He thought it was some sort of fever dream (aftermath of the latest cuts inflicted upon him earlier that day), especially when they ended up at the local airport with two first class tickets to fly to London that night.

Especially when his mother, thrumming with an energy he’d never seen in her before, dragged him (exhausted from being awake so long and expecting his father to appear any moment) from the airport and into the crowded metropolis to some stone-faced building (one in a row of them) and pounded on the door until a man only a few inches taller than her and maybe a little older with dark blond hair (tousled as if he’d just gotten out of bed despite the lateness of the afternoon) and similar grey eyes opened the door to stare at them as if they were ghosts.

“Mary? Bugger me… Mary?” he gasped out as he slumped against the door as if in shock. “And… Nathaniel?”

“Abram,” she snapped as she dropped the bag in her left hand onto the ground. “I don’t want to hear that name again. Now are you going to let us in? We’re knackered, you daft fool.”

“You… bugger me,” the man repeated as he rubbed at his eyes as if he was tired (or seeing things). “Okay, come on in,” he mumbled as he stepped back.

“That’s your Uncle Stuart,” Nathaniel’s mother informed him as they entered the house. “You can trust him.”

If Mary told him he could… Nathaniel gave the man (currently muttering about needing some damn coffee) a shy look as he pressed against his mother’s side, still not convinced that all of this wasn’t one crazy dream – running away from his father to his mother’s family, to possibly finding a safe haven. Yet the man (his uncle) gave him a kind smile and asked if he wanted some biscuits and tea.

Nathaniel (Abram) knew it was reality when his mother died of advanced ovarian cancer less than a year later.

*******

“Sold for $190,000 to the gentleman in front of me. Thank you very much, sir,” the auctioneer called out in English, though still bearing a thick French accent. “Now up next, ladies and gentlemen, is item number thirty-four per the catalog, and we’re accepting bids from New York, London and Hong Kong both online and via telephone as well as in person. This great Cezanne painting is from the world famous Josten collection, sold by order of the present head of the Josten family, Monsieur Stuart Josten.” He gestured to an elegant figure standing toward the back of the room and next to the wall as if trying to avoid attention, dressed in a simple tuxedo. The man gave a nervous smile and a slight bow while people applauded, and one even shook his hand.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, who will start the bidding on this superb post-impressionist masterpiece at $200,000?” the auctioneer called out as he stood in front of the painting of a woman in a red dress. The bidding commenced and immediately rose to $500,000 while ‘Stuart Josten’ watched on in delight.

*******

Neil tore through Paris in the supped-up MG Midget that Matt had gifted him a couple of years ago, on his way to the latest home he shared with his uncle after hearing the news about Stuart’s recent bout of… of… idiocy. Okay, so maybe the Hatfords weren’t exactly on the up and up….

Okay, so the Hatfords were so fucking far away from the up and up. Did Stuart really have to set a stupid record with the sale of his latest little ‘project’? Really?

Neil nearly rammed the car into the ornate stonework in front of the small, old mansion before he put the car into park and jumped out, then ran up the steps into the house. Davis was there to take his cap and bomber jacket, and to inform him that Stuart was indeed home and upstairs.

“Thanks,” Neil told his uncle’s assistant, well aware that the man didn’t have to rat out his boss like that, and caught the wink sent his way; Davis knew that someone was about to catch an earful right then.

He went up the curved staircase and into the one sitting room, where after making sure that no one was around (old habits died hard), he climbed into the ‘special’ wardrobe; once inside, he slid back the false panels so he could access the secret room behind them.

The spiral staircase in the hidden room led him up to the studio where his uncle worked on his forgeries, a large space filled with artworks in progress and various pieces which inspired them – statues and all sorts of paintings. Once again, Neil was amazed at his uncle’s talent, and a bit chagrined that Stuart focused it on reproducing existing works of art.

“Hello, brat,” Stuart called out to him from where he sat behind an easel, dressed in an old smock over his clothes and paint smeared over his left cheek.

“Hello, Stu,” Neil responded as he came over to give the man who’d raised him ever since he was ten years old a hug.

“Be careful,” Stuart chided with affection even as he gently hugged Neil in return. “I’m covered with paint.”

“When aren’t you? And you’re also covered with money,” Neil shot back. “Allison told me about the auction when I stopped by.”

“Ah yes, the Cezanne.” Stuart grinned with pride as he leaned back. “I could have sold a dozen of them at that auction! But one was enough.”

“One is more than enough!” Neil gritted out as he tried not to grow angry with the man. “I thought we talked about this! It’s getting too risky these-“

“Ah, ah, not now, I’m busy,” Stuart told him as he shooed Neil out of the way of his laptop screen, where he had a close-up of the Van Gogh painting he was currently reproducing. “How nice of him to only use his first name like that, makes it so much easier.”

“Not again!” Neil felt the urge to grab something and throw it, but refused to give in to his temper like that because… because of reasons. “It’s too soon!”

Stuart gave him a patronizing look as he began to wipe clean his brushes. “Don’t worry, this one won’t be sold for a long, long time. We’ll hang it up, let people look at it and appreciate it, and who knows, maybe some legendary, asshole tycoon will be able to persuade me to part with it if the price is right.”

Despite himself, Neil had to smile as he helped Stuart with the brushes. “You’re such a scoundrel.”

“Thank you, you little brat.” Stuart smiled back and swiped a (clean, thankfully) brush along the tip of Neil’s nose. Then he blanched as Neil nearly tipped over the plate containing specks of dirt. “Be careful! That’s my Van Gogh dirt,” he explained as he hurried to pick it up and place it in the one cupboard where he kept his more precious supplies, like the pigments he used in his forgeries. “That’s the dirt from his neighborhood, it took some effort to collect it. What I don’t go through to make these things as authentic as possible,” he complained as he stored it away. “Doubt Van Gogh did as much.”

“He didn’t have to, he was Van Gogh,” Neil snarked as he plopped down in a spare chair. “Sort of the point of it, no?”

“Yeah, kiddo, but in his lifetime, he only sold one painting, and I’ve already sold two as him,” Stuart shot back.

Neil felt a headache coming on and wished that he’d stopped to put on a pot of tea first. “You do know that selling someone else’s painting’s a crime, right? And they have all this lovely technology now to figure out that your stuff is a fake?”

Stuart scoffed as he continued to clean the brushes. “But I only sell the stuff to rich people, and they’re too stuck-up to admit that they might have been fooled into buying fakes. Know your audience, brat, rule number one.” He threw an old rag at Neil, who rolled his eyes at the familiar saying. “And don’t throw any stones, after half the shit you’ve pulled.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, and I-“ Neil frowned at the sound of sirens outside of the house, which only grew louder as if they were approaching the place. He got up from the chair to go look out the nearest window, and blanched when he saw several police cars pull into the house’s driveway. “Fuck, the police are here!”

“What?” Stuart rushed over to his side so he could look out as well, then let out a harsh breath. “Don’t scare me like that, kiddo, it’s just the director of the Kleber-Lafayette Museum, here about the Cellini Venus.”

“Eh?” For a moment, those words didn’t make any sense – why wasn’t Stuart worried? Since when didn’t the Hatfords have anything to fear from the police showing up in force (sure, some were paid off, mostly in the UK, but…)? Then he remembered about the damn statue and groaned. “That thing? What about it?”

“The Cellini Venus is to be the outstanding feature of a great loan exhibition – the masterpieces of French Collection,” Stuart informed him with pride as he scrubbed his hands free of paint.

Screw tea, Neil was willing to start drinking alcohol right about now. “Not in public,” Neil all but wailed as he thought about the damn forgery, a piece of ‘pride’ in the family. “It’s not really French,” he hissed. “We’re not French!”

“They don’t know that,” Stuart told him with a wry grin as he pulled on a dress coat as if to make himself presentable. “Come now, we can’t leave them waiting.”

“Not in public,” Neil repeated as he hurried after his uncle and caught him in time to wipe away the smudge of paint on his left cheek, certain that Davis would stall the people downstairs; he was grateful that he’d stopped by Allison’s earlier and let her (well, couldn’t stop her, really) dress him in something ‘acceptable’. He straightened the collar of his Maison Kitsune shirt and made sure it was tucked into the Amiri jeans his friend wouldn’t let him leave until he put on.

Sometimes he thought that his family’s enforcers could learn a thing or two about intimidation from the woman.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Monsieur Aldritch,” Stuart called out while he motioned to Neil to make sure that the wardrobe was properly closed up, still busy fussing with his own outfit as he did his best to look like ‘Stuart Josten’, eccentric art collector and not Stuart Hatford, member of one of Europe’s most infamous crime families.

“No hurry, Monsieur Josten,” some man called back in return as Neil and his uncle made their way down the stairs; Neil did his best to remain calm in the face of so many armed officers being inside his home while Stuart gave them a friendly smile; it helped that Davis stood off to the side, doing a perfect impression of an unremarkable butler and not someone who could kill them all in under a minute.

Aldritch and Stuart exchanged greetings while Neil did his best not to glare figurative daggers at the back of his uncle’s head over him being so foolish as to loan out a fake which had been a family ‘heirloom’ and joke for years. Somehow he summoned a smile when he was introduced to the museum’s director, and had to bite his tongue when the man thanked his uncle for keeping such a priceless treasure in France like a ‘true’ Frenchman (if he only knew the truth).

Personally, Neil didn’t see what the fuss was about the damn statue, which looked just like any other Venus statue in his mind, though supposedly his grandfather had done a remarkable job with the forgery (and was the reason why Stuart preferred that particular crime to the rest of the ‘family business’). It had passed various inspections in the past… but Neil lived in fear of technology catching up to his uncle one day, and including the Cellini Venus in a big art exhibit just might be what attracted the wrong attention.

He attempted to ‘help’ Aldritch and the man’s assistants load the marble statue into its padded travel case, but Stuart knew him a little too well and pulled him away before he could use the statue’s heavy marble base to ‘accidentally’ break the ‘precious’ artwork and so prevent it from being used in the collection. “Behave, brat,” Stuart whispered in Spanish as the case was locked and carefully picked up.

“This is a mistake,” Neil warned, but it was too late at that point to do anything to stop it as the statue was being carried away.

Once they were gone and Davis offered to put on some tea, Neil gave in to the urge to glare at his uncle. “What the hell have you done?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stuart gestured to the empty alcove where the statue had rested until a couple of minutes ago. “I did a bloke a solid, I did. They needed something special for that collection they’re putting together, and now your grandfather’s-“

“A fake, you gave them a fake piece of art,” Neil reminded the fool as he ran his hands through his hair, which Allison had done her best to tame earlier. “A piece of marble, which they can use all these nice little bits of machines to scan and run tests on it.”

Stuart scoffed as he undid the buttons to his black dinner jacket and sat down in an antique chair. “They won’t do that to something I loaned out and risk damaging it, which is why I agreed to add it to the collection. Do you know how many offers I’ve had for the damn thing? Even one recently,” he confessed with a slightly pained look, “but I never accept because I won’t risk it.”

“Yet you’re fine with thousands of people gawking at the thing,” Neil mumbled as he sank down on a velvet-covered duvet and took to rubbing his temples in an effort to stave off a headache.

“Hundreds of thousands,” Stuart corrected him, and laughed when Neil groaned. “Don’t you see that I’m proud of it, kiddo? Your grandfather spent months on that thing while your gram posed for him. It’s not just some old piece of marble a barely known Italian banged out, but a family heirloom.”

A family heirloom that was going to get Stuart locked up, and possibly Neil as an accessory (well, more than that when he had to break his uncle out of prison).

Somehow, he had a feeling that he’d be rounding up the gang soon to help them out of a huge mess.

He should have gone off with Henry and Jamie to help them with their ‘little Russian problem’, dammit, no matter how much he hated vodka.

*******

Thanks for like the five people who read this. As stated, updates are whenever. Next part should have Andrew and Kevin and more of the Foxes (lots of backstories there).

#aftg #all for the game #aftg au #how to steal a million #how to steal millions fic #neil josten #stuart hatford #mary hatford #classics are classics for a reason #the foxes will be here #and old cars #andrew will be happy about that #part one of i don't friggen now #updates happen when they happen #nekojitachanfics #nekojitachan fics #somehow i got two tags for my stuff #because i'm an idiot #it's a mad caper fic #with some twists

[resplendentroses324]

Things I love and Appreciate™️ about Good Omens from both the book and show in no particular order:

- Crowley makes a point of saying he didn’t mean to fall, ergo he never meant to become a demon

-When he did fall it wasn’t falling it was a SAUNTER (vaguely downwards)

-David TenNANTS SAUNTERING

-Aziraphale shielding Crowley with his wing in the rain

-Crowley’s LOOKS™️ throughout history

-For some fucking amazing reason if Crowley leaves cds in his car for too long it turns into the Best of Queen

-Crowley trapped a demon in a cassette tape and considered leaving it in the car so it would turn into Queen

-Aziraphale being perceived as “gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide”

-The Earth being a Libra

-Crowley started the first conversation he and Zira ever had

-Crowley wanting to take Jesus to travel the world

-Crowley taking the stain out of Zira’s coat because he pouted at him

-Aziraphale lighting a cop’s ticket book on fire as he was writing Crowley a ticket

-CROWLEY BRINGING ZIRA’S DOVE BACK TO LIFE WHAT DEMON /DOES THAT/

-Uh......CROWLEY, just like, in general

-Crowley walking into a church even though it pains him to step on holy ground to save Zira from Nazis.

-One of the Nazis being Mark Gatiss who just magically appears as a background character in every british show

-After blowing up said Nazis and the whole church with it made sure that Zira’s books miraculously survived the explosion

-Aziraphale turning a gun into a water pistol because it was pointed at Crowley who wasn’t paying attention.

-Crowley being called a Flash Bastard.

-Crowley being asleep throughout the whole 19th century because he likes naps

-Golden Girls is one of Crowley’s favorite shows

-The part about Greasy Johnson and how they drop the bomb on you that he’s Baby B in a FOOTNOTE and the only reason you put two and two together is because of the comment about tropical fish

-Crowley ensuring Hamlet would be popular because Aziraphale pouted at him and asked nicely

-Aziraphale just wanted to make Anathema’s bike nicer for her

-How lovingly Crowley calls Zira ‘Angel’ when you’d expect him to say it sarcastically.

-Aziraphale thinking he ought to tell Crowley about a situation and promptly realizing that he wanted to tell Crowley something before he told Heaven about it

-Aziraphale knowing something was wrong just because of the way Crowley answered the phone

-Crowley legitimately tries to model himself as a type of person and makes decisions in decorating based on what kind of human he think’s he’d be. Aka Crowley has a humansona

-Crowley’s plants are the most beautiful in London because he yells at them

-Aziraphale is the only angel that knows how to dance

-MICHAEL SHEEN’S ADORABLE SMILE HE HAS WHEN DANCING IN THE SCENE WHERE THEY EXPLAIN THAT ZIRA DANCES.

-The TERRIBLE 70s montage dance that Crowley is doing in the same scene to explain how demons dance but fucking awfully

-The guy that thought Crowley and Zira were breaking up on the street and gave Zira his sympathies

-The first swear Aziraphale had said in more than 6000 years being ‘bugger’ and then immediately five minutes later says fuck

-Somebody to Love playing over Crowley searching for Zira in the burning shop

-Aziraphale in Paris about to be executed nevermind that he’s an angel and perfectly capable of rescuing himself waits for Crowley to come rescue him and acts relieved when HE REALLY COULD HAVE LEFT AT ANY TIME

-“Don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could...we could go on a picnic, dine at the Ritz”

-“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go”

-YOU GO TO /FAST/ FOR ME CROWLEY

-“Because, underneath it all, Crowley was an optimist.”

-Crowley thinking Zira to be dead and instead of drinking himself silly decides to still try and save the world

-Crowley saving the world simply because his husband threatens to not talk to him ever again

-Aziraphale and Crowley getting HeavenandHell.exe to stop working simply by asking if they were sure the Great Plan was the same thing as the Ineffable Plan.

-Any instance where Crowley is just bullshitting someone ie: the phone hoax

-‘God does not play games with His loyal servants’ “whooo-ee, where have you /been/“

-ZIRA AND CROWLEY HOLDING HANDS TO FACE SATAN

-“It’s all worked out for the best though...just imagine how awful it might have been if we had been at all competent....” “......eeeeeuh....point taken” DUMBASSES

-Crowley ‘has good cheekbones’ and ‘can do really weird things with his tongue’

-“SO LONG SUCKAAAAA” *procedes to do really weird snake tongue hiss*

-Crowley ALSO doesn’t blink much and hisses when he’s frustrated. SNAKE. MAN.

-THE SWAP. How well they know each other to be able fucking fool their bosses of more than 6000 years

-How you can tell the Swap was made between the bus scene and the next day because of “Zira”’s face and attitude when he went into the shop and “Crowley”s giddy smile at the sight of the Bentley

-Zira hailing a cab when he was pretending to be Crowley instead of driving the Bentley because he probably respects the car and its owner too much to take the driver’s seat

-Both of them asking about the shop/car because they’re switched and want to know the state of their beloved things and both of them assuring their husband that their precious car and shop were ok

-Crowley knowing the shop well enough to notice there were books that weren’t there before

-How much fun Zira appeared to be having pretending to be Crowley like ‘hee hee im a demon!’ meanwhile Crowley is using his time as Zira to spit hell fire at Gabriel for being mean to his husband.

-That heartwarming toast to the world and the LOVE in Aziraphale’s eyes.

-demon wings are the same as angel wings except demons groom theirs better

-The strawberry popsicle and the vanilla ice cream cone

-Them dining at the Ritz while a Nightengale sings in Berkley square

-THE DELETED SCENE FROM THE SCRIPT BOOK WHERE CROWLEY BRINGS ZIRA FLOWERS AND CHOCOLATES TO COMMEMORATE THE OPENING OF HIS SHOP

-THE SAME SCENE CONTINUED ON TO CROWLEY SCARING GABRIEL INTO LETTING ZIRA STAY ON EARTH BECAUSE ZIRAS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN “THWART HIS DEMONIC PLANS”

-Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett never thinking this absolute masterpiece would ever be popular in any way, and then it WAS

-Michael Sheen and David Tennant openly saying that it’s a love story and talking about the romance and discussing how the characters love each other and how they express it and how Michael makes a point of saying how he stares lovingly at Crowley in scenes.

-How I very rarely obsess over something enough to post so much of it at once and declare my blog dedicated to it and how the post I made right before this one was a declaration that this is now a Good Omens blog

-The fact that I’ve edited this post at least eight times because the ineffable husbands tag keeps reminding me of more good shit™️

#good omens #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #ineffable husbands

[lordgeebsdom]

2019, a year in review: Superlative Edition

-Gareth Bill

Athlete of the year:  Lamar Jackson - QB Baltimore Ravens.  HM: Kawhi Leonard - SF Toronto/LA

Lamar Jackson came out of nowhere to light the league on fire in 2019 breaking Michael Vick’s all-time record for rushing yards by a Quarterback and redefining the position in the process.  From his five touchdown performance in Miami to being the assumed MVP, there wasn’t a week where Lamar Jackson didn’t dominate headlines and he continues to show superiority as Baltimore has secured the Number 1 seed in the AFC.  Honorable mention goes to Kawhi Leonard for producing the first ever buzzer beater in a game 7 in NBA history and for also bringing Canada their first NBA title.  Even against a Kevin Durant-less Golden State Warriors team, Leonard stepped up and delivered when it counted most.

Song of the year: Lost Lately- San Holo.  HM: Daemon Veil - EPROM & G Jones

Sander van Dijck, better known by his stage name “San Holo” surprised us with “Lost Lately” in June of this year.  A melancholic and melodic ballad of discovery and feeling “lost in aftermath of a breakup” spoke to feelings of insecurity and extends a friendly hand to those in need.  From an endearing marketing campaign featuring “lost” posters where fans could call a “helpline” to hear an exclusive sample of the song, to a music video taken straight from EDC: Bitbird executed an almost perfect build and drop for “Lost Lately.”  Great followup work to last years “Album1” and I definitely am excited about his future projects for 2020.  Honorable mention goes to the IDM monster “Daemon Veil” by EPROM and G Jones.  Plain and simple, I loved this ear worm.  There’s so much going on from the initial baseline drop to the stuttering minefield of drops and turns that follows before a calming conclusion.  Every time I hear this track, I see it too: the flying snares, the zips, zooms and wubs, the story it tells me….its captivating and satisfying.  While it isn’t as friendly for casual listening like my 2018 song of the year “Time” (also by G Jones), Daemon Veil is an IDM banger that I’ll continue to blast well into 2020 and beyond.

Album of the year: Good Faith- Madeon.  HM: Hollywood’s Bleeding - Post Malone

This was a tough call for me, there was a lot of great albums that came to us in 2019 but Madeon’s “Good Faith” stands tall above the rest.  From the initial singles of “All My Friends,” and “Dream, Dream, Dream,” to the unexpected bangers of “Miracle,” and “No Fear, No More,”: “Good Faith” makes a solid argument not just for album of the year but possibly even for the decade and I simply cannot recommend it enough.  Honorable Mention goes to “Hollywood’s Bleeding” by Post Malone.  Like many, I have thoroughly enjoyed the evolution of Post Malone from SoundCloud sensation to certified super-star, and “Hollywood’s Bleeding” continues to show us that this artist is just getting started.  I loved “Goodbyes,” “Circles,” “Sunflower,” and many other tracks on that album, and I’m confident many others did as well. Rapper, Rockstar, Soul-singer and bro: best of luck in 2020 and beyond Post, we’re all eagerly watching.

Movie of the year: Its a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.  HM: Avengers: Endgame

Easily the most contested category of the year and the hardest decision made in these superlatives.  2019 produced some awesome films but Tom Hanks’s take on Fred Rogers gave me chills that I hadn’t felt since seeing Christopher Reeve’s Superman as a child.  Like Superman, his presence among adults and children alike would universally cause awe and calm, almost god-like tranquility through security. In a year that was defined by division, unrest, cruelty, and anger: Fred Rogers reminds us that there’s still a great deal of hope for humanity, and it all starts with being a good neighbor.  Young, old and everyone in between can learn something from this deeply affecting story about humanity and connection.  Honorable mention goes to Avengers: Endgame for managing to be the only major franchise ending this year (Game of Thrones, Avengers, Star Wars) that managed to do it with a consensus BANG!  It was a 3 hour film that somehow felt like an hour and half, and when Captain America held Mjornir with every Avenger ever at his back and said “Avengers, Assemble!”, I couldn’t help but fist pump with a grin from ear to ear.  Tony Stark’s dying words of “I am Iron-Man,” gave me goosebumps and Black Widow’s death made me feel genuine loss: The Marvel Cinematic Universe managed to execute a singular plan and vision over 23 films and that is truly exceptional. 

Actor/Actress of the year: Joaquin Phoenix as Arthur/Joker.  HM: Florence Pugh - Midsommar

Joaquin Phoenix’s long anticipated and controversial performance as Joker was the best singular work I saw this year.  Authentic, gut-wrenching, thought-provoking, and anything but boring: Joker gave us the next step in comic book cinema and a new cultural icon in the process.  Arthur Fleck is a poster child for mental illness, something that currently is at the forefront of our society and gave the general public a poster child for such conditions.  Phoenix’s Joker will one day be recognized in the same light as we currently see Che: an underdog figure of resistance and revolution standing against a seemingly unstoppable status quo and inspiring the unseen masses in the process.  Honorable mention has to go to one of my new favorites in Florence Pugh and her performance as Dani in “Midsommar”.  Her pain, confusion, and ultimate triumph that unravels throughout a trip to a small village in Europe during their mid-summer festival is the stuff of “slow-burn horror” wet-dreams.  There’s a scene early on where her character has to convey immense grief after suffering a personal tragedy and I can still hear that crying in the most haunting way.  Pugh’s performance stuck with me in a year full of great ones, and I’m very excited to see her future work including “Black Widow” in May.  

Television show of the year: Watchmen- HBO.   HM: Good Omens - Amazon Prime

Watchmen blew my mind, and I the less I say about it, the better.  A continuation of the story told in my favorite book of all-time, “Watchmen” managed to tie together many loose plot threads from that story while also moving the universe forward in new and exciting ways that matched the tone of the graphic novel.  Regina King’s “Sister Night” was a complex, likable, and tragic protagonist uniquely qualified to walk us through this new chapter, and without spoiling things anymore than I already may have: YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS.  Honorable Mention goes to Good Omens on Amazon Prime.  To any familiar with the story or Neil Gaiman’s work in general, you know what to expect: deep stories, complex and likable characters, and witty dialogue that will make you pause and think or laugh feverishly in equal measure.  Its only 5 episodes, so there’s really no excuse to not dive into this one and see how the world ends…..or rather was supposed to…

Game of the year: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice - PS4/XboxOne/PC. HM: Apex Legends - PS4/PC/XboxOne

From Softwares’ “Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice” stands tall in a year that finally saw long awaited projects like Obsidian’s “Outer Worlds” and Kojima’s “Death Stranding” get long-awaited releases.  An exciting and more stealthy evolution of the Dark Souls combat system made me feel like a real Ninja for the first time since Ninja Gaiden Black on my original Xbox.  The demanding, but fair gameplay combined with a variation of environments including haunted Japanese forests, Sengoku Temples, Palaces and gory battlefields came together to give the most complete package I played in 2019. Just don’t be too surprised if the final boss gives you problems because that f***er can almost made me break a controller.  Honorable mention goes to the game that managed to dethrone “Fortnite” as the most popular game for like a whole two months.  Respawn entertainment developed the awesome Titanfall series that I personally enjoyed and rumors had been circulating for quite awhile that they were looking to expand Titanfall into the booming genre of BR or Battle Royale.  Apex Legends is the answer to those prayers and still continues to push out new skins, content and weapons at a regular rate.  Did I mention it is also completely free to play? 

Story of the year: President Trump becomes the third President to ever be impeached 12/19

HM: Henry Nobrega wins the fucking BVN Football Fantasy Football title. 11/19

To be perfectly honest, this is the first category that really could have gone either way for me.  President Trump becoming the third President in US history to be impeached for abuse of power and obstruction of congress was massive; regardless of how you feel about President Orangutan.  His tenure as President has produced a number of newsworthy moments but this story stood out among the others for sheer importance and international embarrassment.  Speaking of embarrassment, that’s essentially what my good friend Henry’s fantasy football team has managed to be every year that I’ve played with him.  A perennial basement dweller that typically auto drafts due to some BS excuse, and a resident near the bottom of our power rankings but this year he flipped that script on its head.  He managed to draft my Athlete of the year, Lamar Jackson, and the last great white running back in Christian McCaffrey.  Not only did Henry surpass his preseason ranking of bottom, he managed to win both regular season and postseason titles and beat a solid team by Graham Heck in the process.  I got love for you bro, but I’m still perplexed on how your season managed to be as dominant as it was.  Sorry Greta Thunberg, but these stories had my jaw on the floor, maybe next year lil’ Queen.

Meme of the year: Baby Yoda of the Disney+ show “The Mandolorian” 

Was there every really a doubt here?  Baby Yoda or “The Child” as he’s known on the show is the biggest pop culture icon born on the internet in 2019.  The gap between Baby Yoda and what I considered to be an honorable mention was so wide that he will officially stand alone in this category.  Baby Yoda’s cuteness managed to melt even my stone cold heart this year and that is absolutely an achievement.  What made this creature so endearing was the universal applicability though music, sports, culture, and food: Baby Yoda was everywhere and the internet found common ground and shared meaning through sharing little graphics everywhere prominently featuring him as the centerpiece.  Well played Jon Favreau, we love this little guy and everyone thanks you for creating him.  

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader 

Chapter 6 - The Undisclosed Desires 

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 

Summary: The day of the New York mission, emotions are running high and tension rises... 

Warnings: Cursing.

Author’s Notes: Here it is, much shorter than usual but crucial... Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! 

If you had hoped that after such an eventful night and morning, you would have a more peaceful day, you soon realised that it was not going to happen. Neil went straight to work, and you could only join him, warily eyeing him from time to time. It seemed as though he could perfectly switch from whatever mood has possessed you both in the morning to strictly professional in no time.

And if he would occasionally brush his hand over yours or accidentally touch your knee when rehearsing the conversation, then you would certainly not pay it too much attention.

Most of the conversations that day focused on the cover, the conversation you would have to have with Steiner, and what to do if you fucked up. It was already past 4 and you still felt like you had to be more prepared. You took another sip of the coffee, feeling the headache pounding in your head.

“Right so…” you took a deep breath, trying to memorise the lines “Can we go over all this again?” you looked at Neil and tried very hard not to let your eyes wander.

“Yes” he nodded and consulted his own script “I’m James Farrow. Or at least that’s the name I chose to use this time” he winked “I’m interested in the plutonium piece because it could be crucial to our new investment” at that he reached out to touch your knee, again.

You glared at him.

“May I remind you we’re supposed to be business partners? Not married or dating”

While it was enjoyable, you slowly started to get wary of him going off-script. It was one of the things you really hated as you always had to follow the strict guidelines, or else you were lost. Meanwhile, it seemed like Neil thrived when he was given the room to improvise. You just hoped that will not get you killed.

“I don’t see why we can’t be business partners that sleep with each other” he looked up at you coolly “Occasionally” he bit his lip.

You stared, suddenly aware that the conversation steered off the tracks massively. If it was not for the stress, you would give in.

“Because that would be unprofessional” you shifted away from him slightly “And potentially damaging towards future partnership” you shrugged, feigning nonchalance that you did not feel.

It seemed like he caught on to what you were implying as he nodded and went back to the script.

“Our new investment has something to do with nuclear weapons deal” he summarised the next point after a short silence “Which you can tell him more about…?”

It was almost as if the short exchange never happened, and he was looking at you expectantly to fill in your part of the story. You wondered how long it would take before you end up with whiplash from his constant change of moods.

“So our investment is entirely classified, but I’m supposed to hint towards the involvement of Russia and North Korea…” your eyes roamed the room while you tried to gather thoughts “If he asks for details, I have to say that we’re on the brink of making a deal with a Russian oligarch for a missile which he wants to use for personal protection” your eyes involuntarily landed on Neil again. He was observing your attempts with a fond smile, and once again you felt the annoying flutters show up “That should be enough, right?” you gave up on trying to remember more.

“Well done” he smirked and looked back at the script again “After that, we need to ask him how he acquired the piece and whether there are any other interested parties. I’ll try to lead the conversation, but if he asks you anything you need to be prepared” his blue eyes fixed on you with the serious expression “What’s your name?”

“Jane Sloane” you frowned “Which, in my opinion, is a rather shit fake identity name, but who am I to know” you throw your hands in defeat.

Neil burst out laughing at that, you eyed him curiously.

“What? James Farrow sounds like some London aristocracy fuck boy turned weapons dealer. Actually Neil gives off the same vibes...”

You looked at him to see him doubled down in laughter, and the image made you smile. He calmed down after at least a minute and looked at you with a wide grin.

“I’ve got to ask TP to send me on missions with you exclusively from now on” You shrugged and beamed back, enjoying the moment. But the stress you felt was not allowing you peace.

“First we need to survive this mission” you replied “And I’m not sure we have a back-up plan if he doesn’t believe our story”

“Oh we do, don’t fret” dramatically he flipped the dossier open and fished out another page “Basically if any of us starts feeling that things are going south, we should give each other a sign and evacuate as soon as possible”

“What sign?” you watched as he seemed to think fast.

Then he moved closer to you and squeezed your knee while looking at you innocently.

“Can that be a sign?”

“Why do I feel like you’re just looking for an excuse to do that” you glared at him.

On purpose, he let his hand linger on your thigh, before smiling widely and resuming to look at the file.

“I’d say that’s wishful thinking but think you know better than to believe that” he spoke after a short silence and you glanced up surprised.

“What?” you tried to decipher the secretive smile that appeared on his face.

“Nothing” he shrugged, and you felt like he tried to say something without actually saying it.

One thing was for certain – Neil was frustrating. You sighed and covered your face with your hands. Of course, he noticed.

“You alright there?” he gave you a little nudge.

“Apart from desperately wanting to murder you, yeah I am” you glanced at him with annoyance.

The feeling only got stronger when he grinned widely as though he has been flattered.

“I’ve been told that’s the effect I have on people”

“Great” you tried to focus on the work “It would be amazing if we could start getting prepared soon… Because I might need some time to embody the Jane Sloane look” you mused, trying to get your thoughts together.

“If you mean the look of a foxy, beautiful weapons dealer, then you’re ready to go” he eyed you quickly and then winked when you met his gaze.

Fucking hell…

“Remind me to tell TP that I hate you” you got up from the sofa “I’ll go over the rest of this in my room”

“You love me really” Neil called out after you, but you didn’t dare turn.

Closing the door with a thud felt good. It seemed like after the morning’s blunder he was determined to piss you off… or to make you want to kiss him just to shut him up. He succeeded at both. Supposedly your internal rule not to fall for co-workers was bound to be broken.

Groaning you went back to the script, desperately hoping you can still learn some of it with the little time that was left. But once the clock struck 6:30 PM you decided to wing it, despite feeling anything but confident. You dutifully got ready, put on heels (which you were pretty sure were going to kill you), and fixed make-up to be a bit more ‘out there’ than your normal look. Looking into the mirror you were not sure you were convinced but it would have to do. You grabbed the clutch bag (with a gun and phone inside) and knocked on Neil’s room. You were not going to make the same mistake again.

“Come on in” he called out and only then you opened the door.

This time he was fully dressed. Thankfully. You eyed him quickly and cursed the obvious:

“You know it’s unfair that you can just wear your normal clothes while I have to risk getting killed in those fucking heels” to punctuate the sentence you raised one leg and huffed.

“Fair point” he grinned “You look good though. As usual” the roguish smile was back in force.

“Thanks” you looked at him warily “I hope Steiner will appreciate my efforts” you joked, feeling the tension rise.

You had to leave soon, and that was not helping in trying to stay calm. But Neil, naturally, noticed and closed the safe distance you tried to keep. He combed his ruffled for the occasion, and his smart suit reminded you of the day you met. Quite a lot has changed since that day, you mused. He tipped your chin so that you had to meet his gaze.

“Are you alright?” the affectionate look in his eyes made you feel vulnerable.

“Coping” you responded honestly “Nearly got sick while getting ready and pretty sure I’ll pass out before we get there”

“Can I help in any way?”

“Just don’t be annoying” his hand moved to caress your neck, and you shuddered “And follow the plan” you breathed out the sentence.

His touch was slowly overwhelming your senses, and you wondered how obvious that was. Judging by the smirk on his face, it was pretty evident. The advantage of the situation was that you no longer felt the anxiety quite so strongly.

“I’m sure we’ll be great, with the plan or not” his hand rested on your shoulder now “If you start feeling worse, squeeze my hand or something, and I’ll try to divert their attention” he smiled at you.

You beamed back instantly. His effect on you was somewhat concerning, you had to admit. You let yourself look at him for a little longer, enjoying the way his blue eyes sparkled in the light.

“We need to get going now I’m afraid” Neil’s voice brought you out of the reverie.

You took a deep breath and straightened your back.

“Lead the way”

*** You arrived at Benny’s 10 minutes too early, which could be partially blamed on your irresistible urge to walk too fast when stressed. Neil dragged you over to the side of the neighbouring building so you would not be seen loitering suspiciously and sent a text to Raul.

“He’ll let us know when Steiner comes so we can show up” he explained as you glanced over his shoulder at the phone.

You were stood on the threshold under a thin tin roof, with barely a meter of space available between you.

“First we have to hope no one tries to sell us ecstasy or something” wearily you eyed the murky building you took shelter by.

Neil glanced at you with astonishment before breaking out into a laugh.

“Think ecstasy would actually improve the experience” he calmed down and shrugged, putting on the well-known smug smile.

You feared that the game was on again. You could always have fun with it.

“I’m no expert on drugs but believe it would… complicate some things” you mused while looking up at him with a serious expression.

“You think so?” he stared at you with intense focus, both amused and fascinated by the conversation.

You just nodded, letting yourself be drawn closer by his stare. He always seemed to have the pulling in effect on you. Before you realised you were stood right in front of him, faced with his slightly skewed tie. Without thinking, you reached to tug it down and straighten the wrinkles. When you looked up, Neil’s eyes were boring into yours with passion that took you by surprise. His lips were slightly parted. Puzzled, you tried to catch his gaze again, but his eyes were fixed on your lips. Your breath hitched as he closed the gap and captured your lips with his. He kissed you with eagerness that made you stumble half a step back. His hands caught you on the waist in a flash and pulled you flush against him. That is when your brain finally caught up, and you started to kiss him back with your hands entangled in his hair. You felt breathless but did not mind. Your head was empty, just lost in the moment.

But the spell was broken the moment his phone buzzed in the front pocket of the suit jacket, and he let go of you abruptly. You stared at each other with mirroring stunned expressions before he sighed and took out the phone. You knew what that frown meant. It was time to go.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

[mousewitchy]

This is such a random observation, but probably one of the best decisions I made was to post fic the day before I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I culled the idea out of the ficlet that came before it and just nose-to-the-keyboard ground that fucker out in the days between the biopsy and the diagnosis, when everything hurt and I low-key knew they were going to come back cancerous. (I am not going to link it here because it’s not important which one it is and I’ll be tagging the author and it feels like bad form.)

For those few days, I wrote. I wrote and I deleted and I wrote some more. I wrote because I knew I had stories that needed telling before this thing turned my life upside down or worse, gave it an expiration date. I wrapped myself in Good Omens like a blanket or a shield or a sword to shake at the world and shout HELLO I AM HERE AND I HAVE THINGS TO SAY BEFORE I GO YOU DUMB FUCKING WANKER. (The wanker is the cancer. Or the universe. I’m not sure some days.)

Anyway, thank you to everyone who commented and hit the kudos and bookmarked it because you’ve brought joy into the crappiest part of my life thus far.

And @neil-gaiman, thank you for Good Omens—and Neverwhere and American Gods, but especially Good Omens because it has been my lifeline while they poked and prodded and poured chemo into my body. I have two young kids, and this book and series and fandom makes it a little easier to carry death around in my body and keep fucking going anyway. I lost my original copy of Good Omens in Hurricane Harvey, but I carry the script book everywhere like some already tattered security blanket. Just thank you.

#good omens #neil gaiman #life with cancer

[sammyhale]

J2M SPN UK 2018 Panel

At the start of the J2M panel, they made Misha introduce J2 and Jensen is laughing at him lol. 

They gave Misha a short chair like at SDCC next to Jared (they changed it back right after lol). Jensen: “Ah, it’s the little things.” 

Misha “What’s your normal routine up here... do you guys do acrobatics?”

Jared explains to Misha that they play strip question on stage. If you get the question wrong, you have to take off an article of clothing. 

Jared: “I guess my dream job has always been no job... but I would have liked to have been a teacher!” Jensen to Jared: “I learn from you daily, you are a teacher!” Jared put his head on Jensen’s shoulder :)

Jensen: “Sometimes I feel like the right answer would be a Chippendales dancer!”

Misha: “I thought I was gonna be a politician when I grew up!” 

Wrong answer: Misha strips off his jacket lol. 

Jared: “Jet lag has not been nice to Mr. Misha.” 

Jensen earlier about J2M trio op: “We’re doing a crossover. Jensen, Jared & Gollum.” Jared to Misha: “Had I known you looked like this, I wouldn’t have taken a shower.”

Jensen: “There’s another crossover photo later. Supernatural and The Walking Dead.”

J2M just got offered food and now they're totally fighting over those gummy bears.

Jared nudging Misha to grab gummy bears from a fan: “Misha, Scooby dooby doo!”

Mishalecki are fighting over Misha’s jacket

Jensen: “Jared keeps translating English to English, but he breaks it up and it’s actually worse!”

Jared got the question wrong so he strips and now Jared’s jacket is off!

Jensen would consider a Supernatural tattoo after the show ends because it’s a huge part of his life. 

Jensen and Jared both say they would consider getting an SPN tattoo after the show ends.

Jensen took a picture of Jared stripping. 

Misha: I wish I’d worn my good socks today. Jared: I’m surprised you have socks on! Jensen, cracking up: Things are looking up Mish, you left the house with socks on!

J2M trying to stump the fans to get the audience to strip.

Fan asks if when Dean and Cas do intense stares if it’s written in the script. Jensen says yes, that in the script it’ll be like a serious moment and then it will say “eye f-u-c-k.” They explain that in general all staring scenes between characters are written like that lol. They say that there’ll be a scene where everyone is eye-fucking. They mention another example in a recent episode between Rich and a female character (I’m assuming the Gabriel and Rowena scene from the last ep lol). 

If they could go back & further explore a storyline? Jensen: Demon Dean & purgatory. Jared: Soulless Sam and Sully. Misha: Human Cas & a new storyline with “cool Cas.”  

Misha’s sock is off. 

Misha: “I’m wearing one shoe and no sock... this is starting to feel like a walk of shame right now!”

Jensen on his cell phone contact that’s famous and is not from SPN is Corey Taylor. Jared’s is JJ from Kaleo, and Misha’s is the Queen lol.  

Misha is happy about his two degrees of separation to Neil Gaiman on Twitter through Kim.

Fan: If your character could swap character arcs who would you swap with? Jared: You know what, I’m gonna say it. I wouldn’t fuckin’ change it. “Sam’s my boy, I wouldn’t change anything.” 

Jensen would have swapped with the storyline with Gabriel when he went to Monaco. Jared whispers in Jensen’s ear. Jensen: or Monte Carlo. Jensen loses his overshirt lol.

Misha: I'm hard on Cas. Jared: Woah!!

Jensen Iced Misha (for those who don’t know, Icing someone means the person has to drink a little bottle of Smirnoff Ice - brand of vodka - while kneeling down on one knee lol).  

Misha refuses to drink it on stage so he goes backstage and Jared follows, giving a play by play of Misha drinking the Smirnoff with plenty of innuendos, cracking Jensen up who stayed on stage. 

Misha: “I'm not agreeing to a trio panel again!” 

Fan asks if after seeing Jack use his powers without being evil, do you think it’s changed Sam’s perception of his own powers? Jared says that Sam took Jack under his wing and so far, he thinks it’s been successful that Jack hasn’t turned evil and feels reassured about his own. 

Jared took his shoe off. “There, I lost my shoe.”

Jared: “When you sweat in the snow you get used to sweat proof socks!”

Asked about important changes SPN gave them. Jared: I met the mother of my children on the show and a couple of my best friends! Jensen *points to self* Jared nods and puts his head on Jensen’s shoulder and Jensen touches his head <3 

Jensen says he has a lot of relationships now and the show made it so he can live and raise a family where he wants. 

Misha: Having families. The only reason why my wife has sex with me is because I’m on the show lmao. 

Fan asks about the boys going on a hunt in Amsterdam. Jared says he wants to go to Anne Frank’s house and dig up some Nazi ghosts and kill them! Jensen: I killed Hitler. 

Jensen says that in Amsterdam Dean would get lost in the red light district, Cas would be stoned in a cafe somewhere, and Sam would be on an architectural tour.

Misha gets called out on his old answer last year & has to take off his belt.

Fan: I have ten princess dresses. Jared, pointing at Jensen: So does he!

Jared: Come on Misha get it right. I don’t want to see you naked. Again. Jensen: Today.   

Who would you meet and pay an autograph for? Jared: I paid for Richard Kiel’s autograph. Jensen: Robert Plant. Misha: Bob Garfield. Jared also mentions that he would have loved to meet Carrie Fisher. 

Fan: I’ve been watching you since I was two. I’m 16 now. J2M are devastated lol. 

Fan: So in your group, is there a mother hen figure who stops you from getting into trouble? J2M in unison: NOPE. Jensen: “The problem is, we don’t have one!”

Jared: "You know when they say the inmates are running the asylum? That's us." 

Jared: “I still find a freedom and a source of creativity in what I do.” Jared says you get to learn from the characters you play and the people you work with.  

Jared doesn’t care if he never wins an Oscar. He’s motivated by love in the craft of acting. “I know y’all love me and I love y’all back legitimately and I don’t care if I don’t get an Oscar or if I’m on a billboard or anything.” 

Jared: When they call “action” I’m free. I still find a freedom of expression in what I do, that’s why I keep doing it. Jared said he’s not an A-list actor. Jensen: I know you. 

Jensen says to learn as much about the technical aspect of filming as you can. He also viewed every audition as a final performance because it helped him deal with rejection. 

Fan: Sorry I’m really nervous. Jared: Don’t be nervous, you’re surrounded by family. 

Jared is removing Misha’s boot when Misha refuses to answer a question about his favorite trenchcoat lol. 

Misha talks about how Jensen gave him some hand-me-down shirts that Jensen wore a lot at cons. Jensen says it happened because he was mortified when a fan called him out on wearing the same shirt twice at a couple of different cons. So he asked Misha if he wanted any of his shirts. 

Misha said it apparently got fans talking and Jared yells in a high-pitched voice: They slept together! Jared says he wants to see “who wore it better memes” of Jensen and Misha wearing the same clothes. 

J2 talk about how Jensen shared underwear with Jared at a con before. Jensen: Where were we? Seattle. Jared: Yeah. Jensen: Did you just not have enough? Jared: Yeah... another time (to tell the story lol). Jensen to the audience: I’m sure you can figure it out! Jensen: Look, I care, I want to make sure my boys are covered! Jared: They say some people give you the shirt off their back, some people give you the *** off their ***. Jensen: The chocolate gonch. Jared whispers and laughs and Jensen falls over. 

Jared likes Sam’s red flannel. Maybe because his marker is red, or it makes up 60% of his name :P 

Jared: “I think Sam has a fondness for his red flannels!”

Jensen likes his grey flannel. 

Jensen removes his belt lol.  

Richard Ices J2. They both take a knee and drink on stage. 

Rich to Jared: “You know, you saying you’re gonna screw with us is like saying the sun rose!”

Richard apparently turned the lights off on Jensen in the bathroom earlier. When Rich left and Jensen wasn’t done lol. 

The guys are all surrounding the poor last question girl and teasing her with the mics. Boys are cracking up. 

Jared hopes s14 isn’t the last. Still feels they should go out in a blaze of glory. Jensen’s had several variations of how the show might end and none of them know how it’s going to end. Misha: Cas is gonna sacrifice himself somehow.

Jensen had a dream about the end of the show and when he shared it with Jared and Misha they both teared up. 

Jensen has told that dream many times where he’s lost his brother, he’s done with the hunting life and he doesn’t want Baby anymore because he doesn’t have Sam, so he drives off on a stranger’s motorcycle. Audience: NOOOO. Jensen: You can’t control my dreams!

J2M putting their random clothing items back on. Jared helps with Misha’s shoe lol. 

At some point earlier in the panel Misha leaned on Jared’s shoulder right in his face and Jared was just like “Hi!” :) 

Jared Iced Rob. Jensen tries to Ice Richard, but Richard jumps out of the way successfully.

Panel ends with the usual J2 fist bumps!  

Info via: Maisie, Jenn, Kelli, Bubbs, Natasha, Stevie, Sil’s livetweet list

#jared padalecki #jensen ackles #misha collins #spnuk #ukcon #panel sum #long post #j2m #shpost

[ohblackdiamond]

starfucker (gene/paul, nc-17)

Yeah, I heard about your Polaroids, that’s what I call obscene...

Written for and on Paul Stanley’s 67th birthday, I’m just a day late in posting it here.

Gene’s introduction to America almost twenty years prior had been like a kid moving to Disneyland. Everything was bigger in America. Everything was better in America. Everything had that candy-coated glaze of promise, still hanging heavy and dazzling in his heart: here, you can make it; you just need the drive and the smarts and the guts. Here is a dream you can snatch up, if you want it badly enough.

He had tried to explain it once, when half the band was more maudlin than full-on drunk, but Ace and Peter both had zoned out entirely and Paul, for all he was first-generation on both sides, for all he’d been hoping for commonalities, didn’t understand either.

“You’re telling me the exact same thing my parents did.”

“They were right.”

“They wanted me to get there through college, Gene. They didn’t tell me I could do whatever the hell I wanted and succeed. It’s bullshit, man. You’re too—the American Dream stuff might’ve been true during Ellis Island and all that, but it’s not now.”

He’d looked at Paul, really looked at him, hoping to find something beyond the cynicism. He didn’t. Paul might as well have been one of his sixth graders for all he’d pay attention without the threat of penalty.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get it because you’ve never lived anywhere else.” Never lived how he had. Selling fruit in the streets with his mother. Living on government rations. Living scared. Paul’s rare, mopey accounts of his own childhood were blissful in comparison. Whatever bullying he’d received, he’d never gone hungry. Never been afraid for his life. He had no idea what a blessing that was. None.

It just confirmed what Gene had already known. They shared a faith, but not a background. Hell, Paul hadn’t even had his bar mitzvah. None of that cultural belonging tied the two of them together. Maybe not even personal belonging, either. Gene was an outsider even in his own band.

Paul just shook his head and shrugged.

“They said that, too.”

So Gene had gradually left that kind of serious talk behind over the course of the tours. It wasn’t worth it; he knew the other three weren’t intellectuals, but he was starting to think they were actually morons. Ace and Peter were busy getting drunk, stoned, or both before and after concerts—hit him at just the right time, maybe a full moon, and Paul would indulge, too—and Rush’s guys were just leading them further astray. Gene felt like trying to get Bill to get them to tour with the Carpenters next, as if that would cut down on the antics.

As for himself, well, since he couldn’t manage any stimulating conversation with his bandmates, he was settling eagerly for stimulation with his groupies. Something else that was bigger and better in America—the size of its women’s breasts. Must’ve been the fluoride in the water. He’d been in the process of chatting up two girls in Ace’s room when one of them had made the tremendous mistake of taking the communal laundry bag off Alex’s head during one of his particularly drunken comedy routines.

It was like flicking the papal mitre off the Pope’s head. Worse, it was like unmasking the Lone Ranger. Alex and Ace had, predictably, gone ballistic and chased both of the girls out of the hotel room. Gene had followed them at a distance, only to hear them mumble about “fuckin’ scary rockstars” and see them digging in their purses for payphone change to call their boyfriends. Well. That settled that.

That settled plenty, except he was still half-hard. He could hear Ace and Alex and Neil whooping from the room, and he knew that a new comedy routine from the bag was already underway. Gene grunted to himself and dug the key out of his jeans pocket and let himself back in his room.

“Paul? You still in here?”

“Hey.” Paul looked up from the T.V., frowning. His hair was wet, and he wasn’t wearing anything beyond a loosely-tied blue terrycloth bathrobe Gene could’ve sworn had been Paul’s only constant companion since they’d started touring. Like every other member of the band—every member except Gene—he lacked the innate shame to even yank on a pair of boxers at the sight of a non-groupie visitor. “What’re you doing here, Gene? Thought you were picking up those girls in Ace’s room.”

“The bag threw them out.”

“The ba—oh, yeah,” Paul said, snorting. “He’s high as shit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. But I am holding it against him.” Gene paused. “I thought you’d be back to your room by now, too.”

Paul shrugged and went over to turn up the volume on the T.V. An Easy Bake Oven commercial was playing, of all things, the little girl onscreen spreading frosting on the cake. So banal it was a little annoying. Looking at him, though, Gene realized Paul was just trying to catch the jingle at the end.

“I was gonna, then I took a nap and a shower.”

“No girls?”

“No girls.”

Not that much of a surprise. Paul could be indifferent, downright cold to company, which had always struck Gene as a little annoying, if not potentially disastrous. Couldn’t be merrily flamboyant onstage and then aloof as soon as he walked back to the dressing room. Bad publicity in the making. He’d be pleasant enough during what few interviews they’d scored as a band, but it was obvious he didn’t actually want to do them. Gene wondered if Paul was getting more egotistical, or if that latent shyness was just setting his nerves on edge. Paul was the only deep-down introvert in the whole band. He’d have to get over it at some point.

Besides, even if Paul wasn’t as assiduous about getting girls as he was, he still managed to have one in his bed at least half their tour nights. So if he was lonesome, that was his own fault. Paul walked over to the set to turn up the volume one more time—God, he always had it up too loud. Knowing why didn’t make it much less aggravating.

“Really not my idea of a thrilling evening.”

Paul flopped back on the bed.

“What, because of the girls? Just get a taxi and go to a nightclub. There’s gotta be one around here somewhere.” A pause, and a stifled yawn. “Where the hell are we tonight, anyway? Austin?”

“Austin was last night. Tonight’s Corpus Christi,” Gene mumbled.

“Oh, right. Good thing they remind me beforehand. Last time I fucked up the city they were almost rioting.”

“You told Pittsburgh they were a wonderful audience—”

“And it was actually Kansas City. I know, Gene.” Running his hands through his hair, looking more like a damp poodle than a human being, Paul sighed. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve told Charleston they were Pittsburgh.”

Gene snorted and sat down next to him on the bed. Paul was splayed out on his back as if it were one of their lousier photoshoots, but he at least moved his legs to give Gene more room.

“We’d be mounted on some redneck’s wall.”

“With or without the makeup?”

“With. You think they’d dare? It’s like yanking off Batman's cowl.”

Paul laughed, shaking his head.

“Some of the girls don’t even want the makeup off. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like…” Paul was considering, or trying to. Always a bad sign, because Paul tended to trail and never get to the point, in public and in private. Gene had been taking spokesman duties during interviews and news stories out of necessity, not desire. Paul could’ve stuck to a script, sure, except they didn’t have one yet, and Peter and Ace would just bungle things with the press, Gene was positive of it. “Like, okay, if I’m gonna fuck someone, I don’t want the pretense.”

“You mean you don’t want to be Starchild for them?”

“No, not… not exactly. I mean, I don’t mind, but… you ever feel like they’re conning you? No, not… conning, but… they’re not being real, you’re not being real…”

“Paul, if you want an honest relationship, I don’t know why the hell you’re fucking groupies.”

Paul glanced at Gene then, and snorted. His hair had fallen in his eyes, and he just blew it back with a breath.

“I’m not complaining, I’m just saying I wanna be real with somebody sometime. Don’t you?”

“God, no.” Gene paused, leaning back on his arms on the bed. “You wanna be real with someone, be real with your shrink.”

From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Paul’s face fall slightly. Shit. He’d forgotten Paul had one of those. Or used to, at least. Gene opened his mouth, not to apologize, exactly, just explain, but Paul started back in, oddly unruffled, before he could manage.

“Give it five minutes and you can watch the Johnny Carson show with me.”

Gene groaned.

“You know I could’ve done that at home, right?”

“Well, yeah, but here you don’t have to pick up your own towels.” Paul paused. “Not that you do that anyway, but…”

“Move.”

“Okay, okay.” Paul shifted over again amiably as Gene scooted in. Soon enough, Ed was introducing Johnny Carson with all his usual insane vigor, as if he hadn’t been on air every single weekday for the past decade. Maybe Carson wouldn’t be such a bad avenue for KISS, if Casablanca could up their notoriety enough for him to consider it. There didn’t seem to be a method of self-promotion left they hadn’t at least tried to stoop to over the last two years. Even immolation was only barely out of bounds.

Beside him, Paul was paying more attention to Carson’s Carnac the Magnificent routine than it probably deserved that night—Carnac was already spouting off fake curses to the audience.

“What’re you pissed about?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Gene heaved a sigh. Carson’s studio audience laughed loudly in the background.

“I had a big number coming up.”

“A big number?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Tonight I was gonna bang my 200th chick.”

“You’re counting them?”

Gene gave Paul a look that was a cross between bewildered and long-suffering, a look he used to reserve for the slowest of his students when they were scrawling out one-step equations.

“Of course I’m counting them. What did you think the Polaroids were for?”

“I thought you just took pictures of the ones you liked, not every girl you banged!”

“No! It’s a record for posterity, Paul.”

“You’ve probably got twenty posterity running around already,” Paul said with a snort. “I know you don’t wrap it up half the time.”

“They’ll have the most successful dad since Charlemagne.”

“Who?”

“The fifth Beatle.”

“Oh, shut up, Gene.” Paul twisted off a couple of rings as he spoke, scrambling over Gene to set them on the nightstand. The small plinks against the plywood sounded oddly final. Paul returned to his spot on the bed immediately afterwards. “Nothing stopping you from going to a club, you know.”

Gene shook his head.

“I don’t want to deal with drunks. Maybe Ace and Peter don’t care, but I’m not running the risk of her passing out before we get to the hotel.”

“There’s always at least five sober girls at the disco. You’re just being lazy.” Paul clasped his fingers together, stretched out his arms with a groan. “You really want to hit number two hundred tonight?’

“That was the idea.”

Paul looked contemplative. Gene was always thrown off the rare times that look flitted across his face, because ever since he’d met Paul, he’d been fairly convinced the man didn’t think so much as base his life off shaky impulses. And not like Gene himself did, either, not in terms of libertine conquests. Paul was more like an anxious, gangly dog, as apt to hump a girl’s leg as turn tail and hide in a corner. He tried not to let it show, but five years of knowing him, and two years of being a door away, at best, meant Gene knew better.

Clearly, though, Paul was thinking now. Those hormone-addled synapses were firing, fully oblivious to Carson’s latest jab toward President Ford. He was even yanking his hair back and squeezing those last drops of water out onto the carpet as he turned to look Gene dead in the eye.

“Give me your room key.”

“What?”

“Give me your room key.”

It was perched next to the T.V. set. One key hanging from a small metal hoop. Gene got up and handed it over, eyebrow raised questioningly. Paul spun the keyring absently around his finger. That thoughtful look hadn’t faded from his expression yet, but his mouth twitched just slightly up.

“Now get your camera.”

“Paul, what the hell?”

“Number two hundred just volunteered.”

Gene stared.

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding!” Paul was still spinning the key. “You want your two hundredth lay and you don’t want to leave the hotel to get it.”

“That doesn’t mean—shit, Paul, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?”

Paul was looking at him with an expression so obnoxiously blithe and amused that Gene almost wanted to snatch back the key and tell him to stop screwing around. But that might only encourage him, at this point. Those wheels were turning to some inevitably questionable conclusion. God, they all had to stop spending so much time at those raucous parties, no matter how good they were for filling up his photo album. They were giving Paul disturbing ideas. Gene cleared his throat, tried to explain.

“That’s not something you volunteer for.”

“No?”

“Paul, c’mon, it’s pretty damn qu—”

“You’ve still got a hard-on, Gene.”

Shit. Gene’s eyes went straight to Paul’s crotch, almost accusingly, but that bathrobe was loose enough around his frame that he couldn’t tell. That was it, he couldn’t tell. It couldn’t be that Paul was shooting all this bullshit, trying to get a rise out of Gene, while he was completely soft. No. Couldn’t possibly be.

“Don’t flatter yourself, damn it, you didn’t see their tits—"

The only solution was to follow along. Keep on going, and keep on going, until Paul backed off. He would; Gene knew he would. Then they’d finish up on Johnny Carson and bitch some more about girls or about Peter and Ace or about Paul’s more recent exes (one of whom had been sleeping with Joe Namath, which seemed to bother Paul on some weird intrinsic level that Gene frankly didn’t understand) before finally calling it a night. Pass out like the lousiest excuses for rockstars he’d ever heard of.

“I’m not flattering myself. I’m just saying you’ve still got a hard-on.”

“Shut up, Paul.”

Paul didn’t shut up. Of course he didn’t. He just started humming the chorus of “Strutter” as he stretched out on the bed, ankles dangling from the edge. Gene shifted before getting up entirely and pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, taking out his camera. Plenty of shots left. He’d had way higher hopes for Corpus Christi than Paul Stanley on his bed. He gritted his teeth, willing Paul to back out, and back out now, except he could feel Paul’s eyes on him as he got back to his feet, camera in hand. Could feel the interest there, the intrigue. Paul was going to match him. At least for now, Paul was going to match him.

“How do they usually pose for it?”

“Between their tits.”

Paul frowned.

“I mean, I can try, but…” and he dropped the key on the dead center of his chest. The key looked like a forlorn found object a bird had tried to line its rather furry nest with. “No. No, that’s not gonna work.”

“God, no.”

“Maybe I should just hold it.” Paul picked the key up, frowning. “Or… do you want more of an interesting angle, should I have the edge facing the camera?”

“Paul, I’m taking a picture. This isn’t your art portfolio here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t just hold it.”

Gene groaned.

“Okay, hang on.” Paul got up and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Gene could hear the water running almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Paul returned, bathrobe still tied closed. “All right, ready.”

“Where’s the key?”

Paul raised his tongue. The key peeked out, tarnished bronze on pink, and Gene groaned.

“You’re gonna choke on that.”

“Iy-ull be ’ine—” Paul nearly spat out the key. Gene swallowed a laugh as Paul took the key out, wiped it on the bedsheets, and shook his head. “All right, all right, I’ll just have it in my hand.”

“Okay. Then sit down.”

Paul sat down on the bed. Gene picked up the camera, zooming in carefully, as Paul held the key between his forefinger and thumb. He looked like he was about to crack up. The camera flashed, the picture ejected, and soon Paul had snatched it away, shaking it vehemently as the image started to appear.

“Wait—wait, give it here, I’ve gotta fill out your name at the bottom.” Honestly, Gene was aiming for initials. P. S. could stand for anything

“I’ll fill it out! God knows I don’t charge for autographs.” The developing image, though, was getting clearer and far more disappointing. Paul’s face wasn’t visible. Instead, Gene had taken a close-up of the key itself, leaving not more than an inch of Paul’s index finger in the shot. “Gene! Oh, fuck you!”

“It’s gonna ruin the photo album if I’ve got a hundred ninety-nine chicks in there and then you!”

“It’s gonna make it the best album ever. Take it again.”

Gene hesitated.

“C’mon, take it again.”

Gene gave him a long-suffering look. Paul started fluffing out his hair as if this were a photoshoot instead of the prelude to the most questionable conquest either had ever attempted. Raising the camera once more, Gene was sorely tempted not to warn him first before he pressed the button.

“Fine. Three, two, one—"

Paul popped the keyring right back into his mouth the second before the camera flashed. The key dangled between his lips like the sultriest provocation. He grabbed the photo before Gene could voice a protest, holding it up for both of them to see.

This time Gene had caught him. Really caught him. Paul leaning in from the picture, poised and eager, broad hands resting on the bed. There was a bit of glare from the key in his mouth, a wanting, amused look in his eyes that the slightly-out-of-focus shot didn’t hide at all. But Paul was still disappointed.

“Aw, fuck, it’s a little blurry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“One more.”

Reluctantly, Gene picked up the camera again. Paul shifted on the bed, this time propped up on his elbows, one knee raised. The bathrobe was riding up, showing more of both thighs than Gene cared to see. But it wasn’t indecent yet. Just—

Snap.

Snap.

“Safety shot,” he insisted when Paul glanced at him curiously. He raised his hand before Paul could reach for the developing photos, gathered them both up and watched the image emerge. Clear this time, perfectly crisp. Maybe Paul nerved out a bit during interviews, but in front of a camera he was golden. Absolutely golden. Dragging the attention away from everyone else in the picture, clawing it away with only a pair of pursed lips and big, dark eyes. It was annoying during KISS photoshoots, but here, with only him, only him on the bed, it was something else. Something Gene didn’t want to own up to as he stared, fascinated, from one shot to the next, finally setting them both down on the bed without a word. He barely heard the next words out of Paul’s mouth, a come-on that shouldn’t have been a come-on at all.

“Let’s keep on.”

“Keep… keep on?”

“Yeah,” and Paul laughed, turned to his side just a bit more, hand running against the edge of his robe. “You’ve got the film for it. You wanna?”

The words seemed to reverberate in his brain. You wanna. An offer. A proposition. Unbelievable. Totally unbelievable. Paul couldn’t be doing this to him, couldn’t be unraveling him—upping the ante, that was all it was, just upping the ante. Yeah. Yeah.

Gene’s fingers fidgeted before he picked up his camera again, feeling some stupid warmth spread across his face. Dimly he could hear Carson questioning the night’s special guest with all his usual slick irreverence, barely a patter in the background. Two words, too easy and casual, and all he could manage was a nod before raising the viewfinder to his eye for another shot as Paul offered up his most shameless smirk for the camera.

He kept on. God only knew why. He’d been with more photogenic girls. There was nothing alluring to him about how Paul was posing. Awkward, whiny Stanley Eisen, that douchey high school senior who always looked stoned—there was nothing sexual about him. Six years down the road, he was still that kid, no matter if he’d changed his name and curtailed his diet, no matter if he’d grown out his hair even more and stolen some slivers of confidence. No matter if he was slowly peeling open the bathrobe, revealing inch upon inch of his broad, hairy chest as Gene snapped shot after shot in a mindless rhythm. No matter if he was wearing that sex-soaked smile and tilting his head just so, languid and eager.

No matter if he reached up and trailed his long fingers down Gene’s arm. As Gene leaned over, as Gene got on the bed, the camera became the only thing left between them, the only piece of distance. The only separation. The photos were spilling out onto the bed like scattered confetti, each one revealing a little more and a little more.

By the tenth shot Paul was toying with the tie of his bathrobe, lying on his side, back arched. The robe had slid down past his shoulder, exposing his rose tattoo. There was a half-healed bite mark just beneath it and Gene couldn’t help but wonder which groupie had left it there.

By the fifteenth he’d cast the robe aside entirely. Gene’s hands were sweaty against the camera, thumb slipping on the button. He was on his knees now, Paul sprawled next to him, back against the covers, completely exposed and half-hard, hips arching up against nothing at all.

“Paul.” Gene barely recognized his own voice, the heaviness there. He was still looking at Paul through the viewfinder, still watching his head raise and his lip curl from a distance as he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t pose like that.”

“Why not? Too provocative for you?”

“Not provocative enough.”

Snap. Paul bristled slightly—there’d been no countdown this time—but then he reached a hand out, sliding it against Gene’s thigh as the photo ejected, forgotten.

“Oh, yeah? You got me in a good mood, Gene, I’m open to critique—”

Gene put his hand on top of Paul’s and lowered the camera, setting it down on the edge of the bed. Looking at him full on, all barriers gone, those still-damp curls and those big brown eyes and the teasing strokes of his hand rubbing his thigh, inching over, over, to grip and fondle his hard-on through his pants. Gene sucked in a breath, fingers curling around Paul’s and pushing his hand aside, gaze never wavering from his face.

“They don’t have me in them.”

He didn’t give Paul a chance to answer. Barely a chance to open his mouth before Gene leaned in and over him, cupping his chin and crushing their lips together. Paul’s mouth tasted like the cherry tarts room service had brought down a couple hours ago, the ones he’d said he wouldn’t eat, and his lips were chapped and hot under his.

Paul was shoving his tongue in Gene’s mouth before Gene could even manage it, reaching up to yank Gene on top of him, rocking up against him desperately as his hands dug beneath Gene’s shirt. All coyness, all pretense utterly shattered. Gene laughed throatily at Paul’s freneticness, but he wasn’t any better, fingers fumbling with his own shirt, trying to peel it off while Paul’s hands roved over his back, short nails leaving light pink lines across his skin. His pants and boxers were off only moments later, Paul’s help no help at all, wriggling and rutting against him as he tried to unzip himself and toss the clothes aside.

It was a tangle of limbs, imprecise, messy. Paul nibbling at Gene’s neck, groaning as Gene’s hand went for his dick, stroking him hastily. Time seemed to collapse on itself. Gene didn’t hear the T.V. anymore or the raucousness from Ace’s room or the groans from Peter’s—all he heard was Paul gasping beneath him, all he saw was Paul flushed and willing and wanting, mumbling for him, indistinct rambles that sank somewhere deep inside him. A feeling he was chasing. A feeling that he might belong after all, only for a moment, a feeling that he might belong with him.

Gene grabbed the lube from the dresser, slicked himself up before turning Paul on his stomach, figuring that might be easier. His fingers were slippery as he started to prepare, inexpertly at best. The backdoor wasn’t his favorite with girls, honestly; too much prep for a less-exciting finish, at least for them. But Paul wasn’t going to be that way, already back to bucking up, relaxing into his touch as he eased himself inside him. Gene reached around, breaths heavy as he grasped Paul’s cock again, stroking unevenly with his own thrusts, grunting hard as every twitch and jerk of his hips drove them both closer, closer—

Paul came first with a low groan, spilling into Gene’s hand, sliding against the sheets. It wasn’t long for Gene after that, just a few more thrusts at best before orgasm coursed through him, utterly blinding. He all but collapsed against Paul after, eyes shut, panting against his sweaty skin as he pulled out, draping an arm haphazardly across Paul’s back before he fell asleep.

---

Everything was better in America. Even, Gene assumed, the morning afters.

Most of his involved asking the girl to leave before the crack of dawn. In fact, Gene had half-expected Paul to be gone by the time he woke up, slinking back to his own hotel room to clear his head of last night’s madness, but he wasn’t. Instead, Paul was leaning against the nightstand, bathrobe back on, eating a bowl of Cheerios. The usual hotel breakfast spread rested precariously on a tray on top of the T.V. “Morning, Gene.” Paul clinked the spoon against the ceramic bowl with every scoop.

“… Morning.”

Gene sat up slowly, reaching over the edge of the bed for his clothes and tugging them on, at an utter loss for words. He could feel Paul’s gaze on him, was sure it was amused and not worried. Not concerned. Had to be. He cleared his throat, finally managing to string a sentence together.

“Where’s my camera?”

“On the table. Figured one of us was gonna step on it otherwise.”

“And the pictures?”

Paul grinned and pulled open the nightstand drawer. There, beside the lube, were the photos, in order, neatly stacked.

“Right here.” He handed them over. “Oh, I couldn’t figure out which one you liked, so…”

Gene sifted through the photos, nail digging against the paper’s edge. At first, he was just looking at the images, turning one after another in his hand. His own documentary of the entire evening’s descent, up until that debauched climax.

Their climax.

But then he looked at the lettering beneath, and he stared, eyes wide. Every photo, every single photo, was signed in bold black scrawl across the bottom:

“Paul Stanley, #200.”

“Paul Stanley, #201.”

“Paul Stanley, #202.”

“Paul Stanley, #203.”

“Paul Stanley, #204….”

“Paul, what did you—”

Paul set down the bowl of cereal.

“Oh, yeah. Well, you said you couldn’t have an album with a hundred ninety-nine girls and then me. So I figured I’d just even things out.”

“Even things out.”

“Yeah.” Paul dug through Gene’s luggage, finding his teasing comb, and started to drag it through his bushy hair. “That was sixteen pictures. Number two hundred’s taken care of, so that just leaves us fifteen more.”

“Fifteen more.”

“At least.”

It took a minute to dawn on Gene. More than a minute, honestly. Paul had averted his eyes, the only sound the tugging of the comb, when Gene finally answered, slow smile spreading across his face as he reached over to yank at one of Paul’s stray curls.

“You’ve got a huge ego, anyone ever tell you that, Paul?”

Paul laughed, brushing his hand away, offering up a grin of his own.

“All the damn time.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #happy birthday paul!!