#EDIT:: added a new sentence that was meant to be there but i straight up forgot to type it out last night. whoops

[physalian]

What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #scifi

[roughentumble]

I'm almost afraid to ask...

What are your werewolf au ideas?

GSHBDKSND oh its not horny or anything its just like. kind of angsty, but like, in that way where sometimes angsty daydreams are fun, you know?? like

ok its like a geraskier thing cuz im a one trick pony, but basically geralt gets cursed, three nights a month he goes all wolfy. he's an intelligent werewolf with pretty great self control, BUT he's like, ridiculously worried that he's gonna snap and hurt people. (he's not, but, you know, he's had to put down werewolves for that before, and he's not a man with a lot of faith in himself, So.)

uhhhh i cant remember how jaskier finds out tbqh, but after traveling together a while, it comes to light, and jaskier is of course very "its just you, im not scared, and im not judging you." they hang out, they figure things out, and geralt starts to relax.

so all the time he's been cursed, he hasnt gone back to kaer morhen-- its only been a year or two, but still. he feels like they'd know right away, he's worried they'd just put him down, he doesnt think they should get used to "monsters in the keep", he just feels Real Bad about it, but jaskier convinces him that this is his family, they'd understand, and they must miss him.

geralt agrees, eventually, goes up to kaer morhen with jaskier in tow.

but once they get there, he just... totally refuses to explain anything. none of the other witchers have sussed out that something's wrong(other than jaskier's hushed whispering about how geralt should "just tell them, they'd understand")

geralt's genius solution is, he'll just sleep outside three nights a month, he'll bring blankets and his fur will protect him. jaskier doesnt like it, but he's not about to tell geralt's secret, and he cant bodily drag a werewolf inside, so. his only condition is that he gets to sit outside with geralt for a bit, cuddle with him n' such. their excuse is that theyre gross love birds who are going out for moonlight picnics. everyone buys this, partially because its sort of true, partially cuz no one wants to walk in(or out) on them fucking.

it actually works the first trio of nights, to jaskier's surprise, but the 4th night they try they arent so lucky-- they forget something inside(a bottle of wine, a blanket, who knows) and eskel is like "i'll fall on my sword, be the one to bring it out to the happy couple". he steps outside, and what does he see?

a gigantic werewolf pinning jaskier to the ground.

bit of a frenzy after that, eskel attacking and shouting for backup, trying to keep the werewolf in sight while also looking for geralt, getting between the monster and jaskier while jaskier shouts-- eventually jaskier gets through to him though. thats geralt, dont hurt him, its geralt.

geralt isnt saying anything though(despite the fact he's perfectly capable of it, even transformed), and eskel sortve misunderstands. doesnt really get that this has been a long-term affliction, and assumes this is the first transformation. so with geralt not responding, eskel says "not right now it isnt," and gets his hands on one of the training blades they keep in the courtyard.

more chaos-- everyone's outside now, jaskier is absolutely not having any of it but also three grown witchers versus one bard isnt much of a fight, no one's listening to him, and geralt's just pinning himself against the wall like a prey animal and not saying anything.

jaskier proves just enough of a distraction that geralt manages to hop a wall, takes off into the woods. jaskier is calling after him, while the three remaining witchers each make a gameplan(STILL not listening to jask). after a moment, jaskier darts and weaves and makes it just out of their grasp, so they've got a werewolf AND a bard loose in the woods in the dead of both night and winter, which. Bad.

eskel goes after geralt, vesemir stays behind because they need someone in the keep, and lambert's on bard wrangling duty. lambert doesnt have much trouble finding jaskier, but he does have trouble keeping a hold on him, because he's worried about breaking his tiny human limbs(and also he's wearing a lot of thick layers, which he has no compunctions about ripping to shreds to get out of lambert's grip.) he loses a boot and a sleeve to the ongoing tussle, as he keeps slipping out and darting away. lambert even tries axii, but the biggest trick to getting out of axii is just training a lot to resist it, so geralt and him'd run through that a long time ago, so his response is to go fake-limp, then kick lambert in the dick and run off into the night with one shoe.

lambert is extremely annoyed. its not jaskier's best plan.

he finds the cave that geralt had backed himself into by some miracle, and also because eskel'd made no efforts to hide his tracks and there are currently shouts coming from the cave. jaskier gets himself inbetween the two of them and refuses to budge. geralt's still pulling the silent routine, ears pinned back, looking like a kicked dog, and eskel's trying to coax jaskier away from the "monster".

lambert comes bursting in as well, pissed and sore, but stays near the entrance, the four of them locked in a sort of stalemate. the three of them argue about what to do, but jaskier is shivering because of his wrecked coat. eventually geralt breaks his silence to rumble out a worried "yourrr fingerrrs..."

(werewolves roll their 'r's in tw3. dont ask me why, just go with it.)

eskel and lambert are stunned into silence, and jaskier is immediately turning towards geralt, letting him fret and dote on him. slips his arm inside his jacket so his fingers dont fall off-- lets geralt wrap a giant, warm paw around his foot to get some heat back into it.

lambert's like "wait, so you CAN fucking talk?????"

it all got escalated way out of hand, partially because of eskel's reaction, but also because geralt was too ashamed to stand up for himself-- thought maybe they were a little bit right. was basically just going to curl up and let it happen, which he admits with some gentle prodding, and leaves eskel looking sick.

jaskier, though, is absolutely nuclear levels of pissed, because he was explaining everything, even how he'd known for months, and that geralt was perfectly safe to be around, but all the non werewolf witchers were just tuning him out. and geralt nearly died because of it. so he's, like-- he's unspeakably angry at all three of them.

eventually, they do all four make their way back to the keep(geralt carrying jaskier cuz he's still missing a boot), and explain everything one more time for vesemir. everyone looks pretty ragged, because it was a lot of drama very suddenly late at night.

geralt still hesitates in the doorway of the main hall, says he'll make the keep smell like monsters, that it's dangerous, but jaskier just gently encourages him inside and they curl up together in front of the hearth, nice and warm.

from there its little bits and pieces of geralt showing his werewolfy-er side, like dragging in a deer one night to devour raw by the fire. (he looks bashful about it, but jaskier insists its a part of their routine on the road, helps geralt clean his muzzle afterword.) and jaskier slowly encouraging geralt to relax, come deeper into the keep, curl up in a real bed.

jaskier gets less mad, but never quite gets over the fact that geralt's family proved his fears right. geralt gets less ashamed, but never fully sheds his anxieties about being allowed inside. everyone else gets less tense, but never quite sheds the shame of nearly killing their brother in arms while he was fully cognizant-- or quite comfortable with a "monster in the keep". it's still their first winter, tho, so with any luck things will someday get smoothed out.

[the porny ending is that geralt knots all three of them and this wildly smooths over any remaining tensions, but thats just a little fun off-shoot, not the Official Daydream Ending]

#witcher tag #ogc tag #ummmmm im trying to think of further details but these are the broad strokes #its self indulgent a little overly angsty and has some back-and-forth issues #but /i/ enjoy it a lot i can like. visualize it in my brain very clearly #mmmm i think i couldve worded this better because usually my daydream starts at them at kaer morhen #and then goes on to have jaskier reveal the backstory #in a way i think is slightly better than ive worded it here #but ive spent long enough on this reply that i dont want to entirley rewrite it #EDIT:: added a new sentence that was meant to be there but i straight up forgot to type it out last night. whoops #highlighted in blue. if it looks/reads worse with the new shit hmu and i'll toss it. couldnt decide if i liked the idea of changing it sooo #cut removed & post reblogged cuz fuck it i make long posts sometimes and also u asked so now u have to look at my angsty werewolf daydream! #XP

[t-lostinworlds]

Truth or Drink (Tom Holland)

[YouTube AU: Video 2]

a/n: this took a while asdfghjkl this was in my drafts since oct. at 7k already (but got distracted with other WIPs as always) and was suggested by this anon back in aug. so i’m sorry this took a so long hun. also, the gif took a fucking while too ‘cause we are extra in this house haha (i mean, i wanted the time in the vid to match the wc so ha). anyway, enough babbling and let’s get into the video! lol, i hope you guys enjoy this one!

summary: You and Tom do a couples Q&A where you spilled steamy secrets with the help from alcohol. pairing: tom holland x fem!reader warnings: dialogue bonanza (lots of laughing and asking), alcohol consumption, secret spilling (from both parties), teasing from everyone (will include dirty jokes from the lads), mentions of smut & risque aka sex-themed questions. word count: 14.2k+ (aha enjoy!)

☰ youtube channel | previous video << ǁ >> next video ☰ masterlist on bio & pinned post

⚠ DISCLAIMER: this is a multi-part (not a series) which is basically one-shots happening in the same universe meaning you don’t need to read the previous one to understand this one since they are not heavily connected plot wise. although each fic does happen chronologically, you don’t need to read them in order much like how you don’t need to watch youtube videos in order.

-:-:-:-:-

You knew something was about to happen the moment you walked into the dining area, the way Tom immediately went to latch onto you like a koala bear—as if he hasn't seen you just minutes before—tells all.

"What are you up to now?" you asked with a playful scrunch of your nose.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, the fabric of his pink hoodie—while you wore his other pink hoodie, outfits not at all planned since you just took the first thing you saw in his closet—soft to the touch as you took a glance at the camera that was set up at the head of the dining table. The greenery of the outside world behind the glass doors served as a backdrop to the shot.

The crease between your brows deepened at the sight, gaze landing back on the boy attached to your hip who was hugging you sideways with a certain glow in his eyes.

"I'm not up to anything," Tom denied, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck to litter the skin with sweet and soft kisses. Although the gesture made your heart melt, it also made your suspicion grow. You just know there was more to this than meets the eye.

Strong arms staying around your torso, Tom pulled away slightly so he could meet your gaze again, a certain smile growing on his lips, one you know too well. It was the usual smile he wears whenever he wants something from you, a favor perhaps. An all too powerful grin that had you made him get away with things—mostly stupid ones—easily that you aren't exactly proud to admit.

"Tom," you warned with a raise of a brow, enough seriousness and command in your tone that he was quick to give in.

"Okay, okay, we're shooting the next video," he chuckled, tracing your jaw with the tip of his nose before giving it a soft peck. "Which I am hoping you'll do with me still," he murmured, placing another kiss on your cheek before pulling away to look at you fully as he flashed you a not-so-innocent smile.

Bingo.

Tom just doesn't suddenly become so clingy—well, he normally is but more than usual anyway—especially out of nowhere without it having an underlying reason.

You narrowed your eyes at him skeptically. You stayed silent as you weighed your odds, if the enjoyment of making the video was worth it for you to endure the obvious embarrassment that would come with it. You do love this YouTube thing he's got going on, you truly do enjoy being a part of it. But with the things he's spilled in the last video, you just want to make sure that this time won't be too much, though you highly doubt it.

It was hilarious how his bottom lip started to go at your reaction, eyes turning rounder, cuter that would give Puss in Boots a run for his money. And just as you counted in your head, three, two, one—

"Please, darling? Do it with me?" Tom cooed, placing his head on your shoulder as he gave your waist a loving squeeze, fluttering his eyelashes at you in the most adorable of ways with that cute pout to match. It was his signature look whenever he wanted something, the look of handsome and adorable persuasion. "I'll keep the secret-spilling at a minimum, love. And besides, we can always edit it out."

You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head at the fact that you're saying yes either way. You can never say no whenever he puts on that very persuasive face of his, can never resist him even if you tried. And of course, Tom knows this power he has over you, and he's mastered a way on how and when to use it to his advantage.

You aren't exactly proud to say that he has never failed once, his tactic very effective and that's putting it lightly. It's sneaky and annoying sometimes but it's still cute nonetheless.

Though, never did he once abuse this weakness of yours, only using it with the little things—like letting him sneak in some snacks on set when he was instructed not to or when he wants to do certain stuff—because when it's something serious and you say 'no,' then he's quick to listen and settle when you've made your final decision. He knows you only have the best intentions when it comes to his safety and just him in general, so there's really no doubt on Tom's behalf when it comes to following you on that.

"Why me? Why not give the other boys a chance to be in the spotlight?" you proposed, not giving him the satisfaction of winning just yet.

Tom shrugged with a wide smile. "The fans love you," he hummed.

The reception of the last video was mostly positive. Maybe it was the fact that you've been with Tom for a couple years already.

Your relationship was private of course, but it wasn't a secret. It was relatively the both of you showing glimpses of it every now and then online. So, compared to when the news first broke out, this time was a bit calmer. There are still trolls and haters—they're always going to be there unfortunately—but you've learned to shut them out, turning your focus more on the ones who are very positive and supportive. They should be the only ones who should be given attention to, no point wasting your energy on random keyboard warriors.

"You mean they love it when I make fun of you?" you said, laughter escaping your lips soon after when Tom buried his face back on the crook of your neck as he groaned in dismay.

Let's just say his fans quite enjoyed how you handled him in the last video, the teasing, the banter, the whole lot. Tom hasn't been able to escape the countless clips that are circulating the good old internet. No matter which platform he uses, a clip or meme is always there to haunt him. Most of them vary from him screaming and wriggling in pain; laughing like a hyena while also wriggling in pain; the random facial expressions he's made; and even sometimes, a snapshot of you looking at him in great disappointment and/or embarrassment. That's just some among the plethora of other memes.

Tom had seen it coming of course, but it doesn't mean it's any less embarrassing, especially with how clueless he seemed when it came to women.

"Unfortunately, that too," he grumbled.

"Okay then, might as well give them more content," you teased, Tom pulling away again to gawk at you with a look of feign betrayal crossing his features. You could only laugh at that, giving his jutted out lip a kiss to replace it with one of his many sweet smiles. Despite you saying it in a joking manner, he can't really deny that that would happen either way. After all, no matter what he does, he will always be a walking meme.

Tom finally lets you go after one more peck on the cheek, guiding you towards the seat by the other end of the table soon after. He helped you in like the gentleman that he is, a kiss landing on top of your head once you were seated before he made his way towards his place.

"What are we doing this time?" you asked when Tom sat down on the chair across from you.

And as if on cue, Harry walked into the dining area with two bottles of gin on hand, Harrison following suit with a bowl of half-sliced limes along with Tuwaine with a bucket of ice and two Collins glasses.

"Truth or drink," Harry said with a wide grin, lifting the bottles of Aviation gin to further prove his point.

"You guys chose me to do this with him because I'm a lightweight, which means I'm more likely to talk, didn't you?" you said, narrowing your eyes at each of them as they placed their respective items right in front of you in the middle of the table.

All three boys gasped exaggeratedly at your accusation, shaking their heads as they made their way behind the camera, chorusing a bunched of:

"Oh no, of course not."

"That was not the plan."

"We would never."

You could only roll your eyes at them, playfully of course, turning back to Tom who was quick to throw his hands up in surrender once he took in your expression of pure suspicion.

"I swear, I just want to do this with you, plain and simple," he confessed, though his follow up sentence made you think that it wasn't as plain and simple. "But you are very funny when you have alcohol in your system."

"Does that mean I'm not when sober?" You raised your brow at the man across you, sitting straight up as you clasp your hands together, resting it on the table to seem serious.

Tom shook his head frantically. "No! You're still very funny sober!" he rushed. "Love, you know what I meant," he added with a whine, head dropping low once you let out a laugh, only lifting it back up to shoot you another pout. He can be quite gullible sometimes and you honestly love it, love teasing him about.

"Besides, it's a couples Q&A and the only couple here are you two so there aren't really any options. The only difference is that it has alcohol to spice things up a little," Harry said, now in his place behind the camera just like before.

"With equally spicy questions," Harrison added with a wriggle of his brows, coming back up on the head of the table to place a stack of white cards to which you assumed was where the questions were written.

"You guys wrote the questions didn't you? Okay, this is a set up," you joked.

"They're harmless questions I swear!" Harrison defended with a laugh before returning back to his place by the camera. Though knowing them for as long as you have, you've learned to never trust those words fully. It was highly expected that the questions aren't going to be simple, let alone safe for work.

"But if you're not comfortable doing it, it's totally fine, darling," Tom said, smiling sweetly as he grabbed your hands across the table and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He knows you have never been an avid drinker. As you've said, you are lightweight. So, if ever you wanted to back out, he's just making sure you know that you have the option to.

"No, I'm fine with it. This will be fun," you said, flashing him a true, reassuring smile of your own, squeezing his hand in return for good measure. "But can I at least have some juice or something? I'm not drinking gin straight," you added.

"Figured you'd say that," Tom said with a wide grin, rushing up from his seat and disappearing into the kitchen. He came back not long after with a bottle of orange juice on one hand all while holding a spoon and paring knife on the other. "Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice," he sang the good old Snoop Dogg classic no matter how corny, placing the bottle juice right beside the gin on the head of the table.

You narrowed your eyes at your man. "You seem prepared Tom."

"Nope, I just know you too well," he hummed, giving you a sweet peck on the forehead before he was back on his seat across you.

"Right, let's give the people what they want," you said, rubbing your hands together with a wide smile.

It was Tom's turn to look at you skeptically. "Why do I have a feeling that we'll just take turns in exposing each other?"

You tilted your head at him with a grin, shrugging your shoulders and said,

"How bad can it be?"

***

"And we are rolling."

"What's up guys! Tom Holland here," he introduced with a loud clap. "I'm back with another video joined by none other than the gorgeous Y/N." You waved at the camera with a sweet smile at the mention of your name. "The rest of the gang are behind the camera as per usual," Tom added, the lads cheering at their cue unenthusiastically and totally not in sync, chuckles and giggles following soon after.

"You can feel the excitement in the room," Tom said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes. "Anyhow, since lovely Ryan Reynolds sent me a case of gin just recently, I thought; why not put it to good use?" Tom shot the camera a knowing look. "Hashtag not sponsored but should be!" he yelled, making you jump slightly at the sudden loud sound.

"Do you have to be so loud?" you grumbled, playfully covering your ears in the process.

"Oh, sorry love," Tom chuckled, shooting you a sweet smile before turning back to the camera, finger pointed at it as he said, "But Ryan, my DMs are always open."

"Always looking for someone to replace me," you sighed, shaking your head dejectedly as you turned to the camera with a deep frown.

"Ah, here we go," Tom groaned, shooting you a playful glare because he knows that the teasing would only get more and more prominent from here on out.

"What? You and I both know I've got a lot of competition," you said as a matter of fact, leaning back on your seat with arms crossed over your chest. "Mainly Jake G. and Harrison, with a couple of variations here and there but you get what I mean."

Tom shook his head at you with a teasing roll of his eyes. "Once again, my girlfriend everyone," he said to the lens with a tight lip smile before turning back to you with a deadpan expression. You only shrugged in response, flashing him an innocent smile.

"Anyway, a fan suggested this in the comments of the last video so today, we're going to be doing Truth or Drink," he continued, turning back to face the camera. "Rules are simple, we take turns on reading out the questions that are written on these cards right here"—Tom lifted the stack of white, rectangular cards before placing them back on the table—"and we either answer them truthfully or we take a drink."

"Oh and a little disclaimer," you paused as you looked at the camera. "The lads wrote the questions so we have no idea what's in the cards nor did we have any involvement in the choosing of certain topics which are possibly going to be discussed in this video," you added, feeling like it was a fact that needed to be said.

"Parental guidance is advised," Tom chuckled.

"They're not that bad you divs," Harrison grumbled.

Now you're certain on who wrote most of the questions, he's been keen on taking offense whenever anyone gets suspicious over them. "We'll be the judge of that," you stated, raising a brow at Harrison before turning back to Tom.

"Let's get right into it shall we?" Tom proposed. You gave him a nod in response, jutting out two thumbs up for good measure. "Ladies first," he said, flashing you a charming grin as he gestured towards the pile of cards.

You reached over to the pile, making sure to pick the card in the middle just to make sure that it was completely random. You adore the lads, but knowing how mischievous they can get, you've learned to always keep one eye open with regard to everything that they do. Plus, it was so easy to set it up for you to pick a certain question given that it was only you and Tom taking turns on picking a card.

"We are starting off with something a tad bit dark huh." You gave the lads a swift glance before turning to the card you had on hand. "If I killed someone would you help me cover it up?" you read out loud, placing the card on the discarded pile before your gaze landed on Tom who gave you a small, secretive nod 'yes' which only made you giggle.

Tom leaned forward as he rested his elbow on the marble surface, hand playing with his chin with his eyes on the ceiling to seem that he was deep in thought. He turned back to you and said, "Do we not get any context? Was it an accident or was it on purpose? Was it due to hate or fear? Was it justified?"

"It's a yes or no answer Tom," you laughed.

"Well then, you already know the answer but for legal purposes," Tom paused, reaching for the bucket of ice and putting some in his glass. He poured the gin on top of that and then added a dash of lime, swirling around the glass to mix them all together. "My lips are sealed," he chuckled, lifting the glass up to his lips and taking a drink. "Oh, that's good stuff," he commented, taking another sip before putting the glass back down.

"Hypothetically, if you were going to help, you'll probably be the one who'll get us caught if I'm being honest," you giggled to which Tom threw his head back with a laugh.

"Yeah, you'll tell me what you did, I'll get shocked and as we're getting stuff to you know, hypothetically hide the body, I'll go 'I can't believe you killed someone' in public and then someone will hear and call the police and we're done."

You burst out in a hearty laugh at that, nodding your head in agreement. "That's exactly how it's going to happen."

It was Tom's turn to pick a question, his grin growing wider as his eyes scanned the card in his fingers. "What's the most embarrassing thing you've done in front of me?" he asked, his features brightening in excitement because he already knows the answer. There wasn't really much to begin with other than that one incident that will always haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Do you want me to tell them the story?" you sighed, leaning back on your chair with palms flat on the table. It wasn't one of your finest moments that's for sure and Tom hasn't been letting you hear the end of it. In fact, it was one of his favourite stories involving you both.

"It's up to you, love. You don't have to if you don't want to." Tom shrugged with a smirk, reaching for your glass to get your drink made. "But that moment was so adorable for me though, embarrassing for you but very adorable for me," he added with a wink.

"Adorable or ego boosting?" you pointed out with a raise of your brow.

"Both," Tom laughed, adding some ice in your glass and pouring just the right amount of gin soon after.

You watched with an adoring smile as he poured in the orange juice, the sound of silverware and glass clinking together filling the air as he mixed up the liquids. He then squeezed a bit of lime in your drink, taking the paring knife soon after to slice up another lime in a thin circle, making a small slit in the middle so he can put it on the rim of your glass easily. Tom can be extra at times, of course he felt the need to decorate your drink, even when it wasn't exactly necessary but you wouldn't want it any other way.

"Look at you being a bartender," you teased, Tom looking up from his task to shoot you playful wink with a smug smirk to match.

"You love to see it."

You shrugged, not at all denying his claim because well, you do love seeing it.

"Here you go, mi lady," he hummed, handing you your beautifully decorated drink with a proud grin on his lips.

"Thank you, kind sir."

As much as how refreshing the cocktail looked in its cold glass and bright, orange colored glory, you know you had to be strategic with drinking. Because alcohol boosts your confidence, it makes you brave, it makes you say things you wish you hadn't when sober. And with you being lightweight, it isn't exactly ideal to be happy-go-lucky with it, especially knowing how these questions can go from one thing to another real quick.

You thought it's best to share embarrassing things that you can live with to keep the drinking at a minimum, rather than take too much alcohol too fast and say worse things down the line because you got somewhat tipsy or downright drunk. There's really no way of knowing how hard it hits given that different types of alcohol affect you in different ways.

"Okay, it was when we first met, which obviously doesn't make it any less embarrassing, first impressions and all that," you started, sitting straight up as your fingers drummed around the cool surface of your glass. "Me and a friend of mine were at this park and decided it would be fun to rent out these bikes to get around quicker, so we did. Lo and behold, Tom and Harrison were also at said park—"

"Oh yeah, I remember this," Harrison laughed. "This is going to be good."

You shot the blonde lad a quick glare before continuing. "Luck wasn't on my side that day—well, depends on how you look at things because I did meet Tom and seem to have gotten far," you laughed towards the camera, giving Tom a swift glance who was quick to lock eyes with you as he nodded agreeably with a chuckle. "But add that to me being very clumsy and simply put, I fell off the bike right in front of him," you sighed dejectedly, heat coating your cheeks as the lads chuckled in their seats, purely in amusement and not at all in a demeaning way.

"Go on love, let's hear the full thing," Tom encouraged, sitting back on his chair with his arms crossed over his chest to relax, attention fully on you as if he hasn't heard this story many times before. He genuinely does love hearing it. As you've said, it was one of his favourites.

"I'm getting there," you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at Tom who only flashed you an adorable, bright smile, knowing that if he does that, you can't stay mad at him. With a another sigh, you continued, "As we were riding our bikes, we saw him and Harrison sitting on this random bench from afar doing, I don't know, maybe they were on a date or something—"

"Darling, don't try and steer the topic here," Tom laughed. You stuck out your tongue at him—yes, very mature—his laughter only growing louder at your reaction.

"I'm a big fan of the Marvel movies, so obviously, I knew who he was. I was trying to keep my cool, you know, I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of him and thought I'll just ride pass, don't want to disturb whatever they had going on. But as soon as we got near to where they were sat, he looked towards my direction and we made eye contact—"

"The power I have," Tom crooned with a smug smile, earning a pointed eye-roll from you.

"Oh shut up. You know that wasn't the sole reason why I fell," you scoffed. "The chains on my bike went loose so I had no full control over it. We weren't going slowly as well because this friend of mine thought it was a good idea to one up each other so we kept going faster and faster, racing towards who knows what.

"So, my next option was to just plant my foot on the ground to stop it right? But as I've said, luck wasn't on my side that day. Before I could even do it, a rock went under the front wheel—which I didn't see given that I was distracted, you lot know why—and completely took me off balance and the bike went sideways real quick that I didn't have any time to react at all. And...did I roll a few times?" You turned to your boyfriend.

"Twice," he confirmed, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he tilted his head at you sweetly.

"Now, I don't see why you find this story adorable." You narrowed your eyes at your man.

"Not the actual accident, darling. It's what happened after that I found adorable. You were so cute being all shy and embarrassed," Tom defended with a pout. "And you know for a fact that whenever I see you with the smallest scrape or cut I panic and fuss over you immediately."

"You do. A bit too overdramatically," you giggled. It was a bit much sometimes how he worries but that's just Tom being the caring and overprotective boyfriend that he is. "Anyway, so yes, I rolled on the ground twice but all I remember was that I was already lying on my back, watching the sky while my knees, forearms up to my elbows and palms were burning. Then I saw Tom approaching and I swear I was just wishing that the ground would swallow me up right then and there," you finished.

"I quickly rushed to her aid, because you know, I'm Spider-Man," Tom added with a cocky shrugged, arms open wide as if to showcase himself.

There was a loud, collective groan from the lads which earned a laugh from you and a sound of pure protest from Tom.

"It's true!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, she then went, 'oh, my knight and shining armour, my handsome Prince Charming'," Tom gushed, voice at a higher pitch with the utmost exaggeration as he placed the back of his hand over his forehead. "And I went, 'don't worry princess, I'm here to save you,' and then we kissed and lived happily ever after," he concluded with the cheekiest smile.

"We remember this story very differently." You shook your head at him with a hearty laugh. This boy is always something else. "But fine, I'll give you the Prince Charming part because you did look like it.

"What you said was, 'miss, are you alright?' which was very formal of you, especially with the accent." You turned to the camera with a suggestive wiggle of your brows, making Tom drop his head shyly with a chuckle as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "And no, we didn't kiss. You don't kiss people you just met Thomas, get a hold of yourself. He helped me up and was kind enough to offer to take me to the hospital which wasn't needed since it was just a few cuts and scrapes but still insisted that I get checked. Who knew you'd be overprotective since day one," you laughed.

Tom shrugged with a chuckle. "We got to know each other while in the hospital and after she got cleaned up, I thought, I liked talking to her and I really don't want to say goodbye just yet. So, I invited her to lunch which she surprisingly said yes," he teased, sarcasm laced in his tone at his last sentence as he shot the camera a knowing and smug look. You kicked him lightly under the table, the action catching him off guard making him let out a yelp.

"It was more of me being polite because you helped and that. Didn't want to seem rude by saying no," you said, Tom gasping in full offense at your words. You let out a laugh as you rushed, "I'm kidding! Of course I wanted to go to lunch with you. It was impossible to say no because you've been really sweet and a real gentleman that day. And well, it was fun hanging out with you."

Tom smiled widely at that, nothing but pure love coating his features as he held your gaze, hand sneaking over to yours that was on the table and giving it a quick but loving squeeze.

"Where did Harrison go?" Harry wondered, the blonde boy suddenly turning silent and surely enough when you gave him a swift glance, he was already blushing.

"I had my friend with me, Tom had Harrison, you do the math," you said plainly, laughter laced in your tone.

"Oh, so you got some that day," Tuwaine chuckled, nudging the boy beside him with his elbow.

"Shut up, Tuwaine," Harrison grumbled, swatting away his friend lightly.

"But in conclusion, I am a superhero in real life," Tom stated proudly, swiping away the imaginary dust that was lying on his shoulder. He turned to the camera with a bright and wide smile. "But I do thank that bike every day."

"A bit sadistic but okay," you added, looking at Tom skeptically with a scrunch of your nose.

"No! I meant we wouldn't have gotten to know each other if that didn't happen," Tom rushed, lips turning into a pout when you only did nothing but laugh. "You're mean."

"You're just too adorable not to pick on," you giggled, his pout turning more prominent at your words.

You so badly wanted to get up off your seat and give him a proper kiss, but those things are always reserved privately. You two had never been big with public displays of affection, just the casual holding hands and occasional hugs. There are a few instances where you'll sneak a quick kiss while hanging out with friends but that's different compared to it being on tape for the whole world to see later on.

"Anyhow, what's the most embarrassing thing that you have done in front of me?" You asked back, your turn to grin wide because you know which story it was going to be, the way Tom's cheeks were quick to be dusted red was a clear indication that you were right.

"I'm smooth as hell, would never embarrass myself in front of a lady," he said casually, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on his chair, all cool and suave.

"Oh shut up and tell the story," you said with a playful roll of your eyes, Tom letting out a shy chuckle before he leaned on the table.

"Right, it was our second date and I split my trousers open," he said, short and sweet, though his blush was already deepening because Tom knows the sharing won't stop there.

"Wait, how open?" Tuwaine asked.

"Like full on, centre to back, underwear and inner thighs with a bit of butt showing open. It would have been a bit better if I wore black pants—boxers to the American people—and black trousers right? But me being unlucky, I went for light-coloured denim jeans and black pants that day so it's fully obvious that I did ripped my trousers open," he chuckled shyly, hand going to rub at his shoulder, body slightly crouched as he refused to look away from his glass of gin.

"Go on Thomas, let's hear the full thing," you prodded, throwing his previous words right back at him.

He lifted his head up to shoot you a playful glare, though sat straighter anyway, elbows now on the table with his hands clasped together as he got ready to tell his story. "We were well underway our second date, a simpler one which was a walk in a somewhat less crowded park—"

"What's with you two and parks?" Harrison pointed out with a chuckle.

"Disaster just waiting to happen as you can tell," Tom laughed.

"We've steered clear from parks after all these incidents," you joked with a giggle.

"I did a flip and didn't land the right way was basically what happened," Tom continued, turning to the camera with a look of dismay. "We were walking by a couple of street dancers who were practicing a routine and they were doing all sorts of flips and tricks. She stopped walking completely and watched—wait, correction, stared at this certain bloke who was doing backflips—"

"I was not staring," you butted in. "I was just watching him do his thing and said how cool it was. And why are you making it seem like it's my fault?" you gasped, placing a hand over your heart, feign offence crossing your features.

"I'm not!" Tom laughed, hands up in surrender before he crossed his arms over his chest. "All I'm saying was that I was trying to impress you, which is why I offered to show you a flip. And as everyone in this room knows, I do the stupidest things when trying to impress a girl, especially when I like her that much."

"I was already impressed by you as is Tom, you didn't need to do a flip," you said as a matter of fact, small giggles escaping your lips as you looked at him with nothing but pure adoration. Tom felt his heart melt at the sight and more by your words. "And besides, I already knew you could do it. But somehow you felt the need to prove yourself after you saw me complimenting that dancer," you added.

"It's what you call ego, Tom," Harry laughed.

"Shut up, Harry." Tom shot his brother a glare though chuckled right after because it was in fact a bit true.

It was the silliest thing thinking back on it now, how he just said 'you want to see me do a flip?' out of the blue. You furrowed your brows at him in response, though your smile was laced with amusement. He just wanted to impress you as he'd said. And fine, maybe his ego got struck at teeny bit, and maybe he felt a little jealous that your attention got torn off of him because he truly did like you that much.

But at the end of the day, even though he had a little mishap, it all worked out so he wasn't at all complaining. "Anyway, so I did the flip, completely disregarding the fact that my shoes were slippy and my trousers were tight. I did land upright and not on my face this time so that's something," Tom chuckled. "But my right foot slipped so I was full on going on a wide split which I normally can't do since I am not flexible enough and proceeded to fall on my bum.

"The moment I heard the sound I instantly knew and just went, 'oh no' and remained on the ground because I didn't know what to do then. I was already embarrassed because I slipped, do I really want to tell her I tore open my trousers too?" Tom laughed timidly, the blush on his cheeks turning redder as he rubbed the back of his neck in utter embarrassment.

"I kind of knew right away though because I did hear something rip," you giggled. "He then just slowly stood up, hands behind, flat on his bum and said, 'I split my trousers open' in the smallest voice like a kid who's scared to tell their mum they fell or they'll get scolded. Plus his face was beet red, just like now." You pointed towards your boyfriend, who in turn stuck his tongue out at you as his blush turned into an even deeper shade of crimson.

"Thank God I wore a jacket that day and I was able to at least hide it until we got back to the car or else someone would've clocked it, took a picture, posted it on the internet and it would've made things much worse," Tom pointed out with a chuckle, glad that there was no paparazzi or it would've been a nightmare. "And the fact that you tried so hard not to laugh but still failed made me feel so embarrassed that I was quick to think that that was it. I ruined my chances, no more third date," he added as he turned to you with a small pout.

"I couldn't help laughing because it was the most adorable thing how you went from being all confident and cocksure on doing a flip to this shy boy who refused to look me in the eyes without turning even redder," you said, pure amusement laced in your tone. "But no, that incident made me like you more, it was just too endearing. Third date never left the table after that," you concluded with a sweet smile which only made Tom's grin grow wider.

"Even though she laughed, she was so sweet and kind about it. We had to cut our date shor—actually no, we didn't. We went back to your place and decided to do a movie marathon instead," Tom said fondly, face glowing with joy as the memory brought nothing but warmth across his chest.

"Yeah, with you wearing a pair of my sweatpants," you giggled, mirroring his expression as your mind recalled the sweet moment of you and him, simply cuddled up on the couch.

"And that's on getting the girl by splitting your trousers open," Tom said with a smug smile, pointing at the camera as he shot it a knowing look with a wriggle of his brows.

"And getting the boy by falling off a bike," you added, doing exactly what he did as you turned to face the lens.

"Look at us," Tom gushed, looking back at you with a smile, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. "Hey, look at us."

"Look at us. Who would've thought?" you giggled, giving his hand a squeeze in return.

You were always quick to catch on what he was trying to do that Tom couldn't help but smile widely, heart melting ten times over at the thought of you knowing him so well. "Not me," Tom chuckled, letting go of your hand and holding up his palm for a high-five to which you gladly obliged with laughs of your own.

"You two are made for each other," Harry chuckled with a shake of his head, now just getting that you two were recreating the famous Paul Rudd meme.

"My turn right?" Tom asked. You nodded with a hum as you pushed the pile of cards towards him. He let out a loud scoff once he read the question, his reaction making you raise a brow in both curiosity and slight dread. "Be honest," he said as he looked up from the paper, gaze landing on you. "Who do you love more, me," he paused for dramatic effect, narrowing his eyes at you before continuing, "Or Tessa?"

You let out a small groan as you hang your head low, fingers tracing the side of your cold glass. You let out a sigh of defeat before you met Tom's expectant gaze. "I can't possibly answer that question," you grumbled, bringing the glass up to your lips as you took a swift drink before placing it back down.

"That was such a tiny sip," Harrison pointed out.

"Alright, alright, I guess we can tell who the bad influence here is," you said with a teasing roll of your eyes, but still took another drink anyway, taking in more of it this time around. You just want to play the game fair and square. "You actually made that really well. It's really good," you hummed at Tom as you placed your drink back down, the lad grinning widely in response.

"Why thank you, darling," Tom crooned, voice smooth with a pride-filled smile, pushing over the pile of cards back in the middle of the table to get you to ask the next question.

"Okay, who wrote this?" You turned to the boys behind the camera with a raise of your brow. "If the alcohol wasn't going to do it, then this will definitely get the video restricted, unless you're going to bleep some words out?" You turned to Harry.

"I've got that covered," Harry laughed.

Glancing back at the card you had on hand, you asked, "If our sex life was porn, what genre would it be?" You looked up at Tom to see him try his best to hold back a smirk.

"Nope, not answering that," he laughed with a shake of his head as he lifted his glass off the table. "Mainly because there are too many genres that it would fit for me to only pick one," Tom muttered softly against his drink as he looked at you through his lashes. His words were muffled but you still heard it, you were closer to him after all. You felt your cheeks heat up at that, even more so when your man shot you a teasing wink before downing the shot of gin not long after.

Tom set his glass down and reached over to take another card. "What does your family think of me?" he asked with a clear of his throat.

"Well..." You slowly dragged your drink closer to you, Tom's mouth falling agape that you couldn't help but burst into a hearty laugh. "I'm kidding! You already know how much they love you," you said. "I mean, my parents call him 'son' so." You shrugged as you turned to the camera. Tom puffed out his chest all proud with a very smug smile on his lips. You rolled your eyes, sighing as you added, "They probably even love you more than they love me."

Tom chuckled, "My family loves you more than they love me, too—"

"I can vouch for that," Harry intervened.

"Thanks, Harry," Tom said sarcastically, flashing his brother a forced smile. Turning back to you, he finished, "So, I guess we're even."

You could only nod with a soft giggle, reaching over to the stack of cards to keep the pace going. "Lads! What's with these kinds of questio—you know what, I don't even expect any less from you guys," you sighed, pursing your lips as you re-read the question again before sitting straight up and looked into Tom's eyes. "What would you do if you caught me watching porn?" you asked.

"Watch it with you and help get it done, duh?" he answered without hesitation, leaning back on his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Have done a couple times actually," Tom murmured, somewhat to himself, though not really since everyone in the room—and pretty sure the camera—heard it.

"Tom!" you hissed.

You felt your body tingle, legs instinctively closing together as the countless moments it happened replayed itself inside your brain. Although what he said wasn't false, it wasn't the full truth either. He didn't exactly catch you red handed, never did since you don't watch porn often.

All you did was asked him—merely out of curiosity—what type he mostly watches. Your question sparked an idea in his head which led to you sitting in between his legs, bare back against his naked chest as the laptop sat right in front of you both with the video of his choice.

Tom then made his way with you while you watched, making sure you never take your eyes off the couple on screen or else. He was always fully in control over you every time you do it, his fingers sometimes delicate, mostly rough, touch hot and heavy all over your skin, lips warm on your neck, teeth sharp against your bare shoulder as he brings you to the edge over and over and over with nothing but his hands. And once the video ends, Tom will take it upon himself to re-enact the whole of it with you—if you could still take it of course—bringing what was on screen to real life, full recreation from start to finish.

Best believed you're properly blissed out at the stop of every play.

Your boyfriend's eyes widened once he realized the actual volume of his voice, face turning a deep shade of red, sitting straight abruptly as he rushed, "No! Wait—dammit." Tom casted his eyes down shyly when the boys let out exaggerated gasps and sounds of disapproval, a telltale sign that they already heard it. "I'm sorry, darling." He met your gaze again as he shot you a sheepish smile, his head tilted to the side guiltily to which you only responded with a shake of your head.

Typical Thomas.

"Bleurgh, too much info," Harrison gagged, the other boys following suit with their own sounds of repulsion.

"Oh fuck off you divs. You guys wrote the questions so obviously, you wanted to find out," Tom countered, shooting the lads a glare each.

"We didn't expect you to actually answer it!" Harry defended.

"We're cutting that whole part out, no way that's going up online," you grumbled, eyes staring at nothing but your drink as you tried to hide the obvious embarrassment that's coated your features.

Tom reached across the table to give your hand a squeeze, you meeting his gaze to see him mouth a gentle 'I'm sorry.' You flashed him a sweet smile, squeezing his hand in return to tell him that it was alright. It wasn't live so there wasn't any real harm done, aside from future jokes from the boys. That you can deal with than having that confidential information on the internet which will then follow you around for the rest of eternity.

Letting go of your hand, Tom sat straighter and turned to the camera. "If you guys are wondering why there's a jump cut and my face is suddenly so red, it's because I spilled something I shouldn't have that we had to cut it out. And no, it's something you'll never find out," he chuckled shyly, knowing that once the video goes out, fans are going to be so annoyed and will pester him—and everyone in the room—nonstop to try and find out what was cut.

Better that, than embarrassing you in front of millions though, so he'll deal with them no problem. Because as promised, if you weren't comfortable with it staying in the video, then it gets cut out, no questions asked. You and what you're comfortable with always come first in Tom's book.

"Yet again, thank God we didn't do this live," you muttered with a playful roll of your eyes.

Tom shot you one last apologetic smile before he cleared his throat, "Right, moving on." He shifted in his seat and took another card from the pile. "What's the one thing you'd change about me?" he asked.

"Your height," you answered without missing a beat. You chewed on your lip to suppress a grin but still failed miserably, especially when Tom looked at you with his jaw hanging and his eyes wide open.

A chorus of 'ooh's erupted from the boys which only prompted a laugh from you, the joyous sound growing louder when they started to rub it to Tom even more.

"Pfft, apply ice on the burnt area," Harry said as he blew out his cheeks.

"Mate, she's just bodied you with that," Tuwaine tutted at Tom, rising up from his seat soon after to offer you a high-five. You gladly obliged with a laugh, Tom gawking at you with utmost betrayal on his face.

"You're lucky you're very cute, especially when you laugh," Tom grumbled as he shot you a playful glare. The crinkles on the corner of your eyes deepened as you only smiled brightly at him with a tilt of your head, which honestly made you look even more endearing. He could never be mad at you, too whipped to hold a grudge no matter how much you tease him. And besides, that's all there is to it, nothing but teasing jokes and banter.

"If I were you, Tom, I'd start taking those growth pills before she starts to question why she's even with you," Harrison proposed jokingly which earned boisterous laughter from the rest of the gang.

"You lot are so fucking overdramatic. I'm not that short," Tom quipped with a roll of his eyes, gaze landing back on you with his famous pout now in play yet again. "And babe, it's a truth or drink video, not a roast me video," he stated, palms flat on cool marble as he looked at you with puppy-dog eyes.

"I'm joking! I'm joking," you rushed with a giggle. "I wouldn't change a single thing. You know I love you, just the way you are," you sang the last line, though your voice held nothing but sincerity as you reached over to give his hand a loving squeeze. Tom nodded with a sigh, though never did he doubt your words, knowing it deep in his bones that physical traits would never outweigh how much you love him, no matter what.

"Right, let's keep this going," you said as you took another card. "Who is smarter, me or you?" you asked.

"Me," Tom said proudly.

"Well, that's a lie," you objected.

Tom couldn't help but laugh at that, nodding at you as he chuckled, "It's you, obviously. Have you seen the last video?"

"Hmm, I don't know, I think Tom's smarter. I mean, you decided to date him, Y/N, which isn't exactly the brightest decision," Harry inferred, earning a loud gasp from his older brother.

"Excellent point," you agreed, your boyfriend's head whipping towards your direction with nothing but absolute offense written on his face.

"Babe! You're supposed to be on my side!" Tom exclaimed. "Why are we roasting me all of a sudden?" he complained.

"You're just too fun to pick on," you laughed, Tom's bottom lip jutting out at your words. "Especially when you do that, too cute," you pointed out, the apples of Tom's cheek turning pink as a smile grew on his lips at the compliment. "But I am smarter," you concluded, shooting the camera a wink.

"Will not refute," Tom chuckled, keeping the flow of the game as he took another card. "If you weren't with me, who of my brothers would you consider dating?" he said, voice pitching higher at the last few words. A look of downright disgust covered Tom's face immediately as he looked at the boys behind the camera who were snickering like the mischievous little shits that they are. "You lot are grim."

You matched Tom's expression, scrunching your nose as you shook your head quickly. Having been with Tom long enough, you now see the three of the Holland boys as your own brothers, so the mere thought of dating any of them is just—

"I'm not even going to think about it," you grumbled as you took a sip of your cocktail and then picked a card right away. "Who's the celebrity who you were the most disappointed with when you met them?" you continued swiftly, a smile on your lips as you looked at Tom who let out a sigh.

"You know I can't answer that," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, your smile growing wider as you picked up the bottle of gin and refilled his glass. "Thank you, darling," he chuckled with a shake of his head, taking a drink right after.

"Is there anyone in my friend group, famous or not, that you do not like?" Tom continued with a raise of his brow, gaze steady on you.

You emptied your glass—that was still half full—without a single word and placed it back down with a small burp. "Oh, excuse me," you cleared your throat with a laugh.

Tom's brows furrowed at you in mere curiosity, gesturing for your glass so he can remake you another drink. You slid it over to him with a soft 'thank you' and a sweet smile. He started opening up the bottle of juice though his eyes were still on you, narrowed in pure skepticism.

"Who?"

"Not part of the question, Tom," you said, flashing him an innocent smile

"I know who it is," Harry coughed fakely.

"Me too," Tuwaine added with a fake cough of his own.

"It's Harrison because he's trying to take you away from me," you commented, laughing at how the blonde lad gasped in utter protest.

"That's a lie because I know who it is too," Harrison defended.

"So, everyone knows except me?" Tom mused, rolling his eyes in the process.

"What else is new?" you giggled with a shrugged, Tom only sighing as he shot you yet another pout. This boy never ceases to use it since he knows you always swoon whenever he does. 'I'll tell you later,' you mouthed, making him nod with a proud smile.

You gently leaned back on your seat, closing your eyes when you felt a little woozy. You took in slow, deep breaths, the marble cold against your palms as your body started to grow warmer from head to toe.

Maybe downing that drink wasn't the best idea.

"You okay, darling?" Tom asked sweetly, tilting his head at you in worry as he went to take your hand in his. His brows knitted together when your skin felt unusually warm in his palms.

"Yeah," you giggled, opening your eyes to meet his concern-filled brown ones, flashing him a reassuring smile and a nod to match as you gave his hand a squeeze. "Just the alcohol slowly kicking in."

"Want to take a minute, sweetheart?"

"No, I'm good. Go on and ask the question bubba," you prompted as you beamed at him, Tom's heart melting at the beautiful curve on your features and more by the sound of that sweet nickname. Although, he knew that you'd reached your calm before the storm.

You're always smiley and extra sweet when you start to get a little tipsy. But from here on out, especially if you decide to take even more alcohol, you start switching from calm to giddily energetic. That's when the words would start flowing out your lips before your brain could even register what you've just said.

Tom replaced your hand with a white card once he was sure you were fine. A cheeky grin erupted on his face as he asked, "What's your favourite sex position?"

You pursed your lips, eyes landing on the ceiling, fingers drumming on the marble surface of the table as you pondered on it for a second. Tom watched you intently, a soft chuckle escaping him when you met his gaze again with a sweet yet shy smile.

"I've got three though," you said, mostly to him but in a not-so-hush tone. Your mind and your mouth don't cooperate sometimes when there's alcohol in the mix.

"Different one for a different mood," Tom hummed with a smirk, finishing up your drink with a squeeze of lime, mixing it up before sliding it back towards you. "Just say one or take a drink, darling."

"I need to slow down with drinking or else I'll be saying much worse things. I can already feel my filter shutting down," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as you gazed at Tom for a bit of help. "But do I really want this out in the world?"

"Oh, go on Y/N, live a little," Harrison prodded with nothing but utter mischief in his eyes.

You don't know why but somehow, Harrison words were the last straw for that burst of confidence to suddenly overflow. Boldness coated your every nerve as you squeezed your eyes shut and straight up blurted,

"Doggy."

Tom's eyes grew wide, both of his brows rising as he looked at you surprised. Yes, doggy was one of your—and his—favourites, he already knew that, what surprised him was you actually saying it out loud. Although he was swift to turn cocky as he leaned back on his seat, arms crossed over his chest while he kept his gaze steady on you.

As you peaked one eye, you saw that certain smirk of his now playing on his pink lips, one you only ever see privately. You felt your face heat up at that, added from the alcohol and embarrassment. The warmth was quick to spread to the rest of your body though, with the way he was looking at you, it was so hard for it not too. And as your eyes fully soaked him in, gaze traveling from his handsome face sporting that teasing smirk to his bulging biceps, the temperature could only rise. Your senses was now somewhat heightened that you were able to notice every single thing that made your man so fucking attractive and downright hot.

Since when did his hoodie grow even tighter? And damn, why is it so hot all of a sudden? It's probably the alcohol, or mainly just Tom, or simply both.

"Favourite type of porn!" you hear someone from the gang call out—probably Harrison since he's been causing trouble from the very start—interrupting your thoughts. With the alcohol in your system, just as expected, your brain genuinely forgot to take control of your tongue before you could even tell yourself: 'don't!'

"Sometimes hardcore," you let out, slapping your hand over your mouth immediately as your eyes grew wide. You quickly met Tom's eyes, his brown orbs glowing with shock, amusement and a sprinkle of lust. He gave you a soft nod with a soft smile in response, confirming that yes, you said it out loud, and yes it was already too late. "Oh no, this was what I meant when I needed to slow down on alcohol," you groaned, rubbing your hand over your warm face before looking back across your man with a pout.

"Aye! Hardcore doggy yeah?" Harrison cheered teasingly, moving towards Tom and giving his best friend a pat on the shoulder. Tom threw his head back with a laugh, face red but the look of utmost pride was also there. Harrison swiftly offered his fist to Tom, to which the brunette gladly indulged, their knuckles colliding as chuckles escaped the two mates.

You let out a choked laugh as your eyes widened in surprise, jaw going slack with your face heating up even more. "Did you guys just fist bump to that?"

"I mean." Tom shrugged, throwing his hands up with the smuggest grin, causing you to shake your head dejectedly with a groan. You shot Harrison a pointed glare when he went back to his seat, still snickering to his heart's content as if his master plan was in the works.

What a little shit.

"I'm definitely not going to let my parents watch this video," you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

"I've got a question for Tom though," Tuwaine started, though the glimmer in his eyes told you it wasn't a clean one. "Do you grab it or do you smack it?"

Tom wheezed before erupting into a very rowdy laugh, hands slapping on his thigh as his body shook in nothing but pure enjoyment, his face red from a mixture of embarrassment, glee and the alcohol.

"Oh my—right! Next question!" you squeaked, not giving your boyfriend any time to answer as you attempted to swiftly move on.

"Wait, wait," Tom breathed out as he slowly calmed down, getting up from his seat as he went over to your side. "Harry stop recording for a sec," he called out to his younger brother before he gestured for you to turn until your back was facing the camera.

Tom crouched down in front of you, hands on your knees with a sweet, reassuring smile on his lips. "We'll edit out the parts you're not comfortable with to stay in the vid, alright?" he stated softly.

You nodded with a smile of your own, taking his hand in yours as you played with his fingers. "I'm not opposed to keeping the last two questions since everyone has their favourite position and type of porn. It's normal," you hummed, tilting your head at him as you added, "You saying you've helped me with, you know, that was much more private though, 'cause it's our thing."

"I know, I'm sorry, love," Tom apologized, voice soft but coated with sincerity as his hand went up to cup your face lovingly, brown eyes gazing up into yours with just the same emotions. "We're cutting that part out, I promise."

"But you think your fans would take these questions well?" you queried, leaning into his touch in a way that made Tom's heart do flips inside his chest.

He nodded. "Yeah, I think it's fine. The video is going to be age restricted anyway. And besides, we're both adults, so there's nothing wrong with it," he explained. You hummed in agreement, leaning your head on his hand as you closed your eyes with a soft sigh, your skin very warm against his palm. Tom moved closer to give your lips a sweet peck. "Want some water angel?"

"No, I'm good." You smiled, Tom nodding as he mirrored your grin, giving your lips another kiss before he stood back to his full height and then sat back on his seat.

Shooting Harry the go signal to start recording again, Tom chuckled, "Sorry, needed to cool down for a sec after that." He turned towards the camera, tugging at the collar of his hoodie as he blew out his cheeks to get a point across.

You could only roll your eyes at your man, his laugh growing louder at your reaction. Swiftly taking a card from the pile, you continued with the game. "Is this going to be the theme from here on out, lads?" you asked, eyeing the boys behind the camera suspiciously before you turned back to Tom. "Is there something in the bedroom you'd like to try that you haven't told me?"

Tom's cheeks turned even redder at the question, completely shying away now as his hand went to rub at his shoulder. "I can't think of one right now," he muttered as he looked at you sheepishly. "But no, I'm not answering that since we talk about that off camera anyway," Tom settled with a timid chuckle, refilling his glass and taking a drink of the gin soon after.

"Your turn," you giggled, pushing the pile towards him.

"Oh, okay. What a way to shift the topic," Tom breathed out, scanning the card one more time as he sat up straighter. "If I was in a coma how long would you wait for me?" he asked, meeting your gaze with a tender smile.

"I'll keep waiting for you until you wake up, no matter how long," you answered, without even a single inch of doubt, despite the slight shake in your voice as your eyes started to well up. "Never giving up on you."

"Darling," Tom cooed softly with a pout, the screeching sound of his chair echoing around the space as he pushed his seat back. He went back over to your side quickly, remaining on his feet as he leaned down to engulf you in a tight and warm embrace, swaying you side to side in the most comforting way as he whispered sweet nothings against your hair.

You buried your face in his chest with a shaky breath, the material of his hoodie soft against your cheek. You willed your brain not to think much of it, to not dwell on that thought and focus more on the Tom's warmth that's coated you right now. Or else you'll end up a bawling mess, and with the alcohol in your system, it's not a good idea to start crying now.

Your man pulled away gently with a charming smile, cupping your face with both hands as he towered over your seated form. "I'd do the exact same, just so you know," he hummed, brown eyes locked with yours, his thumbs caressing your cheeks fondly before he dipped his head to capture your lips in a loving kiss. You let out a sweet sigh as you melt at the feeling of his soft lips on yours, mind and heart at ease at familiar warmth. The gesture wasn't fully caught on camera though given that you were turned at the opposite direction.

"I love you," you hummed against his lips.

Tom chuckled sweetly, giving you a few more pecks on the lips before pulling away completely, staring right into your eyes as he whispered, "And I love you."

With that he went back to his seat again, flashing you one of his many charming grins before he turned to the group behind the camera.

"You lot are onto something I can tell," Tom said as he raised a brow at the lads who suspiciously grew quiet, looking everywhere in the room but at you two.

Not thinking much of it, you swiftly took another card and read the question. "What would you do if you suddenly get a call that I was gone?" you trailed off at the end of your sentence, brows knitting together as you turned to the group behind the camera. "Guys, this is a cruel question."

"Oh," Tom faltered, smile slowly slipping away from his face as he casted his eyes at his drink.

"Tom, you don't have to answer it," you called out softly, frown deep on your lips as you reached over to take both his hands in yours. But it was already too late when he squeezed your hand tightly, lifting his head back up to meet your gaze and you felt your heart ache. That's when you saw that his mind was already there, brown orbs glossed up as he let out a shaky breath.

"I'd literally shut down," he croaked. "I-I don't know what'd I do if that happens. I just can't imagine my life without you. I—" he stopped, head dropping as his voice broke.

"Oh Tom, come here," you cooed as you immediately got out of your seat and rounded the table, turning him around and away from shot for a bit of privacy. You squatted in between his legs that were spread apart to be much closer to him, gently cupping his face with both your hands so that you were now within eye level. "Hey, look at me," you whispered when you were met by eyes that were screwed shut.

With a deep intake of breath, Tom willed his eyes to open. He looked at you with a small smile playing on his lips, heart steadying at the sight of your beautiful orbs boring into his own. He leaned forward to close the distance between you two, just so he could feel your lips on his. Tom badly needed to. A soft satisfied sigh erupted out your chest as your hand took home on his warm cheek.

"I'm still here bubba. I'm not going anywhere," you hummed against his lips before giving him warm kisses all over his face that made him stifle out a small laugh. You pulled away a little with a loving smile, wiping away the few tears that sat on his skin with your thumb, your touch gentle and warm.

"I love you so much, you know that?" Tom whispered as he looked at you fondly, nudging the tip of his nose with yours in a wholesome manner.

"I love you too, you sweet, soft boy," you giggled, placing a sweet peck on his lips before pulling him in for a hug. You lifted your head up to shoot each of the boys a sharp glare, the three cowering away in their seats as they each said their soft apologies.

Pulling away with a smile, you cupped Tom's face with a hum, "Better?"

"Loads," Tom sighed with a sweet smile, leaning in for one last peck before he lets you go back to your seat. "You purposely put that in there to make me cry didn't you?" Tom spoke, narrowing his eyes at boys who only shrugged in feign innocence. "You lot are evil I tell you."

"Now let's get back on a lighter note!" you exclaimed, pushing the cards towards Tom since it was his turn to ask.

Tom pursed his lips as his brows furrowed at the question. "If you could sleep with any person in the world, who would it be?" he wondered, eyes locking with yours in warning. "Now, careful with your answer, love," he hummed.

"Is that a threat Holland?" you challenged with a raise of your brow.

"I'm just saying, I may already know or will meet this person in the futur—"

"Chris Hemsworth," you blurted, Tom's mouth falling open as he gawked at you in shock. "I'm kidding," you rushed with a hearty laugh.

"Are you though?" Tom doubted, squinting at you suspiciously.

You bit your bottom lip as you held his gaze, Tom letting out a loud gasp when you suddenly took a drink all while maintaining eye contact with him.

"I'm going to have a word with you later missy," he grumbled, voice suddenly an octave deeper, somewhat a soft growl, one that you felt down to your core.

You shifted in your seat with a clear of your throat, shooting him an innocent smile as you said, "To be fair, you did say—publicly may I add—that you'd sleep with Hemsworth too when you did fuck, marry and kill with the three Chrises so, roll the clip!"

Tom shook his head at you with a playful roll of his eyes. "Touché," he sighed, brows furrowed in confusion when you suddenly covered your mouth.

"Oops, I just realized I said the F-word, sorry Harry," you said meekly, a certain smile on your lips which guaranteed that you were now dancing onto drunken territory. Tom knows you like the back of his hand, if the way you were smiling wasn't enough then, the simple look in your eyes would let him know that the alcohol has fully hit you this time.

"It's alright. One bleep word is nothing compared to last week's video. And it's not like this video has been clean anyway," the young twin chuckled.

"So, Fuck Hemsworth, who are you marrying and who are you killing?" Tuwaine asked.

"Marry Evans, Kill Pratt," you answered promptly.

Tom leaned back on his seat as he crossed his arms over his chest, running his tongue over his teeth slowly all while staring you down. "That's a quick answer Y/N," he hummed, shooting you a teasing glare.

"Oh please, yours was quick too, Thomas," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest as you mirrored him, never backing down from his stare even though it was making you feel certain things.

"Wait, if you're marrying Evans and killing Pratt, and I'm marrying Pratt and killing Evans, does that mean we're set out to kill each other's husband?" Tom started as he leaned forward and towards the table.

"So, if you were successful in killing Evans, and I was successful in killing Pratt, that means we're both widowed," you continued, laying your hands now flat on the marble surface.

"Meaning there's still a chance that we will still end up together. Meant to be if you ask me," Tom concluded, lifting up a hand.

You moved forward to give him a high-five, missing his hand by a lot which made you let out a loud, hearty laugh, Tom following suit with laughs of his own.

"What are you two on?" Harrison said with a crinkle of his nose.

"Alcohol," you and Tom answered at the same time. Both of your mouths turned into the shape of O's as you looked at each other properly delighted.

"Jinx!" both of you exclaimed in unison. "Jinx again!"

"Our mental synchronization; can have but one explanation," you and Tom sang in harmony, never breaking your gaze as you both smiled proudly.

"You—"

"And I—"

"Were—"

"Just—"

"Meant to be!" You two ended with fits of laughter, raising your hands to go for another high five. You missed Tom's hand again which only made you wheeze, tears of joy brimming in yours and his eyes as you tried for the second time, both of you cheering loudly when it finally landed.

"Cringe, really made for each other," Harry gagged teasingly with a grimace to match.

And then Harrison intervened. "How about fuck, marry, kill, Tom Hiddleston, Tom Felton and," he paused, grin turning wider like a Cheshire cat as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. "Tom Holland?"

"That's not part of the game," you protested with a pout.

"Answer the question, darling," Tom encouraged, looking at you expectantly.

"I'm taking a shot," you muttered, going for your drink but before you could even do so, Tom had already taken it far away from your reach. "Hey!" you whined.

Tom chuckled softly as he shook his head no. "You said it's not part of the game so no, you have to answer," he said. "And that's enough alcohol for you, my love," he cooed, tilting his head at you knowingly with a sweet smile. If Tom will let you continue with the drinking then you'll surely be complaining nonstop about the throbbing headache you'll get and the constant nausea after all this.

You sat back on your chair with your bottom lip jutted out, arms crossed over your chest to match, much like a child as you started to think about your answer. Although the process took way longer than you'd expect it to be and the boys were quick to notice.

"Uh oh, she's having a hard time," Harry teased when a few long seconds has gone by and you still haven't given an answer.

"I don't know how I feel about the hesitation here," Tom admitted as he looked at you curiously, brows furrowing with a chuckle when you were still deep in thought after a few seconds more.

"She genuinely is having a hard time," Tuwaine laughed.

"This is so unfair," you grumbled dejectedly as you looked at your man with a sweet, adorable pout, silently asking for help.

"What'd you do with me first to make things easier," Tom offered with a chuckle.

As if there was a hidden message to his words—there wasn't—your face suddenly lit up, slapping your palms on the table excitedly as you sat straighter. "You know what, kill the other two and I'll fuck and marry you," you declared heartily, eyes locked securely with Tom's with the proudest grin playing on your lips.

Tom's heart did somersaults at the mere fact of you wanting to marry him, grin wide and bright as he stared into your orbs, utmost love glowing in yours that was wholesomely mirrored by his brown ones.

It wasn't long until Tom felt his blood rush down though, heat dancing on his skin as his brain got occupied with the thought of you fucking him too. Certain memories flooded his mind, one after the other that it was getting harder for him to stay calm in his seat.

You are honestly giving him a whiplash with how you make him feel one emotion to another in a span of seconds, though Tom wasn't at all complaining.

"That's not how the game works!" Harrison exclaimed.

"I'm pretty happy with that answer," Tom shrugged with a wide, cocky grin, eyes never leaving yours as he raised a brow at you suggestively. You held his gaze with a tilt of your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth to try and stop your smile from growing.

The interaction didn't go unnoticed by Harry though. "Okay, stop eye-fucking each other you horny teenagers," the younger brother complained.

Tom laughed at that, shifting in his seat as he turned towards the camera. "On that note, we're ending the video there. This has been Tom Holland," he paused, giving you a nod as a cue.

"And Mrs. Holland," you blurted at the camera with a smile, eyes widening once you realised the choice of words you've just used. "Oh wait! No! Fuc—I don't mean no as in 'no,' I meant not yet," you fumbled. "We're not even engaged yet! Don't start with the headlines you." You pointed at the camera in warning.

He shook his head with a chuckle, red tinting his cheeks but pure admiration glowed in his eyes. "You own my fucking heart, you know that? You make me melt all the damn time," Tom gushed through gritted teeth, and it was taking a whole lot of his self-control to not jump over the table and just kiss you senseless. You felt your heart grow at his words but you could only bury your face in your hands with a groan of pure embarrassment. "She's drunk, my apologies," Tom added with a laugh as he turned towards the camera.

"Tipsy, there's a difference," you corrected as you shot him a glare.

Tom chuckled, smiling at you widely before turning back to the lens. "Anyway, see you on the next one and peace!" he finished with the sign and then a salute, Harry throwing out an upturned thumb to signal cut.

Once he saw that the camera was off, Tom was out of his seat in record speed, moving over to your now standing form as he swiftly wrapped both his arms around your waist and crashed his lips onto yours with a low groan. His arms tightened around you as he relished the feeling of finally having you so close.

You giggled against the kiss, resting your arms over his shoulders as you leaned back on the table to keep your balance, your bum half-rested on the marble while your foot stayed steady on the floor, legs apart so that Tom can situate himself between them easily.

"So, fuck and marry me huh?" Tom hummed deeply against your mouth, playfully nibbling at your bottom lip before pulling away so he can see your gorgeous face fully.

"Out of all the things I've said, that's what stuck with you?" you giggled with a shake of your head.

"I mean, you fucking me will never fail to sound very hot, reminds me of the few times you did." Tom wriggled his brows at you suggestively, hands giving your waist as teasing squeeze. "Though I don't know which one's hotter, that or you marrying me," he said with the proudest smirk.

"Will you two take this somewhere else?" Harry complained, always the last one to be left in the room given that he's mostly in-charge with taking care of the camera. Harrison and Tuwaine were already gone, continuing whatever they had to do that day.

"Don't think that would make a difference though," Tom chuckled smugly, looking back at you with a knowing grin.

"Which reminds me how we need to sound proof the fucking walls you nasty rabbits."

"I was kidding. We're not that loud fuck off," Tom remarked, rolling his eyes at his brother.

And to prove how wrong Tom's point was, Harrison suddenly started moaning so piercingly right in the next room, his voice a bit muffled but you can still hear him, loud and obnoxious.

"Fuck! Love! Fuck yes! Just like that, darling! Shit baby I'm gonna—"

"Fuck off Harrison you fucking twat!" Tom yelled at the top of his lungs, the blonde lad's boisterous and annoying laugh echoing soon after.

Tom turned crimson red as the embarrassment coated him from head to toe, head dropping for him to hide his face on the crook of your neck with a groan. You let out a soft giggle, hand landing on the back of his head as you ran your fingers through his hair comfortingly. Your face was warm as you were embarrassed just the same, although there was more of a sense of pride on your behalf because yes, Tom does get a bit loud sometimes, all courtesy to you.

It wasn't always of course, both of you aren't evil enough to torture the lads that much. Aside from the fact that Tom is rarely even home—meaning you don't do the deed that much in this house—the two of you had made a pact to make sure that you're completely alone before properly going at it. Admittedly, it does get a bit hard to keep the noise down sometimes, so the boys have to endure it every now and then. They do get back at you guys soon after as they are quick to be little shits with the teasing and dirty jokes, much like now.

"Maybe we do need to soundproof our walls," you teased once your man pulled away to look at you with a soft sigh, hands running up and down your waist sweetly.

"Or we could finally look for our own place to move in?" Tom proposed with a charming smile, your heart melting at the sight and skipping a beat at his words.

Granted, you've been with Tom for a fair three and a half years already, but neither of you had gone to take that step of actually living fully on your own where it's just no one but him and you in your own home. You've been living in this house for roughly the same time—maybe a year or two less—and you've got no problem living with the lads, you consider them as your brothers now. But you won't deny that having a place exclusively for you and Tom only would be pure bliss.

Of course you've talked about getting your own place and neither of you were opposed to it. It all just came down to Tom being constantly busy and barely even home. You'd rather live with the boys for the mean time than sulk all alone in a house while slowly being buried in the emotions of missing your boyfriend.

Tom also wanted to be there for the most of it—choosing and buying furniture, decorating a thing or two, moving, the likes—but with his schedule, it was hard to find the perfect time.

But now he's promised you that he'd slow down for a bit.

He genuinely hasn't done anything but work nonstop. It was just projects upon projects with only so little breaks in between, a month if he's lucky. Tom is one hardworking man, that's one of the many things you love about him, but he sometimes doesn't realize when he's pushing himself too far.

That's when you step in.

You'd encouraged him to take a breather, even if it's just for half a year or so but you never did pester him about it constantly as you weren't one to take him away from doing what he loves. Unless it gets way out of hand, then that's when you'll be putting your foot down. You know he'll do it whenever he's ready to slow down and now with most of his projects wrapped, he's finally decided that it was the right time to take that much needed break.

"I love the sound of that," you giggled, treading your fingers through his hair before tracing it down his chiseled jaw. "Not as much as I love the sound of you moaning though," you hummed teasingly.

"Well then, let's find our own place so you can hear me moan all for you and as loud as you want, darling," Tom purred lowly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as his darkened orbs bored into yours, his hands sliding down to rest on the swell of your bum. He fondled the flesh hotly as he started to lean closer to capture your lips. But before Tom could even do so a loud voice made you both jump away from each other.

"For fuck's sake guys! I'm still fucking here!" Harry yelled, throwing both his hands in the air in downright annoyance and disgust as he screwed his eyes shut. "Go to your fucking room for the love of my sanity!"

You didn't even get a chance to apologise to the young lad as Tom swiftly grabbed your hand and rushed to your shared bedroom.

Nothing happened though apart from a couple minutes of making out, Tom deciding not to take it further given that you were all tipsy and intoxicated. Him deciding since you were persistent on saying you were fine even though you were giggling nonstop, easily tickled no matter how feather-like his kisses were. Not to mention how you could barely even keep your eyes open. So, both of you ended up taking a warm bath and then a nap right after that, instead.

Although the minute you sobered up, Tom made sure you weren't at all quiet this time around. It was due to the pent up tension that's been building since that somewhat steamy Q&A. And maybe, just maybe to get back at the boys a teeny bit for being little shits with both the teasing jokes and the dirty questions.

The two of you went out of your bedroom only at dinner time, stepping foot in the dining area where Harry, Tuwaine and Harrison were all situated. You felt the embarrassment coat every inch of your body when you took sight of the boys, more specifically, their expressions. Tom, on the other hand, had the cockiest smirk playing on his lips as he held his head high, tauntingly chuckling at his mates.

The three lads were sitting around the table with nothing but grimaces and downright disgust on their faces as they all grumbled in unison,

"Rabbits."

-:-:-:-:-

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[nopefun]

Interview #494: Ryan Frigillana

Ryan Frigillana is a Philippine-born lens-based artist living and working in New York. His work focuses on the fluidity of memory, intimacy, family identity, and visual culture, largely filtered through the lens of race and immigration. Embracing its plasticity, Frigillana explores photography’s relationship to context as a catalyst for thematic dialogue.

His first monograph, Visions of Eden, was published as two editions in 2020, and is held in the library collections of the MoMA, Getty Research Institute, and Smithsonian among others.

We spoke to find out more about Visions of Eden, his love for photobooks, and photography as a medium for introspection.

Lee Chang Ming Ryan Frigillana

Thanks for agreeing to do this! As we’ve just arrived into the new year, I want to start by asking: how did you arrive at photography and how has your practice evolved so far? Your earlier work was anything from still life to street photography, but your recent work seems to deal with more personal themes.

It’s my pleasure; thank you for having this conversation with me! Wow, looking back at how I’ve arrived at this point makes me feel so grateful for this medium, and excited to think of where it will lead me from here. I came to photography somewhat late. I was initially studying to become a nurse and was set to start a career in that field, but I found myself unhappy with where I was going. My mother was a nurse and I know what goes into being one; it’s not an easy job, and I respect those who do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I found photography as a creative outlet during that stage of my life, and I’ve clung onto it ever since.

My first exposure to photography (no pun intended) came in the form of street and photojournalism. I would borrow books from the library a lot, consuming works by Magnum and other photographers working in that tradition. At the time, it was all I knew so that’s what I tried to emulate. Even early on in my undergrad career, these modes of creation were reinforced by curriculum and by what I saw from my own peers. My still-life work branches off of that same sentiment: the only names that were ever thrown around by professors were Penn and Mapplethorpe, so that’s who I studied. Thankfully over the years, I’ve been able to broaden that perspective through my own research. Though I don’t necessarily pursue street or constructed still-lifes anymore for my personal work, I’d like to think my technical skills (in regard to timing, composition, light) owe a debt to those past experiences.

I suppose now I’m starting to explore how photography can be used as language, to communicate ideas and internal conflicts. I’m thinking more about the power of imagery, its authorship, its implications, and how photographs have shaped, and continue to shape, our reality. That’s where my work is headed at the moment.

I liked how you mentioned photography as a language, which calls into question who we are speaking to when we make images and what kind of narrative we construct by putting photographs together.

In your work “Visions of Eden”, you trace your family’s journey as first-generation Filipino immigrants in America. I was quite struck by how you managed to link together original photography, archived materials and video stills. To me, with the original photography there was a sense of calm and clarity, perhaps in the composition. But with the archived material it was like peering through tinted glass, and the video stills felt like an unsteady memory. What was the editing process like for you and how did you decide what to include or exclude?

For me, editing is the hardest part about photography. Shooting is the enjoyable part of course because it can feel so cathartic. Sometimes when I shoot it feels almost like muscle memory in the sense that you see the world and you just react to it in a trained way. But with editing, it’s more of a cerebral exercise. More thought is involved when you have to deal with visual relationships, sequence, rhythm, and spacing, etc. The real creation of my work takes place in the editing process. That’s where the ingredients come together to form an identity.

When creating this identity, I not only have to think about what I want to say, but also how I want to say it. It’s like speaking; there are numerous ways you can communicate a single sentence. How are images placed in relation to one another? How large are they printed, or how much white space surrounds it? Are the images repeated? What’s on the following page? The preceding page? Is there text? How are they positioned on the spread? All of these little choices impact the tone of your work. And that’s not even mentioning tactile factors like paper stock or cover material. I think that’s why I have such a deep love for photobooks because 1) they’re physical objects and 2) someone has obsessed over every aspect of that object.

I’m aware that my photographs lately have a quiet, detached, somewhat stripped-down quality to them. I think that’s just a subconscious rejection of my earlier days shooting a lot of street where I was constantly seeking crowded frames and complexity in my compositions. As I’ve grown older, I realize less is more and if I can do more by saying less, that’s even better. Now, the complexity I seek lies in the work as a whole and how all these little parts can form something fluid and layered, and not easily definable.

For Visions of Eden, I wanted the work to feel somewhat syncopated and wandering in thought. That meant finding a balance between my quiet static photographs and the movement and energy of the video stills, or balancing the coldness of the illustrations with the warmth of the family snapshots. The work needed to be cohesive but have enough ambiguity for it to take life in someone else’s imagination. Peoples’ lived experiences in regard to immigration and religion are so complex that they can’t be narrated in any one definitive way. Visions of Eden, hopefully, is a rejection of that singularity.

Yes, there’s definitely something special and intimate about flipping through a photobook! For your monograph, you recently released a second edition which is different from your first (redesigned, added images, etc.). Why did you decide to make it different? Was the editing mainly a solitary process?

The first edition was a partially hand-made object. Illustrations were printed on translucent vellum paper and then tipped into the gutter of the book. When you flip through the pages, those vellum sheets would overlap over certain images, creating a collage-like effect. That was my original concept for this book. Doing this, however, was so laborious and time consuming, and not to mention expensive! Regretfully, I wound up making only twenty copies of that first edition. I wanted the work shared with a wider audience so that’s why I decided to publish a second run.

The latest edition is more of a straight-forward production without the vellum paper. With this change in design, I had to reconfigure the layout. I took liberties in swapping out some images or adding new ones altogether. Also, a beautiful afterword was contributed by my friend, artist, writer, and curator Efrem Zelony-Mindell. I still feel so fortunate and grateful to have had my work seen and elevated by their words in my book.

For the most part, yes editing is quite a solitary process for me. But there does come a point when I feel it’s ready, where I share the work with a few trusted people. It’s always nice to have that outer support system. Much of Visions of Eden was created during my time in undergrad school so I had all sorts of feedback from peers and professors which I’m grateful for. But in the end, as the author, you ultimately have the final say in your work.

Given that Eden is a starting point and metaphor in the work, I was thinking about ideas of gardens, (forbidden) fruit, and movement of people.

How do you view yourself in relation to your place of birth? In your series, I see the most direct links in the letters, old photos where tropical foliage is present in the background, and the photo of the jackfruit (perhaps the only tropical fruit in this series).

I came to America when I was very young, about five years old. For my family and for many other families still living in the Philippines, America is seen as a sort of ideological Eden: a land of milk and honey, of wealth and excess. We all know that’s far from the truth. Every Eden has a caveat, a forbidden tree. Which leads me to ask: as an immigrant living in this country, what fruits were never intended for me?

I honestly don’t remember much about my childhood in the Philippines aside from fleeting memories of my relatives, the sounds of animals, the smell of rain and earth, the taste of my grandmother’s cooking. The identity that I carry with me now as a Filipino is not so much tied to the physical geography of a place but rather it is derived from a way of life, from shared stories, in the values we hold dear, passed on from generation to generation. This is a warm flame that lives on in me to this day as I write these words thousands of miles away from where I came.

Photographs have a way of shaping our memory and our relationship to the past, which in turn affects how we engage with the present. The family photographs and letters used in my book act as anchors in a meandering journey. They serve as landmarks that I can return to whenever I feel lost or need assurance so far away from “home”. They give me the comfort and affirmation that I need to navigate a space where I never really felt I belonged. The spread in my book­­ that you mentioned—the jackfruit on one side, and the Saran-wrapped apple on the preceding page—was a reference to my duality as both Filipino and American. It’s a reminder and an acknowledgment that I am a sum of many things, of many people who have shaped me. If I flourish in life, it’s because my roots were nourished by love.

I like how you mentioned photos as anchors or landmarks. Isn’t that why we create and photograph? To mark certain points in our lives and to envision possible futures, like a cartographer mapping an inner journey. Do you feel like you and your relationships with those you photographed changed through the process of making your works?

When my parents took pictures of our family, it wasn’t done solely in the name of remembrance; it also served as an affirmation of ourselves and our journey—a celebration. Every birthday, vacation, school ceremony, or even the seemingly insignificant events of daily life were all photographed or video-taped as a way of saying to ourselves, “Here we are. Look how far we’ve come. Look at the life we’ve made. And here’s the proof”.

Now, holding a camera and photographing my family through my own lens still carries all of that celebratory joy, but with so much more possibility. Before I really took photography seriously, I never realized its potential as a medium for introspection, but that’s ultimately what it has become for me. In taking pictures of my family, I not only clarify my own feelings about them, but the act of photography itself informs and builds on my relationship with each person. The camera is not a mere recording device, but a tool for understanding, processing, and even expressing love...or resentment. Though I may not be visible in my pictures, my presence is there: in my proximity, my gaze, my focus.

Does all of this impact my relationships? Absolutely. Photographing another person willingly always demands some degree of trust and vulnerability from both sides. There’s a silent dialogue that occurs which feels like an exchange of secrets. I think that’s why I often don’t feel comfortable photographing other people unless we’re very close. Usually my family is open enough to reveal themselves to me, other times what they give can feel quite guarded. That’s a constant negotiation. After the photograph is made though, nobody ever emerges the same person because each of us has relinquished something, no matter how small.

Being self-reflexive in photography is so important. I agree it should be a constant negotiation, but it’s something that bothers me these days – the power dynamic between the photographer and photograph, particularly for personal and documentary projects. More significantly, after the photograph has been made, who is really benefiting. But I guess if we are sensitive to that then perhaps we can navigate that tricky path and find a balance. 

Right, finding that balance is key and sometimes there are no clear-cut answers. That power dynamic is something I always have to be mindful of. As the photographer, you are exercising a certain role and position. At the end of the day, you’re the one essentially “taking” what you need and walking away. There’s an inherent violence or aggression in the act of taking someone’s picture, no matter how well-intended it may be. This aggression carries even greater weight when working, as you say, in a genre like documentary where representation is everything.

I remember an undergrad professor of mine, Nadia Sablin, introducing me to the work of Shelby Lee Adams—particularly his Appalachian Legacy series. Adams spent twenty-five years documenting the disadvantaged Appalachian communities in his home state of Kentucky, visiting the same families over a long period of time. Though the photographs are beautifully crafted, they pose many questions in regard to exploitation, representation, and the aestheticization of suffering. He is or was, after all, an artist thriving and profiting off of these photographs. Salgado is another that comes to mind. This was the first time I really stopped to think about the ethics of image-making. Who is benefitting from it all?

I think the search for this balance is something each photographer has to reckon with personally. Though each situation may vary with different factors that have to be weighed, and context that must be applied, you can always ask yourself these same ever-pertinent questions: am I representing people in a dignified way, and what are my intentions with these images? Communication (listening), building relationships, acknowledging your power, and respecting the people you photograph are all foundational things to consider when exercising your privilege with the camera.

Well said! The process of making photographs can be tricky to navigate yet rewarding. Any upcoming projects or ideas? What’s keeping you busy these days?

Oh, let’s just say I’m constantly juggling 3-4 ideas in my head at any given time, but ninety percent of the time they don’t ever lead to anything finished haha. This past year has been tough on everyone I’m sure. I’ve been dealing a lot with personal loss and grief and the compounded isolation brought on by the pandemic, so for months I’ve been making photographs organically as a subconscious response to these internal struggles. It’s more of an exploration of grief itself as a natural phenomenon and force—like time or gravity. Grief is something everyone will experience in life and each of us deals with it differently, but in the end we have to let it run its course. I see these photographs as a potential body of work that could materialize as a zine or book one day, so we’ll see where that goes.

Other than that, I’ve been working on an upcoming collaboration project with Cumulus Photo. Speaking of which, I saw your photograph featured in their latest zine, running to the edge of the world. Congrats on that! It’s beautiful. But yeah, just trying my best to keep busy and sane, and improving myself any way I can.

Thanks! Looking forward to your upcoming projects! Last question: any music to recommend?

I feel like my answer to this question can vary by the week. I go through phases where I exhaust whole albums on repeat until I get tired of them. So I’ll leave you with the two currently on my rotation: Angles by The Strokes, and Screamadelica by Primal Scream.

Thank you for your time!

Thank you for a lovely discourse. I had a lot of fun!

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#Ryan Frigillana #nope fun #new york #photographer interview #artist interview #Contemporary Photography #Visions of Eden #PhotoBook

[apixrl]

SINCERELY, YOURS.

hanta sero x fem!reader

WARNING(S): none

word count: 3.0k

song: sincerely, yours // nohidea

note(s): i just think that he'd be the perfect hubby tbh (EDIT: I'M SO DUMB I POSTED W/O TAGS PFAHAHHA)

Hanta finally managed to force open the door to the log cabin that had long been awaiting your arrival, the wooden structure welcoming the approaching warmth and laughter of the newly wedded couple. The ravenette smirked joyously and let out a triumphant 'hoorah', your laughter only adding to the display of ego on his face.

"And you said I'd drop you," Hanta mocked your earlier words, looking down at you with that very same smirk. If not for your arms wrapped around his neck and entire weight held in his arms, you most likely would have pushed his face away by the cheek. To avoid that shit-eating, joking smirk that rarely left his dumb and lovable face. The face you fell for so undoubtedly swift and heavy.

"I didn't say you would I said you may drop me," Was your response. "It's not every day we walk through so much snow!"

"Hush now, that was nothing to me," Hanta lifted the arm that supported your back, planting his lips on your forehead in a sweet welcoming kiss. Your lips curled in approval, accepting the gesture as Hanta used his foot to close the door behind you both, driving away the cold breeze from outside as warmth replaced it. "Now would you look at this place!"

Heeding Hanta's words, your eyes averted from his addicting gaze to the bonnie log cabin interior set out before you two. From left to right the cabin maintained an earthy theme, consistent in wooden textures excluding that of the supple beige sofas in the centre of the room. They were accompanied with ripening red cushions, as well as a few other pieces of furniture containing the same colour to maintain an advertising aesthetic no doubt. Lengthy beams stretched from one end of the walls to the other, set out in rows. The deepest wall (opposite to the entrance) was made mostly out of glass and onlooking a gorgeous snowy forest scene, small golden lights lit up outside to only add to the aura already presented. Built-up by red bricks and extending up toward the ceiling was a great open fireplace, already sparked alight and sensing a contrasting warmth to the bitter cold outdoors. In the corner of the room were a set of stairs most likely directing themselves off to the bedroom, though you and Hanta were so taken by the bottom floor's interior neither of you even processed there were more rooms to see.

"Wow... this place is gorgeous!" You said through a whisper, face lighting up at the sight. Never had you thought a place could be so beautifully arranged and so beautiful in general, and the two of you had this place to yourselves for an entire two weeks... it made you feel like the luckiest person alive! That you were really, as you'd just tied the knot the love of your life and were starting an entirely new journey with him. From the very moment you'd both uttered 'I do' in front of all your friends and family - the paths you lead became one that you would waltz down together.

"So you like it then?" Hanta asked, ebony eyes trailing away from the open fire and down to your own E/C irises. His smirk slowly transitioned to an endearing grin upon seeing your face of wonder, heart skipping a beat as your gaze met his and your expression mirrored.

"Of course! It's just how I imagined it - even more stunning than the pictures online," Your hand grazed Hanta's gloved one, though the barricade of wool and cotton did nothing to prevent the love and desire sent through the tips of your fingers. The ravenette admired your beauty in that lingering stare shared between you, exhaling a content sigh. You never failed to astound him with your beauty, the way your eyes glowed whenever you looked at him. How your hair fell perfectly into place no matter the circumstance (even on your worst of hair days you somehow managed to make it work). Not to mention your smile and laugh - those specific factors alone making Hanta fall for you over and over and exceeding limits of love and admiration he didn't even think he possessed.

Just before Hanta was to fall into daydream you shook him out his thoughts, the shifting of weight in his arms struck him to shake out of it, realising that you were attempting to shuffle out his arms in order to stand. So he let you down, grip loosening and reluctantly allowing you to step away.

"I'm glad," He quickly uttered, his hand lifting to his head to remove the woolly hat resting there. Then he proceeded to unbutton his winter coat as did you, the pair of you making light work of it due to the excitement of exploring your temporary home.

"So our suitcases are already here?" You asked Hanta, straightening out your knitted turtleneck jumper which was a soft pink shade. Usually something you wouldn't wear, but it was well-suited for the weather and didn't irritate your skin. So you took advantage of the purchase. From your left Hanta hummed softly, turning towards you once he was done hanging his coat on the rack. He too had a turtleneck on, but his donned a collect of abstract patterns and stuck to more neutral colours than yours.

"Yep, they should be upstairs," Hanta replied, running a hand through his hair as he looked over at you. He shifted over to your side, hugging you from behind with a mischievous chuckle. "But we can unpack tomorrow,"

"I like the idea of that, I just wanna snuggle," You responded with a giggle, leaning back into your husband's hold. After a few seconds Hanta stepped forwards, forcing your feet to follow suit. The ravenette guided you both to the nearest sofa, where he messily fell back against the ruby red cushions and you alongside him.

"That's because you procrastinate more than you've ever been willing to admit," Hanta turned you over so you sat atop his middle, hands settled on your hips like they were structured to hold them. There was a smirk on his face as you rolled your eyes at his last comment.

"I procrastinate because you distract me," You corrected, poking his chest with a prominent finger.

"Ah well, what can I say? I'm just that pretty aren't I?" He replied, laughing joyously. You couldn't help but echo with your own form of a chuckle, shaking your head as the smile on your face sent Hanta all kinds of elated emotions through his veins.

"You're not wrong there, Tiger," You grinned ear to ear, staring lovingly in his direction. Words weren't enough to express how much you loved him, your mind struggling to form sentences most of the time with just how much he took your breath away. In truth, you would have allowed yourself to remain gazing into Hanta's eyes the entire night. But you were due to catch sight of an envelope on the coffee table next to you both, drawing your attention away from him as fast as it came. The item too out of the ordinary to ignore. Peculiarly you leaned over to grab it, tilting your head at the item.

"What's that?"

"I don't know," Was your answer. Your fingers proceeded to slit open the top, discovering a smaller, folded piece of paper inside. Curiously you opened it up, voice filling the room as you discovered golden ink was printed on one side and intended to read it out.

" Dear Mr and Mrs Sero,

We are beyond pleased that you chose to stay with us for your honeymoon. Have a wonderful and splendid time at the start of your journey together and we wish you nothing but happiness and joy during your stay.

Kindest regards,

[resort/name] "

"Mr and Mrs Sero," Hanta repeated with a thoughtful stare to the wooden beams above. "I'm still not used to hearing that and we've already been married a week," A smile formed on his lips, releasing a chuckle from the depths of his chest. Almost like he couldn't believe the words he had just uttered. Tilting your head, you pondered on what he meant.

"How do you mean?" You didn't receive an answer straight away, the man you called your husband gently sighed, almost with the case of the lovesick. Somewhere during the exhale Hanta's eyes fell from the beamed ceiling and onto you, gratitude threaded in his expression as he stared at you.

"I just don't know how I got so lucky to marry someone like you," His hand extended to cup your cheek, cradling the slightly chilled part of your face (thanks to the cold air and wind from outside) as his thumb stroked the surface of your skin. Your eyes widened, all too used to the gesture but rarely ever prepared for it whenever Hanta committed to it. You smiled, nuzzling into his warm hold as your eyes closed.

"Me too," You hummed, sighing out yourself as your heart fluttered higher and higher with each passing second. A short silence ensued, ending as you abruptly let out a little laugh. It caught Hanta's attention, his head cosying into the cushion behind him as his brows raised.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the night you proposed. That's all," Another laugh escaped, humour striking you as you recalled how it had played out. From the manner your lover rolled his eyes, he clearly still hadn't emotionally recovered from it.

"That stupid fire pit," He groaned, eyes closing in annoyance. "I can't believe I let it ruin the moment,"

"I don't think that was the fire's intention, Hants,"

Despite being blatantly confident and bold, when it came to more... intimacy-related things, Hanta Sero's expertise dwindled dangerously. It had taken him months of knowing you to actually ask you out on a date, and when you finally got together? Well, it took him four years before he began to think about popping the question - three months more to actually pop it. Whilst you did say yes once he got down on one knee on the balcony of your holiday home for your fourth anniversary together, the events that proceeded after were what truly traumatised the poor ravenette.

Your holiday was spent somewhere in the Caribbean at a beachside residence that locals rented out for tourists. You and Hanta had always been big on travelling, hence your honeymoon location being such an unconventional place. Or as far as you knew, you didn't have an exact number on how many honeymoons were spent in remote mountain ranges surrounded by blustering winds and snow. It was a nice change of pace to the intense heats nearer the Equator.

During that vacation in particular though, that was the year Hanta finally decided to propose. After a long day on the beach, swimming in the ocean and feeling the sand between your toes as evening approached, you watched the sunset on the balcony of the second floor, neighbouring your bedroom. To set the mood the firepit in the centre had been lit, creating a stunning orange glow in Hanta's eyes as he held you close to his chest.

You noticed he was quite fidgety in his seat, wondering what was wrong with your lover as he gripped his knee tight. Like he was uncomfortable or nervous. Like he needed to get something off of his chest. It was only when you pointed out your concern and his odd behaviour that Hanta managed to shift his stance. Moving from his stiff position to wobbling on one knee, then came the heartfelt speech that gave you a sense of where he was going. A subtle reach into his pocket and before you knew it, you were shouting yes into the night sky and your eyes foggy with tears of complete and utter joy.

Hanta placed the ring on your finger, the realisation hitting him at that moment that you and he were engaged. His excitement got the better of him, the male sweeping you in his arms and swinging you around as he babbled sweet nothings into your ear. The speed wavered his balance, his leg knocking into the table holding a bottle of wine he had ordered specifically for the occasion. Much to both of your bad luck, it all collapsed against the firepit and tipped it over - and one can only imagine what happened next. A rather chaotic ruckus erupted between you as Hanta grabbed you by the waist and flung you both out of the building via the balcony to ensure your safety. Then he 'thwipped' straight back up to the fire and frantically searched for the fire extinguisher to put it out, all whilst you sat on the sandy ground outside, frozen to how drastically the mood had changed.

Luckily the fire didn't spread too far. If not for Hanta's efficiency in dealing with it upfront, it could have spread to the bedroom and the rest of the house. It did not, however, the most damage being the balcony sofas that were scorched no thanks to their wooden frame and white cushioning.

Despite having just been engaged, there wasn't much you and Hanta could do to celebrate. So the night ended with you and he falling to slumber in the early hours of the morning, too exhausted after dealing with the owners' wrath after the slight mishap of nearly setting their building ablaze.

"At least you didn't burn the entire house down," You tried after a few seconds of quiet, earning a scoff on Hanta's part as he ran a hand through his hair.

"It felt like it when I called the owner's to tell them what happened," Hanta answered, softly frowning at the shrieking yells he heard during that call ringing their way through his mind again. Long after he'd shut them out based on the humiliation of being on the receiving end. You giggled, recalling how you were able to hear them despite the phone not being on speaker.

"I'm surprised they let us stay for the rest of the week,"

"That's because I paid the money for the damage caused within six hours of them demanding it," Hanta reminded you, dragging his hands down his face as he groaned out. Probably expelling his inner cringe at his foolishness that night. "Times like that make me relieved I'm a top ten pro, helps out with emergencies a great fucking deal,"

"Are you sure that didn't play any part in their generosity? That you're a top ten pro?"

"No way," He said and sat up to meet your height, hands looping to cradle the small of your back. He held back continuing to briefly peck you on the lips. "The bill they gave me was the complete opposite of generous,"

"How much was it again?" You asked, memory not serving you the answer. The ebony-haired male leaned forwards to kiss you again before he moved his lips up to your ear. His voice became a whisper, telling the sum in Yen which made your eyes widen in astonishment.

"Wow," Was your instinctive reply, Hanta scoffing a laugh in agreement based on your tone of surprise. It was there he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling through his nose to catch a whiff of your scent. The aroma acting as a sedative to wipe the memory from his mind permanently. All he wished to remember of that night was the way your face lit up as he asked you to take his hand in marriage. How your tears formed and how your lips uttered the words he had oh, so desperately wanted to hear after months and months of worry of being rejected.

And look at you both now; husband and wife and on your honeymoon. Holding each other as close as close can be with no doubt or hesitancy in your minds at all. Why he had worried so much was something he would never be able to figure out. As looking back, all of it felt like the easiest thing he had ever had to do.

Due to that, Hanta smiled into your neck. The change could have been missed, but you were far too attentive to not notice. The feeling of his cheeks shaping his smile made you smile as well, your arms wrapping around Hanta's neck in a desperate need to pull him closer. Your fingers ghosted the back of his neck, tickling the hairs that attached with care like no other. You rested your chin on his head, eyes closed gently in comfort. In response, Hanta hummed lowly, hands starting to rub up and down your back like he was giving you a massage.

Silence passed, the two of you simply enjoying the other's company and the intimate moment you had welded together. The proximity created a warmth that could fight any cold, the fireplace behind you both unneeded to fight the swirling snow outside. Your eyes peaked open as the faint crackle of the fire nearby caught your attention. You watched the flames dance for a second or so before you plucked up the confidence to speak.

"Just... let's not set fire to this place. Alright?" You mused, holding your breath as you waited for Hanta's response. Luckily he didn't dismiss it, actually finding the comment quite funny. He voiced a blurt of a laugh, head shaking as much as he could make it whilst it buried into the depths of your neck. Hanta's mouth opened to make his reply, quickly hushing up again to return to the peaceful silence of before, not at all ready to let it go just yet.

"Agreed,"

#bnha x reader #x reader #fluff #mha x reader #anime x reader #boku no hero x reader #my hero academia x reader #hanta sero x you #hanta sero x y/n #hanta sero x reader #hanta sero #sero x reader #bnha sero hanta #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #sero fluff #hanta sero fluff

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 6

A/N  Well, here it is.  The last chapter of Ginger Snap.   As an unplanned fic inspired by a vanity license plate, I’m happy with how it turned out.   There will be a short epilogue posted in the next week or so.  In the meantime,  thank you so much for coming on this unexpected ride with me!   This chapter’s themed title is Fire in the Belly.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

The next five months were some of the most difficult of my life.  

After our talk, Frank and I agreed that it would be best that we parted ways.  The Southside flat was close to the university, plus I’d never truly felt at home there, so it made sense for him to keep it.  Fortunately, we’d never combined our savings and I still had money tucked away from my time as a medical resident in Boston.

Geillis wanted me to move into her sprawling Murrayfield home, at least temporarily, but I knew that I needed a place of my own.  To stand on my own two feet, as it were.   Which was how I found myself moving my few belongings into a modest Morningside walk-up as the rest of Edinburgh celebrated Hogmanay with fireworks and drunken revelry.

I scheduled the written component of my medical licensing exam for February.  This was likely foolhardy, but I’d already wasted enough time.  As a result, almost every waking hour was dedicated to studying.  The flat remained an empty box whose naked beige walls bore witness to my rudimentary existence.

Geillis called regularly, reminding me to eat and to occasionally step outside for a breath of fresh air.  Returning up the high street from one of our weekly coffee dates, a bright flash in a shop window caught my eye.

I stopped and stared as the afternoon sun lit the vase like a shard of stained glass.  It was a profound shade of blue: the colour of a field of indigo, of the night sky in a Byzantine icon, of Jamie’s eyes when he laughed.  It sat on my windowsill, filled with the season’s first daffodils, as I pored over practice exams.

***

“Geillis, I passed!  I fucking passed!”  An elderly woman seated across from me on the bus muttered under her breath about vulgar Sassenachs, but I was too elated to care.

“Of course ye did, ye brilliant disaster.  Now I can brag tae the neighbours I have my own personal physician.”

“Not so fast, Duncan.  I still need to pass the clinical exam, and that’s no small thing.”  My gut twisted just thinking about it, but unlike the written exam, there was little I could do to prepare.  Either I knew how to perform as a doctor or I did not.  The long months since I’d last treated a patient loomed like a large shadow over that question.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the window Claire,” my friend dismissed blithely.  “Ye’re gonna do great.  When do ye head down tae yer homeland, then?”

“May first.”  The practical examination took place in Manchester and needed to be scheduled three months in advance.

“Sounds like ye’ve got some time on yer hands.  Whate’er are ye going tae do with yerself?” Geillis asked in a singsong voice.

Fortunately for me, spring was Edinburgh’s most pleasant season.  Its many gardens and laneways erupted in carpets of buds and blooms.  The air smelled fresh and green, like biting into a tart apple.  I took long walks and fell in love with the city I now called home.  There were secondhand bookstores to explore and a weekly craft market where I gradually amassed an assortment of items that made my flat feel like a home.  With each passing day, my existence felt more and more like a life; one I defined for myself.

I also started to explore my options for employment, hoping for a job offer from one of the city’s hospitals that was conditional upon my successful completion of the licensing process.  It was to that end that I found myself walking down the corridor of The Royal Edinburgh hospital after what I hoped had been a rather successful interview with the deputy director of surgery.

“Claire?”

I recognized her voice immediately.  Before turning around I closed my eyes and sent out a fervent appeal to the universe.

“Jenny, hi.  How are you?”

She looked just the same, her straight black hair such a contrast to her brother.  Next to her stood a man, but not the man I had conjured the moment I heard her voice.  I was unclear whether that meant my prayer had been answered or not.  Seeing my gaze stray, Jenny jumped to introductions.

“This is my husband, Ian.  We’re here fer treatment on his leg.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”  

“Jes a fitting fer a new prosthetic.  Jenny keeps beatin’ me o’er the head with the old one, ye see.”  I laughed, instantly liking his easy-going manner, so in contrast with Jenny’s intensity.

“Ye must be the Claire I hear sae much about,” he went on, and I wondered what had been said about me in the Fraser household.

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ian smiled warmly.  “Only good things, I promise ye.”

“What brings ye tae the hospital, Claire?” Jenny interjected.

I explained how I was in the process of qualifying to practice medicine in Scotland, provided I could pass my exams.  Jenny and Ian were both delighted, congratulating me as though I’d already accomplished my goal.  As we spoke about Wee Jamie’s latest exploits and the ongoing growth of Ginger Snap, I couldn’t help notice that Jenny was staring at my hands.  At my left hand in particular.  Finally, I couldn’t resist temptation any longer.

“And, how is Jamie doing?”  I tried to sound casual, but I was certain my faltering voice betrayed me.

“Very well,” Jenny replied.  “Busy, as ye can imagine, but he thrives on chaos.”

I nodded, trying to be satisfied with the news that he was well.  It was the most I could hope for, really.  Jenny eyed me shrewdly before continuing.

“He’s a good man, my brother.  Any lass would be verra lucky tae have him.  I’d like tae see him settled, but he refuses tae be rushed.  Says the right woman is worth the wait.”  She paused before adding,  “I reckon ye ken wha’ he means.”

“Yes,” I breathed.  “I know exactly what he means.”

***

I took the overnight train from Edinburgh to Manchester.  It meant I was likely to arrive at the testing centre deprived of sleep, but I rationalized that most of my residency could be characterized as one long evaluation under similar conditions, and I hadn’t killed anyone yet.  Still, as the velvety darkness slipped by outside my window, studded by the lights of passing farms, my doubts got the better of me.

I texted Geillis, looking for moral support.  For once she didn’t reply immediately.  There was one other name on my laughably short list of contacts.  I deliberated for all of a minute, but the late hour and creeping panic made me impulsive.

Hello.

Best to start with something innocuous, rather than the slightly more revealing “I miss you.  I think about you every day.”  A reply bubble appeared immediately after I hit send.  At least I hadn’t woken him up.  A small tempest stirred in my gut.

Arsonist.  Hello.  How are you?

I tried to picture him.  Was he at home?  Working late?  Or, in a scenario that played out far too often in my mind, on a date?

I’m alright.  Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m going to puke and cry.  Not necessarily in that order.

Och, lass.  Do you need me to come over?

Damn it, this man.  I had done nothing to deserve his unswerving loyalty but mislead him and then disappear for months on end.  And yet here he was, willing to come to my aid on the flimsy pretext of a late night text.  Guilt and tenderness warred for possession of my heart.

That may prove a bit difficult, Jamie.  I’m on a train to England.

There was a long pause, and then a two letter reply.

Oh.

I realized at once that he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion: that I had left Edinburgh for good.  I rushed to correct the error.

I’m taking the second stage of my examination to practice as a NHS doctor tomorrow.   It’s all hands-on situations, and the licensing facility is in Manchester.

Arsonist, that’s wonderful news!  I’m so proud of you.

I blushed, then leaned my heated cheek against the chilled pane of glass.  It had been a rash impulse, but this conversation was exactly what I needed.  I wasn’t alone in this.  Geillis and Jamie were in my corner.

What has your stomach in a twist, then?

What if I’ve forgotten what to do?!  It’s been almost a year since I’ve so much as used a stethoscope, Jamie.  The exam is eighteen real-life situations and you’re given eight minutes to respond to each one.  Not a second longer.  I’m just...  what if I fail?

And there it was.  The kernel of fear that lived at the heart of everything I did.  What if I failed?   What if my best wasn’t good enough?

Claire, listen to me.  You’re a doctor, just as I am a chef.  It wouldn’t matter if I had not set foot in a kitchen in ten years, I would still remember how to cook, and I know that it’s the same for you.  I believe it with everything in me.

On some level, I knew that he was right.  But it still comforted me tremendously to hear it from someone I trusted.

Alright.  That helps.  I should let you get to bed.  Thank you for talking me off my ledge, Jamie.

Anytime, Arsonist.

As I got ready sign off, another text bubble appeared.

Oh, and Claire?  Don’t burn down their wee laboratory, okay? ;-)

I laughed out loud, muting my phone and reclining my seat.  Outside, the stars shone brightly, tiny fires in the firmament to guide me on my way.

***

It was a lovely late spring day, and the retractable doors to the fire station were open to the warm breeze.  I could hear Angus’ voice as he led a cooking demonstration for a group of young women; a bridal shower by the look of their ridiculous costumes.

“Mind the coriander, lass.  Tis a verra powerful aphrodisiac, ken?  I willna be held responsible if ye canna resist my considerable charms after ye eat yon soup.”

There was an outburst of giggles as I rounded the corner and entered the reception area.  Jenny was on the phone.  She halted mid-sentence when she saw me walk in.  I rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to stay calm.

“He’s in the storeroom, in the back,” Jenny prompted before I could even offer a greeting.  I smiled gratefully, relieved I didn’t have to make small talk.  I had only so much courage stored in reserve, and I didn’t want to use it all up before reaching my destination.

The storeroom was long and narrow, lit by a single naked bulb and girded with shelves.  Jamie stood with his broad back to the door, his curls absorbing the light like amber.  He had a clipboard in one hand, performing some kind of inventory.

“Jes how many lentils dae ye reckon we need, Janet?  There’s nine cans of them here already, and ye have us ordering ten more.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I loved his voice, the undulating grit and silk of it.  I had to remaster the art of speech before I could reply.

“It’s not Jenny.  It’s me.  Claire.”

He froze, and if it weren’t for the sudden rapid flow of his breath I would have assumed he hadn’t heard me.  My nerves got the better of me and I blurted out, “I like lentils.  You should listen to your sister.”

“Claire.”  More sigh than word.  He slowly turned.  It was when our eyes met that I knew nothing had changed for him.  It was still there, after all these months.  That look that told me I was the map to his journey, the focus to his vision, the reason to his why.  

Hopefully he could read that same certainty on my face.

“I passed my exams,” I began.  “I’m a doctor again.”

“Ye never stopped bein’ a doctor.  This jus’ makes it official.”

“I’m still a disaster in the kitchen,” I continued.  “Last week I ruined two saucepans.”

“Tha’s only a tragedy if ye dinna have someone willin’ tae cook fer ye,” he replied with a strange squinting motion I understood was meant to be a wink.

“I’m still learning who I am.  How to be true to the person on the inside,” I confessed.  This is what had kept me away for so long, worried that I would escape from Frank’s orbit just to be caught up in another.  Jamie never once expected my submission, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t offer it out of habit.

“I’ll let ye in on a secret.  Sae is everyone else,” he replied.

Without realizing it, we’d both been moving until we were crowded together amongst the dried herbs and canned goods.  My hand rested against the solid metronome of his heart.  Just one more confession to go.

“I burn for you in a way I’ve never burned for anything before.”

There.  It was said.  A thousand wings of rapture beat against the cage of my ribs, clamoring to break free.  Jamie carefully pushed a loose curl behind my ear before cupping my jaw.

“Wee arsonist.  Come, set my life on fire.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

[kaistrex]

Holy shit it sure was, I had the wrong tab open and I was not paying attention. I'm so sorry!

Where the Real Beasts Are ⛰️-⭐-🎢

Haha no worries! It's so easily done!

It turns out I had a lot to say, so strap in 😂

(Where the Real Beasts Are)

⛰️- What was the hardest part?

Because I wrote the fic over such a long period, there’s probably something from earlier on that I’m forgetting, but as it’s freshest in my memory, I think keeping myself motivated to get the final chapter finished was one of the hardest parts. When I first sat down to work on it after the penultimate chapter was out, I had about 2k words of notes/scenes written, and it just got longer and longer as I chipped away at it until it somehow hit 22k.

Usually when I write, I can see the finish line steadily approaching, but as the chapter expanded and I fleshed out all of the scenes, it just seemed to get further and further away and was low-key soul destroying 😂 I think it was just the idea of finally seeing the entire fic finished after years of working on it, and the thought of basking in the glory of hitting post for the final time, that was my biggest motivation in getting it done haha

It was a complete bitch to edit, and I’ve since vowed never to estimate the final chapter count of a longfic again, because then I feel a ridiculous need to actually stick to it instead of allowing myself a bit more freedom.

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

Honestly, I was most worried the two times that the Graphic Depictions of Violence archive warning came into play towards the end (one more extreme than the other lol). I really thought I’d wake up in the morning to people furious that I didn’t leave a warning that it was about to get a little bit gory, so I was cringing away from the screen a little every time I opened my inbox to read any new comments in case of abuse, but then nothing ever came haha

I added that archive warning to the fic when I posted the very first chapter back in 2018 in preparation for the fic’s finale (3 years later...), so I was ready if anyone bitched about it when the warning was right there in the tags and they read it anyway (as I’m sure we’ve all seen people do often enough before). I worked really hard on the plot, and one of the instances of violence was supposed to be a surprise, so no way in hell was I going to spoil that ~something~ was about to go down in the chapter notes.

But in the end, I worried over nothing 😂

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

There’s a whole lot of fic to go through to answer this, so I’m probably forgetting something, but I think my favourite scene is back in their rooms after the masquerade. I’m the sort of person who feels good about something once I’ve written it, but then as soon as I post it, I tend to cringe too hard to be able to reread it properly, but if I look over that scene again, I’m still really pleased with the atmosphere of it. I don’t know if anyone else feels the same, but to me it feels like there’s a hush over the whole scene, like it’s a held breath or something, and I like how slow and tender Derek is as he undresses Stiles TvT

Shoutout also to the final line/paragraph of the fic which I am still proud of. Endings are always the worst part to write, and I can’t say a fic is finished until the ~feel~ of the final sentence is right. I wanted the final note to be something happy, and something I’d still be pleased with even after time passes, and so far that still holds haha

Derek pulls back to brush their noses together, sunlight sparkling in his eyes of green and gold, the shadow of a daffodil petal falling on his cheek. Stiles’ heart is so full that he can feel it beating in his chest, tugging him forward like perhaps it always has, leading him where he was always meant to be, straight into the arms of his beautiful, tender-hearted wolf.

I wanted it to tie things together, so it ends up touching on the procession that opens the fic with the mention of the daffodil, the colour of Derek’s eyes which Stiles had seen when Derek was first given to him as a ‘direwolf’, and then it vaguely references the journey Stiles was lead on throughout the fic. The final ‘tender-hearted wolf’ was supposed to be like a juxtaposition of how good Derek is despite Kate/the Argents’ belief that him being a wolf makes him a ‘beast’, to try and tie in the through line of the whole fic and the title.

I have no idea if that even came across to anyone reading it (I don’t usually think about word choice like that, ever!), but I’m proud of it anyway 😊 It took a lot of agonising!

(I did consider for 0.5 seconds if I should capitalise ‘Wolf’ to reflect how Derek first came to him, but realised immediately that would just highlight Derek as a pet which I knew was a BIG NO-NO and not the vibe I was go for at all.)

-

Thanks for the ask! I always end up having a lot to say for these things, so I hope it was at least a little bit interesting haha

The icons are from here if anyone wants to send any my way, or you can ask anything else that comes to mind. My inbox is always open~

#ask game #woriwart #terminallycorrosive

[kalaluchi]

chapter 03: Game Night

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Marinette found that she could say no to a lot of things.

She could say no to Chloe’s attempts to give her a makeover, she could say no to Kim’s challenges to a 50-meter freestyle race, she could say no to Nino’s invites to a movie screening with a bunch of friends. (Especially on a school night. Waaaay too much work to be done, sadly.)

And usually, usually, she could say no to her best friend Alya’s elaborate schemes.

But apparently not when it was disguised as a harmless game night with some of their classmates.

And definitely not when her best friend got her super ultra crush, the gorgeous Adrien Agreste, to be the one to invite her.

“Hey, Marinette,” he said, walking up to her one day. “I heard from Nino that Alya’s planning a game night this weekend. A sort of class bonding activity, I’m guessing. Seeing as you’re Alya’s best friend, I take it that means you’ll be there, right?”

Marinette suddenly wanted to strangle said best friend. Alya most definitely did not say anything about a game night the last time they talked. This invitation reeked of “Alya Césaire’s Half-Brilliant Plan #143” or whatever the brunette liked to call them. Marinette was fairly sure her best friend would try to pull something to get her and Adrien together.

(Not that she was complaining. She appreciated it, of course, but one still had to be wary when dealing with the great fairy godmother Alya Césaire.)

But more importantly-- how dare Alya not warn her that Adrien would talk to her that day. Then Marinette could’ve at least worn the new top Alya had said looked cute on her.

“Uh,” Marinette hedged, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse to avoid all embarrassment , “I’m actually not sure if I can be there since I have… things… to do. I also have...stuff.” She gulped. “Yup, that’s… that’s what keeps me busy… things and...stuff.” She smacked herself internally.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing you there. I heard you’re a master at board games.” He chuckled, and, no, Marinette’s heart did not flutter and her cheeks didn’t burn at the sound. “But I get what you mean about… things… and stuff. Life of the busy, eh? Try to take breaks when you work, though, ‘kay? Good luck with… things and stuff. Uhm, see you around, Marinette!”

Marinette forced a smile as he turned away. Don’t cave, it’s for your own good, don’t cave, don’t cave, don’t--

“But!” Marinette added suddenly, causing Adrien to turn back in surprise. “If that’s the case, I mean, psh, what’s one weekend, right? I could… probably push my schedule back a bit, have some fun for once. I think I deserve this,” she said firmly, talking mostly to herself.

Adrien grinned, and her heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes shone with excitement. “That’s good to hear! I agree, you deserve this break. See you Saturday night, then!”

With that he walked away, leaving Marinette imagining that he’d said those words in the context of a romantic first date, perhaps a candle lit dinner after a cheesy film, and not in the context of a seemingly harmless game night where she was almost sure her luck would abandon her only for the fates would laugh in her face.

.

.

.

Alya told everyone the game night would start at 8pm. Naturally, this meant Marinette had to be at Alya’s place at 7:30pm, helping set up.

“So, what game are we playing,” Marinette asked, trying for a nonchalant tone as she opened a bag of chips.

Alya laughed aloud. “Ha! Nice try, Mari. But no spoilers. You’ll find out at the same time as everyone else. Now can you pass me those vases? I’m betting Kim’s gonna knock them over if we don’t put them away.”

Marinette handed them over with a sigh. “Okay, that’s fair. But I already know you’re up to something. Isn’t it just easier to tell me your plan so I can mentally prepare for it? Who knows, I might even choose to play along.”

“Plan…? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Alya turned away, but not before Marinette caught the mischievous gleam in her best friend’s eyes.

She was about to press further, when there was a knock on the door. “Yo, Alya!” Nino’s voice. “Open up, will ya?”

“Coming!” Alya shouted back, carefully stepping around the pillows she’d set up on the floor. Just like that, the matter was dropped as the guests started pouring in.

There were about 10 of them, all talking lively as they sat on the floor around a table. Marinette started passing around bowls of chips while her best friend got the stuff for the games from her room. She tried to hold on to one last bowl though, eyeing the pillow-seats at the far end of the room and trying to come up with an excuse to go over there and hand Adrien the bowl herself.

She was halfway there when Alya suddenly appeared. “Esteemed guests!” she announced in a loud voice. “I have, behind my back, the game we will play tonight. We’ll be playing--” She paused for dramatic effect, making sure everyone’s eyes were on her. “-- the Modified Game of Life, aka Game of Life: Alya Césaire edition!”

Marinette inwardly groaned, her own plan forgotten. Handing the bowl of chips to a seated Juleka, she made her way to a pair of empty seats in one part of the room -- one for her, one for Alya of course. Despite her initial want to approach Adrien that night, a part of her told her she should be grateful she wasn’t seated next to him.

“Alright, everyone, settle down!” Alya said, obviously excited to be facilitating. She took her place next to Marinette and grinned. She moved to open the box… and paused. And looked around the room as if deep in thought. “Actually,” she said, “I kind of want to sit beside my boyfriend.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, knowing where this was going. “Alya,” she hissed, “don’t you dare--”

“Adrien!” the brunette called across the room. “I was wondering if I could sit beside Nino, but I don’t want everyone to move one seat up just for me. Is it ok with you if we switch places?”

“Sure,” the blond said easily, getting up.

All Marinette could do was open and close her mouth as her best friend gave her a wink and a squeeze of the hand. “Good luck!”

Luck? Why would Marinette need luck?

“Hey,” Adrien greeted as he sat down beside her. “You ever played this game before?”

“No,” Marinette said through gritted teeth, “I actually have not.”

“Ah. Me neither, of course. May the best… Life-er win, I guess?”

Despite her apprehensions about the game, Marinette had to laugh. “May the best Life-er win!”

The first few rounds, Marinette had to admit the Alya Césaire edition was pretty fun. Instead of the careers you might normally see in the game (doctor, engineer, accountant, etc.), this one had all sorts you could pick and choose from. 30 minutes into the game, Marinette was quite satisfied with her life as a professional fashion designer who lived in a 3.5 story all-pink cottage-house with her pet ladybug, turtle, bunny, cat, horse, and snake, and who loved to fight crime in her spare time.

Naturally, that was when everything went wrong. Okay… not everything. And not wrong, if Marinette had to be honest. But still.

Of course it was Adrien’s turn to draw a card (right after Marinette got her fifth paycheck. Score!). And of course it was one of those marriage cards. But with a twist. Of course.

“Congratulations!” Adrien read aloud. “You’re married to the love of your life, the person on your right. Collect 2000 for your honeymoon.” He turned to the right, where Marinette was staring straight ahead, stiff as a board, trying not to let the blush on her cheeks spread.

So that’s what Alya meant when she said good luck-- good luck, I hope Adrien picks up the marriage card. She turned to her in-game husband, and forced a smile. “Woah, look at that. Married. Fun.”

“Uh, Adrien,” Alya called out. “I think there’s an additional note at the bottom.”

“Huh, you’re right.” He read it silently, then chuckled. “It says, ‘call your new wife ‘babe’ to get another 500.’” He grinned at the blue-haired girl. “What do you say, babe? Do you want to live the rest of our lives together?”

The only thing Marinette wanted at that moment was to melt into her shoes from embarrassment, but instead she managed to force out a, “Sure thing. Babe.” For a second Adrien looked shocked, and she thought she saw a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. But then he laughed and it was gone.

Which obviously left Marinette wondering whether she imagined it or not. So much so that she lost focus on the game until it was her turn again. And just like real life, the game proved yet again to be full of surprises.

She began to read aloud, “Woo-hoo, you got kids! Spin the wheel to find out by how many your family has grown. Married? Get more people pegs to put in the car you share with your spouse. Unmarried? Get more pet pegs to put in your car, and maybe some doggy wipes while you’re at it.” She spun the wheel. Three.

“Perfect,” Adrien said good-naturedly, reaching for the bag of pegs. “I’ve always wanted three kids. What’ll it be? All boys? All girls? Two boys, one girl? Vice versa?”

Marinette mumbled something under her breath, trying to fight back a blush.

“Hm?”

“Y-you can choose,” she stammered. “I, uh, I think I want more… food.” She turned away, pretending to scan the room. It was only half an excuse. She really had wanted something 10 minutes ago, but she couldn’t at the moment remember what.

“You want popcorn? It’s right--” Adrien stopped abruptly, caught off guard to find himself nearly nose-to-nose with Marinette.

How cliché. Horribly, horribly, absolutely cliché. Marinette felt her face heat up, though she was frozen in place.

“Honey,” she breathed out, finally remembering what she’d wanted to get. Honey to go with the cereal in her bowl.

“Yes, honey?” Adrien replied without missing a beat. “What was it you wanted?”

“Uh, n-no, not, no, I meant,” Marinette sputtered, unable to finish a coherent sentence for a full 10 seconds. She was pretty sure her face was beet red, right down to her neck. She cleared her throat, and stood up. “I’m gonna go look for the honey,” she said, praying he didn’t notice her blush.

Well played, Alya. Well played. From then on Marinette swore to never go near a Game of Life again.

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#adrinette april 2021 #adrinette #miraculous ladybug #idk what im doing sorry #ml #mlb #mlbcn #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #mlb fics #adrinetteapril2021 #game of life

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.3

This is the third chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every two weeks. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.4k words

previous chapter

This chapter was not read over by a beta reader, so if you notice any mistakes please let me know in a private message. If you are interested in reading my chapters early and having a hand in the editing process, please let me know via direct message :)

Charlie arrives home from the new doctors household in odd condition. Bella becomes acquainted with a new friend and gets her first driving lesson.

Chapter Three

There’s something oddly comforting about the loud, thunderous engine of my new truck. It successfully blocks out all the thoughts I hope to escape from, and it does so in a way that does not involve the incessant pattering of rain. In fact, it completely eliminates the sound of rain, a miracle I hadn’t thought possible. I can’t imagine I’ll ever manage to repay Jacob for this gift, it means so much more to me than a couple thousand dollars and a way to get around. It’s my escape. 

Charlie had gotten back from the new doctor's household late last night, his eyes bleary with sleep and arms hanging limp by his sides in what can only be described as a dead mans walk. I was used to the posture he held, all slumped over and distracted, as if he had gone on a three day long bender and returned empty of adrenaline and a will to stay awake. Renee had come home from too many “spa-retreats'' with that same form. Dead mans walk, that’s what her friend had called it when I brought it up. “Dead on the outside but more alive than you’ve ever felt on the inside,” she had explained with a distant smile, “awful to watch but beautiful to live out.” 

It was strange to see my father, the stoic police chief, in that position. Perhaps he enjoyed his time at the new doctors house more than he thought he would, perhaps he enjoyed it enough to come in looking prematurely hungover and drained of energy. I wonder if he was drinking, or dancing, or maybe the new family- I blink my eyes hard, squeezing out all the muted light coming from the kitchen window. Stars dance in front of my vision once I open them again. Don’t think of what Charlie was doing there, I tell myself viciously. Please, I add on as an afterthought, as though my subconscious was privy to social niceties. 

The clock on the microwave reads noon hour and my heart stutters. Charlie is still upstairs, dead asleep. He’s the one that wakes me up in the morning, always dressed and with a cup of coffee. But, no, he’s probably just tired from his long shift yesterday and maybe a little hungover. Only a little. In fact, maybe less than a little, maybe he isn’t hungover at all.

Soon, by which I mean no less than two hours after my initial worry over my fathers condition, he emerges from his bedroom and I can hear his footsteps lead into the bathroom. Good, I think, he’s awake before three in the afternoon. That must count for something. Perhaps- My thoughts, aimlessly trying to convince my subconscious that there is no reason for me to worry about the state of my middle-aged father, are interrupted. 

“Bella?” Charlie calls quietly from the top of the stairs. He sounds like he just woke up from a long night out. Hangover voice is something I am very familiar with, although not from first hand experience. Any solace I had reached seconds ago comes crashing down into a pile at my feet.  

I clear my throat, “Down here!” He comes down, feet stepping lightly on each step so as to barely make a noise. He enters the kitchen with a weary look on his face, as if I’m the one acting out of character. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing up so early?” He asks incredulously. I look at the time in the bottom corner of my computer, nearly two in the afternoon. I look back up at him with my eyebrows pinched. 

“Char- Dad, it’s after noon.” My fathers eyes go wide, the whites showing prominently before squeezing down into a harsh blink. He turns to the microwave and his eyes blink violently again. “Dad?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands come together at the top of his head, interlacing over the brown hair he passed onto me. “I- I’m getting to work. I’ll see you for dinner.” He mumbles his words, the syllables pouring out into the air without any order. He retreats back upstairs with little more than a squeak on the floorboards, his eyebrows thick over his eyes with worry. The shower turns on quickly and I look back to my computer screen. I have to do some school work, Charlie is a grown man who can take care of himself. 

I brew him a fresh pot of coffee, putting the creamer out on the counter even though I know he takes it black. 

One of my favourite things about Forks, besides my new truck, is the ever present gloom that seems to permeate any mood you had prior to stepping outdoors. It’s like living in a depressive gothic novel written in nineteenth century England. Obsessively torturing the protagonist with dramatic metaphors and the blatant use of personification with inanimate objects like lampshades and tea kettles. I walk outside and my brain fills with run-on sentences about the state of my personal emotional evolution or the true crime of humanity being the amount of introspection that we would require to understand it. Almost compulsively, I assess my morals and the ethical value of my actions as if the rain draws out my inner philosopher. It’s dramatic and moody and unpleasant to experience. 

Yet, I find myself drawn into this trance of deep inner thought and revel in it.

This is what I am doing when I park outfront of The Diner and walk through the front doors. My mind is occupied with drawn out thoughts that sound closer to Shakespeare than a girl who is barely passing her summer courses. My footfalls seem to almost perfectly fall in tune with my thoughts. I wonder if I’m walking funny, I think suddenly with a pointed look at my awkward steps. This is an issue with spending so much time alone in such a gloomy town; you forget other people exist. I pick up the pace of my footfalls and try to let my legs work naturally, but now that I’m aware of my walking I am incapable of walking naturally and feel like an oaf. 

It is while I am walking like an oaf that someone calls out, “Isabella Swan?” My shoulders tense up to my earlobes and suddenly my feet are capable of walking without direction and almost steer me back through the front doors. Instead, I look up from my rough boots and meet the smile of the girl standing behind the counter cutting the large room in half. I try to ignore the stares of the other patrons. 

The girl standing behind the counter looks to be about twenty and has brown hair just past her shoulders, similar to mine except for the fact that hers is shiny with the indication of product and care. A wave of self consciousness rolls over my shoulders, my dull, limp hair is suddenly as bright as a neon sign in the dead of night. “Bella,” I correct her, forcing myself to step up to the counter. “Everybody calls me Bella.” 

She nods knowingly, as if she’s heard this before but just wanted it confirmed. Another wave of self consciousness crashes over me as the possibility of small town gossip arises. Does everybody already know who I am? I don’t like the thought of Charlie telling the town his eccentric ex-wife's daughter is coming to live with him, even if he said it politely. 

“Yeah, that makes sense. Isabella is kinda a mouthful and takes like three whole syllables just to say it.” She shoots a hand across the laminate countertop and exposes a line of white, straight teeth. “I’m Jessica, not Jess,” She clarifies with a sarcastic eye roll. I take her hand, warm and soft, in my own and give it a polite shake before letting go. “Nobody calls me Jess, it sounds like it’s short for Jessie and when I think Jessie I think either golden retriever or blonde surfer dude and I am so not either of those things.” 

“Jessica’s pretty,” I say with possibly a little too much enthusiasm. I haven’t spoken to someone as bubbly as this girl since Phoenix and I am poorly out of practice. 

“She is, isn’t she?” A male voice calls from my right. It’s as if Jessica had spoken it into existence, because suddenly a blond surfer dude- minus the surfer- is sitting only three stools over. 

“No, no,” my face flames and I quickly raise my hands in surrender. “I meant her name.” Then, looking at Jessica I see she’s chewing on her bottom lip and her dark eyebrows are scrunched down. I wonder if she practiced this expression in the mirror, it looks too perfect to be impromptu. “I mean, not that you aren’t pretty,” I clarify and her eyebrows shoot up as the blonde boy snorts. “I mean-” But Jessica raises a hand to stop me from torturing myself any further and drops the lip from between her teeth. “Listen, Bella, I know what you mean you don’t have to run in circles.” She says it in a way that insinuates I’m not the first person to fall into this situation with her. “You aren’t the first girl I’ve wooed with my tragically good looks.” This is not what I expected. The blonde boy snorts again but it sounds more like incredulity than a laugh. I open my mouth to interject, though I’m not sure what I will say, and Jessica widens her eyes at me. “Bella, girl, I’m joking.” 

My mouth widens into an uncomfortable smile that likely looks closer to a grimace. She shakes her head at me with an expression that reads oh Bella even though we’ve only just met. I get the impression that Jessica is an easy person to be friends with and also decide that I will be coming to The Diner more often. “Now,” She says, “What did you order?” 

I recite my order and she pushes open the swinging doors adorned with old license plates and bumper stickers to retrieve it. 

“I’m Mike.” This is from the blonde boy, and he says it with a small wave that very much so indicates that he has lived in this town his whole life. People in big cities, people in Phoenix, don’t wave like that. It’s too small and kind and friendly, there isn’t enough neutrality for him to be from a big city. He’s inviting me into a conversation with the impression that I want to be invited. Small towns and sickly rom coms are the only places where this happens. 

“Bella,” I respond, although he must already have heard me introduce myself to Jessica earlier. “It’s nice to meet you.” I tack on the last part in a likely failed attempt to come across as if I belong. It’s not that I want to be nice or friendly like Mike, it’s just that this will be far less awkward if I at least try to fit in. 

“Likewise.” We lapse into a comfortable silence, or at least he appears to be comfortable in the silence. I am not. My blood seems to have congealed in my veins and is refusing to pump itself into my heart. Am I getting enough oxygen? Yes, yes, I am getting enough oxygen. I know this, but my body does not know this and so instead of trying to formulate some clever comment I try to level out my breathing and suck in as much as possible without seeming weird. 

Three uneven breaths later and Jessica pushes out of the kitchen doors holding a large brown bag with a receipt stapled to the folded lip. She places it in front of me and I take a deep breath, suddenly grateful that my lungs are working and for the delicious smelling food. “I’ll pay with debit?” I don’t mean for it to sound like a question but it does. I can almost hear my mother scolding me, you need to be more assertive. You get stepped on if you’re too polite. I know she’s right but I ignore her anyway. 

“No need, already paid for,” she says with a wide smile. “The cook says hi.” I take it, then, that the cook is the one who paid for my dinner.

“Oh, really that wasn’t necessary.” I produce my debit card from my pocket, holding it out as if it’s perfect evidence of my ability to pay. “I have money.” 

“If you really wanna make it up to me I can take your number.” Renee would like Jessica, she’s assertive. I shake my head a little but still take out my phone and hand it to her. She punches in her number quickly, perfect nails tapping lightly on the screen before handing it back. Her own phone beeps. “Have a nice night, Bella! Text me whenever.” 

I say goodbye to Mike and he waves kindly, almost immediately afterwards turning to talk to Jessica. They wave as I leave and I can feel the eyes of The Diner on my back as I leave the building and enter my truck. 

It’s almost two days until I get a chance to talk with my mother, and within those days I accomplish more than one would expect of a girl who is so well acquainted with procrastination. Namely, I received a text message from Jessica. We conversed lightly, her with heavy use of emojis and me with improper use of punctuation and perhaps not enough enthusiasm. I know this because almost immediately after I send her my reaction to a movie she watched she calls me. 

“Bella,” she says in a tone that insinuates both exasperation and light humour. “I swear, girl, you are so hard to read.” 

“I know, my grammar-”

“No, no,” she cuts me off. “I mean I have no idea if you even wanna talk to me or not.” I’m shocked into silence, of course I want to talk to her. I enjoy talking to her. It seems I’ve been severely lacking in the friends department and it’s no recent issue. Ever since Phoenix I’ve remained forcibly independent, it’s nice to have people my age to talk to. 

“I- I can use more emojis?” It comes out a question and my mother is back in my head, assertive assertive assertive. Jessica gives a triumphant laugh and I get the impression that this was her goal all along. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll try to communicate better.” 

She just laughs and we hang up and continue texting, but not before she informs me that we will have to set up a schedule to meet in person. Apparently even with emojis in my armoury I am “more fun” in person. Who would have thought?

Within the two days before I call my mother I also get my first driving lesson with Jacob Black. He drives over in his fathers old truck, which he can no longer use due to the wheelchair. Jacob informs me of this with a smile that tells me he’s inherited the truck.

He bounces out of the vehicle with a giant grin on his face and his hands clasped excitedly behind his back. I could all but feel the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He had come prepared too, as I later found out, when he inserted a CD into my cars radio system. Soft rock echoed sweetly throughout the cab and Jacob drummed his fingers over his knees. “You gotta love ‘em, right?” He asked redundantly. I nodded, not knowing who I had to love or why, but just enjoying sitting next to him and listening to him talk. 

He walked me through the gear shift. It sticks when you move directly from park to reverse, so I should always pause on drive for a moment first. We practice this in the driveway a few times before taking to the residential streets. We mostly talk during the drive, him giving me all the Rez gossip and me providing him with the meek details of my online school experience and my conversations with Jessica. 

“She’s really nice,” I tell him as the trucks engine growls loudly at the stop light. “Loud, but loud in a nice way.” He nods in the passenger seat as if he completely understands, which I do not find difficult to believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if everybody in town was his friend. 

“Yeah, I know a few people like that.” I’m proven correct. “Like there are just so many things going on inside them they can’t contain it.” I nod absently but my mind shifts to the first part of Jacobs comment. I wonder how many friends he has? I can’t imagine he’s unpopular, or even shy, he’s just too exciting and fun. His smile makes me want to smile. 

“What?” He enunciates slowly with a slow head turn. I look away quickly, my eyes steadily focused on the bumper in front of us. I didn’t mean to stare at him. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?” I pull into the next lane, making sure to check over my shoulder twice. Maybe if I don’t pay attention to him, maybe if I just ignore- “Is there something on my face?” 

I look over, baited into meeting his eyes. A big palm runs over his mouth and he pulls it back as if to inspect it for markings. “No,” I assure him. “There’s nothing on your face.” Then, my lips widen as if with a mind of their own, and suddenly I’m grinning. “I mean other than-”

He guffaws out a laugh before I can finish my comment and looks over at me with a smile mirroring my own. “Bella Swan, were you about to make a joke?” I shoot him a half-hearted glare and realize that this is all too easy with him. Jacob is like an overactive puppy, so easy to excite and quick to make you smile. I also realize that I seem to really enjoy the company of this particular overactive puppy. 

“I make jokes plenty of times,” I retort with a quick glance in my rearview mirror. The houses have transitioned into a tree line and the previously residential road boasts a higher speed limit. “You most definitely do not. I remember being kids, you were always the sensible one.” My heart skips and my field of vision narrows to the space above the steering wheel. The road is slick with rain, I doubt I’ll ever see it dry. “You used to ask Charlie to put bandaids in your little backpack, just in case…” his words continue, detailing how mature I was for a first grader. I made decisions way past my age and was the first one to disinfect surface cuts and scrapes. I was the only one to disinfect bloody knees and palms, even though the sight made me sick. “It was like you just had to take care of everybody else.” 

He looks over to me, I can see him in my peripheral vision, but instead of looking back I force my lips into an open smile. I hope it comes across as genuine. “I had a thing for first aid.” It’s a poor response. Anybody could see through my shallow sentence and many people would call me out on it. Tell me that for a girl with such a large vocabulary it’s odd for me to suddenly have nothing to say. For a girl who claims to enjoy this boys company I seem to be going out of my way to deter him from ever calling me again. 

“Take a left up here,” Jacob says and his hand juts out to point at a beaten gravel road. It cuts into the forest at a haggard angle which makes it nearly impossible to maneuver, but I do so with more than minimal effort and release a heavy breath once we are on it. “Okay, now try to merge back onto the road.”

“What?” The odd, and clearly impossible, request pulls me out of my self-pitying thoughts. “Jake-” 

“If you can’t do it that’s fine, just switch seats and I’ll drive.” The devilish glint in his eyes provokes some deep, hidden piece of me that craves competition. 

“You just miss Betty,” I say with perhaps a little too much vindication. He doesn’t seem bothered either way and simply shrugs his large shoulders, the russet skin reflecting the light of another car's headlights as it passes on the main road. 

“Yeah, I do.”

taglist:

@musingsofvenus​ @maybesandohnos​

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper #the twilight saga #carlisle #twilight saga #smeyer #twilight renaissance #2008 #fic #twilight fanfic #twilight fic #jacob and bella hot damn #jacob/bella #jacobxbella #jacob black #bellaxjacob #bella/jacob #moonlit #mine

[cognacdelights]

Teenage Dirtbags | 001. — Welcome To Exile

Summary: In which, an out of control teenager is sentenced to a summer in the Outer Banks to come to terms with her mother’s untimely death, and reform her rebellious, troublesome ways before she does irreversible damage. 

Author’s Note: So this is the first chapter of Teenage Dirtbags. I really hope that you enjoy. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist and all my masterlists will be linked below if you feel like checking out my other fics. Also, I’m doing a celebration cocktail night at the moment so feel free to get involved with that!

Warnings: This series may contain mature themes/content throughout including but not limited to swearing, sexual language and/or scenes, substance abuse and mentions of death. 

Word Count: 2999.

Teenage Dirtbags Series Masterlist.

Fill The Void General Masterlist.

This gif is not mine, all credit goes to the owner.

001. — Welcome To Exile

The sweltering, mid-day sun was unforgiving as it stared, ceaselessly, down upon the unkempt, sandy shorelines of the island. It was typical for temperatures to reach an unbearable eighty-five degrees fahrenheit in the Outer Banks during the summer months, however the subtropical jet stream had brought with it an exceptionally merciless wave of blistering heat this year. The old, mercury thermometer that hung proudly beside the entrance to the ferry deck read one hundred and two degrees - or, perhaps, it was one hundred and three. The thermometer's glass had clouded over due to the extensive build up of dirt over the years and had obscured the faded markings. Whether it read one hundred and two or one hundred and three was merely a trivial discrepancy; either way, it was still miserably hot and insufferable.

As Marnie Sinclaire stepped outside onto the ivory-painted decking, the salt-laced, ocean-scented air overwhelmed her petite silhouette. It was uncomfortably thick and oppresively muggy - and the occasional oceanfront breeze was feeble, offering little relief against her fair, freckle-littered complexion. A content cluster of perspiration droplets adorned her forehead, causing her pale skin to glisten under the relentless rays of the North Carolinian sun. She could feel the prickling, burning sensation as the ultraviolet rays graced the high points of her doll-like features, and anticipated the inevitable rosy tinge that would develop in their absence. It would take some time for the dark-haired tearaway to adjust to the Mid-Atlantic climate; her blanched complexion was far more accustomed to New York's much milder conditions. 

Her piercing, indigo eyes followed the labyrinth of cracks between the wooden planks as she stepped nonchalantly towards the bustling dock. The queue before her was fast-paced, and had dwindled down in just a matter of minutes as the eclectic array of passengers disembarked the privately-run ferry. Those trapped behind her sighed haughtily, and proceeded to roll their eyes in an obnoxious display of disapproval, as Marnie continued to move painfully lackadaisically in the direction of the dock. It was her final exhibit of reluctance to spend her summer vacation on the Outer Banks islands before she officially arrived, and she was determined to savour every last millisecond of her much-loved freedom.

"Have a nice day, Miss," a greying, middle-aged member of the ferry's crew bid her a pleasant farewell. The full, hearty smile - which had been plastered across his ochre complexion since his first interaction with the auburn-haired lady at the front of the long, winding queue - remained genuine, as he proceeded to address the insufferably impatient couple next in line. He seemed to be such a cheerful, sanguine man; in fact, everybody aboard the hell-bound vessel appeared to be detestably overjoyed to be on the island - well, except for Marnie. The bitter brunette had likened the experience to being ordered to serve a life sentence in the solitary confinements of Alcatraz - cruel, painful and inhumane.

After several hesitant steps towards the silt-covered tarmac strip which somewhat resembled a road, she halted. Her wary, sapphire eyes examined the chaotic hustle and bustle for any distinguishable sign of either of her grandparents. Although, truthfully, Marnie wasn't sure she would recognise them if they were stood centimetres in front of her and brandishing a luminous, neon sign; she hadn't physically seen her grandparents since she was four years old. Her parents' hectic and manic work schedules, and the uncomfortably long travel time between the Outer Banks and New York, meant that visiting for both parties was simply not an option. Yet, here she was, contrived to make the dire eight and a half hour journey alone - with just last month's crumpled edition of Vogue to keep her company.

"Marnie, is that you?" the sweet, honey-like voice of an elderly lady captured Marnie's attention. Her face was weathered - presumably due to the sheer amount of time she had spent under the constant and relentless gaze of the Mid-Atlantic sun, and the lack of adequate ultraviolet protection. Nevertheless, a cordial, welcoming beam still upturned the corners of her retreating lips. Her silver-tinted locks brushed against her cardigan-covered shoulders, and the dried-out ends curled upwards in a natural kink. The two front wisps had been tucked behind her pearl-baring ears, secured into place by the over-sized, diamonte-encrusted sunglasses that sat atop the crown of her head. She bared resemblance to Marnie's mother slightly; she had the same piercing, ashen eyes and high, prominent cheek bones that were decorated by a natural flush of rouge.

"Grams?" Marnie responded in a casual manner, although the answer was undoubtedly, blatantly obvious. An unidentifiable pang of emotion filled her stomach at the sight of her estranged grandmother, twisting and turning her insides in a sickly, tornado-like whirl. It was such a bittersweet reunion for the grandmother and granddaughter; Marnie had craved a reconnection with her mother's side of the family ever since her untimely death almost three years ago, however, she had always anticipated that it would be on her terms and not at the hands of her at-a-loss father. 

"Doesn't she look just like Della, Graham?" her grandmother cooed in her saccharine tone, as she took in the petite, fair-skinned beauty before her. It was almost as if she had been transported back twenty years prior, to when her own daughter was sixteen years old and had the whole island in the palm of her hands. Neither Marnie, her grandmother, nor her grandfather could deny that Marnie was a doppelganger of her mother. From the infamous, prominent cheek bones, to the luscious, peach-tinted lips, to the lustrous, cinnamon waves - she was a complete carbon copy of Della Baker-Sinclaire. To Marnie this was both a blessing and a curse; whilst being gifted with her mother's charmingly beauteous looks came with it's obvious perks, every time Marnie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she was reminded of the devastating tragedy that utterly devoured her life. That took a toll on her, as it would anybody in her position. 

"The spitting image," her grandfather agreed, taking a second to indulge in marvelling at his one and only granddaughter. A solemn expression etched itself into his dappled, ageing features as he remembered his late daughter in all of her unprecedented beauty. His sparse, silver eyebrows furrowed together in objection as his sunken, chartreuse eyes fixated on the silver, metallic ring protruding from Marnie's septum. "What's that in your nose?" he questioned almost immediately, the tone of his voice exuding absolute disapproval. There it was, what could have been a beautifully sentimental moment between a granddaughter and her estranged grandparents ruined, all because of a two dollar metal ring extruding from her septum.

"My septum piercing," Marnie's voice was impassive, and lacked emotion as she answered her grandfather - a vacant, deadpan expression occupying her doll-like features. The sporadic, coastal gust picked up ever so slightly, brushing the out of control teenag's tangled, chestnut locks across her pale face. The gentle wisps tickled against her reddening complexion, forcing the unruly brunette to turn against the direction of the much-appreciated draught. 

"Did your father consent to you mutilating your face like that?" her grandmother interrogated. A disapproving glare contorted her haggard features, as her intense, oyster eyes clouded over with the unmistakable fog of condemnation. Despite her typically gentle and innocent nature, her grandmother could be a ruthless and malevolent woman at times. Raised solely by the word of the bible, Eileen Baker stood by the preaches of the lord to determine what was right and what was wrong in life. You would be damned to oppose the word of the bible, particularly in the eyes of Eileen; it was the law of the land in the Baker household.

"He almost had a heart attack when he found out," her granddaughter admitted with an apathetic shrug of her petite, denim-covered shoulders. Although she remained nonchalant and dismissive, Marnie was cautious of her grandmother's reaction. Her mother had told her many a story of her unruly, teenage escapades on the Outer Banks islands, and how they were to the utmost discontent of her grandmother. Obtaining a ticket back to her concrete sanctuary was a game of tactic and strategy - divulging further details of how she had actually pierced her septum herself, during a booze-fuelled weekend across the river, would condemn her to the island for the rest of eternity. That was simply a life Marnie could not fathom, nor was she even willing to bear. 

"Well, there will be no more of that, young lady. You must ask our permission before you do anything," the ageing lady enforced her regime, an earnest glint occupying the cobalt speckles of her smokey eyes. She was resolute in straightening out her wayward granddaughter, just as she had with her own rebellion-filled daughter. It was her expectation that a bit of tough love and discipline would do the trick - however, the incessant niggling suspicion at the back of her mind urged her to prepare for an all out battle with the doe-eyed hellcat. 

Marnie merely responded with a sickly-sweet smile of compliance. You had to choose your combats wisely with a woman like Eileen Baker if you were to ever reign supreme; it was an insignificant surrender to aid in a much more momentous war. At this moment in time, the element of surprise was her only weapon. Her grandparents would be expecting resistance, defiance and contention - anything but a submission. Giving in to their demands so effortlessly was a certified means of coercing them into loosening their restraints. Perhaps it would even compel them to question why she had been exiled to the Outer Banks in the first place. Well, she could only hope.

The tearaway teen had counted thirty seven steps until they had reached her grandparents' battered and bruised pickup truck. It was parked perfectly parallel to the sand-covered stone curb, a mere stones throw away from the main dock. It was an old make; the wheel alloys were scuffed and scraped to glory, and the North Carolina sun had faded the chipped, maroon paint over time. An almost invisible line of dints graced the side of the trailer - which Marnie only noticed when she struggled to haul her over-packed, stuffed-to-the-brim duffle bag over the side. She was thankful that her grandfather had opted to lift the offensively-bright fuchsia suitcase she had also dragged down the coast with her as she knew exactly how much that weighed. Whilst boarding her bus in Brooklyn, the driver had informed her that her suitcase was drastically over the permitted twenty kilogram weight limit and had issued her with a twenty five dollar fee to cover the extra weight of her case. 

Clambering into the passenger side of the pickup truck, Marnie fished around in the pocket of her over-sized, denim jacket for her headphones. The wires were knotted together after being carelessly shoved into the unzipped pouch of the acid-washed jean. It took her a few frustrating seconds to free the entangled wires, but, nevertheless, it was a victory. Placing the buds in her pierced ears, Marnie turned her attention towards the window; a pattern of splatters decorated the glass, indicating that the truck hadn't been cleaned in some time. However, her luminous, cerulean eyes could still peer out and admire the picturesque scenery. In actual fact, the battery on Marnie's phone had died several hours previously and there was a steady wave of absolute silence blasting through the old, well-used wires. It was merely a successful ploy to deter her grandparents from launching into the impending lecture on her reckless and impulsive behaviour. She was sure to receive the reprimanding speech at some point, but for the duration of the journey to her grandparents' house she desired to be alone with her thoughts. 

The drive across the island was considerably longer than Marnie had expected. Her idea of the Outer Banks islands was a series of small islands which you could walk the length and breadth of in a matter of half an hour, where everybody lived in wooden, beach-front huts - but she couldn't have been more wrong. Of course, there were your standard, shanty shacks that lined the shoreline, but there were also rows upon rows of enormous, architectural properties with beautifully landscaped gardens and extravagant yachts docked on their private jetties. It was almost as if the island had been split in two; it was a contradictory clashing of a vacational haven for the financially privileged and the mundane existence for the menial working class. Her grandparents lived on the cusp of both extremes - owning a newly-built house with a small plot of land. Nevertheless, they hadn't quite met the highbrow criteria for acceptance into the island's country club. Despite his retirement, Marnie's grandfather was a working man at heart and had spent the majority of his life earning a living as a commercial fisherman in the local waters. Her family very much belonged to the working class side of the island and were very much proud of their humble beginnings. 

As the beat-up, old pickup truck pulled into the paved driveway, Marnie caught a fleeting glimpse of a boy stood on her grandparents' porch. Through the dust-coated windshield, she could make out his vague silhouette; he stood approximately six foot tall and had broad, square shoulders. His arms appeared to be sculpted and muscular, showcasing the signature, subtle bulging around his biceps and triceps. A washed-out, salmon snapback sat comfortably atop his head, as the remnants of his untamed, dark curls peeked beneath the brim of his hat. His jawline wasn't particularly defined, but Marnie could make out it's squared-off outline from the glaring rays that penetrated the shelter of the porch. 

"John B, what can I do for you?" her grandfather's deep, assertive voice projected towards their house. His tone was inquisitive as he proceeded towards the two-story build, the cluster of keys to his beloved pickup truck clasped firmly in the palm of his calloused, well-worked hand. A concerned, yet quizzical, expression graced his wrinkled features - mimicking his intrigued inflection. 

"Mr Heyward sent me with your groceries," the boy - who Marnie's grandfather had identified as John B - answered neutrally, holding up the unbranded, plastic carrier bags of groceries he had been tasked with delivering. His muscles tensed under the strain of lifting the hefty bags, the contours of his muscles being ever more evident as his bronzed complexion glistered celestially under the harsh light of the subtropical sun. He was a polarising contrast to the boys in Brooklyn, especially the boys that Marnie had acquainted herself with. Her male friends tended to be worryingly pasty, ridiculously gangly, and often came with one type of serious drug addiction or another. 

"Thank you, son," her grandfather acknowledged the boy before him, retrieving the several bags of essential groceries. The greying, olive-skinned man took a few moments to inspect the neatly-packed groceries - confirming that he had indeed received the entirety of the goods he ordered. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his dry lips, flashing an appreciative grin at the young Routledge boy. "You let Mr Heyward know that I'll square it with him when I see him, won't you?"

"Of course, Mr Baker," John B nodded politely, before proceeding to make his way down the painted, wooden porch steps. His off-white Converse padded lightly against the painted, cedar wood steps, as he adjusted his salmon snapback. The boy flashed a cordial smile at both Marnie and her grandmother as he passed them by, and nodded once again in a polite acknowledgement of both ladies. He may have been raised by his single father, but John B had been raised right. His father was a stickler for manners; if there was one thing he would instil in his only son, other than his intimate knowledge of the local waters, it was good manners. 

"Oh, John B," the sugary, dulcet voice of Mrs Baker attracted the wavy-haired boys attention once again, compelling him to turn on the heels of his worn-in, off-white sneakers, "this is our granddaughter, Marnie. She's staying with us for the summer." In response to her grandmother's sudden introduction, Marnie plastered an evidently forced, caustic smile across her fair features. She raised her dainty palm in an impassive manner, and waved almost sarcastically at the sun-kissed boy before her. It was her grandmother's improvised attempt to make her granddaughter feel more at home on the island - introducing her to the local kids would aid her in making friends, and having friends would make the place more bearable for the New York native. Well, so her grandmother thought. 

"Uh, hey," he spoke a little uneasy, unsure what to make of the situation that was abruptly unfolding in front of him. His dark, umber eyes peered downwards at the girl before him; her glossy, mahogany wisps cascaded down her back - yet to be touched by the moisture-sucking salt suspended in the ocean's playful waves, and her light, blemish-less skin exhibited a healthy glow. Her doe-like, ultramarine orbs reflected the suns rays, yet still managed to hold an unidentifiable darkness within their malachite speckles. She was, undoubtedly, beautiful - as insinuated by her model-like features and svelte, athletic figure. "Me and my friends are having a get together at the boneyard later, you should drop by."

Marnie's cold, callous eyes followed her grandmother’s nimble silhouette, watching intently as the short, silver-haired lady leisurely strolled up the ivory-painted porch steps and towards the front door. Sure she was out of earshot, the fair-skinned girl relaxed her prominent features from their strained contortion, "no need to roll out the welcome wagon, I'll be gone by this time next week. You won't even remember I existed by the end of summer." 

"Suit yourself,” John B responded with an apathetic, slightly confused shrug of his broad, shirt-clad shoulders. 

Taglist: @drewsephsmiles @spilledtee @bellaguarneri @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @milamaybank @jjtheangel @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @jjouterbanks @ptersparkers @jjcultmain​ @summerintheobx​ @captainpogue​ @rudyypankow​ @rudypankow-whore​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ 

#outer banks #obx #john b routledge #john b #chase stokes #jj maybank #rudy pankow #pope heyward #johnathon daviss #kiara carrera #madison bailey #rafe cameron #drew starkey #sarah cameron #topper thornton #austin north #outer banks smuit #outer banks fluff #outer banks angst #john b routledge smut #john b routledge fluff #john b routledge angst #john b smut #john b routledge imagine #john b imagine #john b routledge series #john b series #john b x reader #john b routledge x reader #john b x reader smut

[girlofthefandom]

Tales from the smp thoughts and random quotes I enjoy (essentially delayed live blogging) Part 1

I love all these npcs already

“Hurry up camera man!”

Yes! Gladiators! I remember seeing someone say that idea

Just some joes

Porkeous the 7th. Oh no I can see the fan girls now.

Yes! Punch em off!!

“Yeah same.”

“That’s good cause I don’t” “we build a new colosseum every time”

I can’t want to see the names of everyone’s characters. Especially Philz’

Stairs everyone’s worst enemy

Tubbo... sweet child

She disappeared!! Witch craft! Burn the witch!

Tubbo=Jacky (forced off streets)

Fundy=Laggius Maximus (I love this name so much with the spinning)

Please don’t kill both the boys in this fight. But also I’m cheating for Laggius.

Subbin Empire? Subbin to Technoblade!

Go Laggius! This is not going to go well... this is really not going to go well...

No I refuse to root for Jacky. I like Laggius the bit will be funnier later.

I want to know what happened to the last camera guy! Let us know!

Vertical feeling! Heaven forbid! Also look at them insulting TikTok

I love the background music. Feels magical.

A lovely jump

Surprises... well that’s ominous. And wait the first one!

Tower! Towers are always good.

We got our popcorn. Ready to watch this fight.

Laggius is... coming... maybe...

GG Jacky... he hasn’t won yet but gg.

Lava!!!! Hooray! Love us some good lava

Poor Laggius... he was burning too early

And Laggius is still lagging

Why isn’t Jacky burning?? He won???

Knocked unconscious in the lava. What is this a Pokémon game?

GG Jacky.

Nobody needs to know the way around here.

“Almost like a video game” just break that fourth wall right down

Keeps looking at sapnaps character and talking about strong. How sweet. We love some fiancé’s.

Please don’t throw Laggius to the wolves

Jack Manifold = Bartholomew

Phil having to translate. I love it.

Watson = Phil

Good pun. Very good pun.

Nobody likes Punz. Gosh everyone’s so mean

We love Watson. Let’s go Watson.

Bartholomew with the drugs and Watson.

Crazy drunk man with fire resistance

I agree with Watson why did we come to this cousin.

Sapnap in a hole

Also I love the drinking age being 3

Let’s go Watson!!!

Where are my Pom poms? I’ve got a Watson to cheer for.

Execute those architects.

And their first Borns.

Watson! Watson! Watson!

“Welcome to the land of the living Bartholomew.”

I love the slow fight.

Come on Watson shoot em!

Oh no. Oh no. Come on Watson. You’re so close!

Noooooooooo.

Why Bartholomew???? I can’t spell that! I’ve been relying on autocorrect this whole time.

Watson would be so much easier to spell.

Still must go down the stairs.

Speed running life. That’s what I do.

No one dies. Just take them to nurse joy.

Poor Punz being so bullied

Punz=Levi

Levi? Really? Oh well I like the name. He won’t like but I like the name.

Also why does Levi have such a full backstory.

Has weapon hands with a horrible southern accent. I love it.

“Hmmm”

Who is Ol’ Sap?

Sapnap = John

And no creativity apparently.

Laggius had the best name for a gladiator. All the others are too boring.

Why are we beating up BBH

Hannah=Genevieve

Genevieve! I can spell that thanks to old Barbie movies!!

Go Genevieve! Trained her life! I love this woman!

Mostly women upstairs. I love it our fandom is so biased.

“Are you sure about that?”

Darlin? Really that’s not the right word.

Go Genevieve! I probably shouldn’t cheer for her since everyone I’ve cheered for has lost.

But still GO GENEVIEVE!!

Our empire is millions in dept

Let’s step up the battle! Let’s gooooo

“Ayyyyy!!!”

Go Genevieve! Levi hush up with your gills.

Jump in! Splish Splash!

Wait why are we listening to Mario Kart music? Wait I recognize this song.

Go Genevieve!!

YES FINALLY! I PICKED THE WINNER!

Levi hush. You done lost messed up southern boi.

Go Genevieve! I can actually spell your name!

I straight forgot Porkeous the 7ths name for a second and had to check my notes.

Stairs. Woop de doo.

“Pick the most handsome” wow

Ol’ Sap = John as I remember. And he’s sticking with it. Bold man sticking with it.

Ranboo = Ran

Just Ran and it’s just the enderman part of the skin. Haha. Very funny.

BBH = Edward

He went from strange voice to normal(ish) voice

I don’t like Edwards speech pattern. At the very least. Yucky.

John v. Edward letsa go

Go John!

Wait we renaming? This is going to get confusing.

Handsome. Can you two quit flirting (not really keeping going)

Alrighty then Ugly v. Edward

Go Ugly! (Sentence I never expected to type)

The seat thing

And saying king Julien. Sigh.

Just BRB real quick.

Thinking about buying things. Oh he meant ad.

Alright Ad 1/3 let’s go.

No I can’t even open chat to watch them instead of the ad. Boooo.

2/3 let’s get this done!

3/3

Snickers just loading for forever

Alrighty we survived.

And a crown really? Just wants his normal skin back.

Let’s go Ugly!

Bo-at battle! Let’s go!

Please don’t shoot Ugly.

Go Ugly!

“King Are you ok!”

I still hate Edwards speech pattern so much

Please. Just pretend to have a fair fight.

The rabbits???? Cant rabbits swim?

Hooray rabbits! I don’t what purpose they serve but I love them.

Edward or Edwardo? Did I miss something?

Ok it seems both.

Shooting a rabbit? Disowner on you disowner on your cow.

Killing pets reference? The references are so good.

YES UGLY!!!! Thank heavens!

I’m 2/4 for choosing the winner.

I hope ugly keeps on winning

“Colosseum Remote Control”

3 in 1 battle how did they not plan correctly for an even number

Nerds hold cameras you heard it here folks

I don’t want to hear deeper for some of these stories. All I want to see is Genevieves further story. She seems deep.

“Massive pigs growling at us. No offense”

Watson trying to clean the table.

We bringing in the Harmonika.

Harmonika fits the moment.

Yes name him handsome! Haha

Grievous is how I’m spelling that stupid sounding name. But it’s better than John and ugly.

I can’t get over the name Ran.

BE GONE LEVI!

I love Watson having to take care of Bartholomew. Translating for him and waking him up.

Phil just can’t resist playing the dad.

No no stopping just fighting.

Also I love Watson saying break it up. I wish Watson had won.

Genevieve sounds like such a lovely lady and she deserves to win.

As much as I love Grevious I want Genevieve to win.

Sapnap=Grevious good gracious this is hard to follow.

Ran is cool. I’m going to kill over listening to them just saying Ran.

Complicated backstory. Found the main character.

Ran is cool.

Wait this place is going down??? Pardon me???

Three person fight is...

Grevious v. Ran v. Bartholomew

Genevieve v. Jacky

Puns! Let’s go! And of course Levi likes Puns.

Everyone is so mean.

GO GENEVIEVE!

And Watson just babysitting Bartholomew

I’m going to get good at spelling Bartholomew. Because I was horrible at it before.

Empire of women!

Cages=Lava

“Mmm what smells good”

Battle star!!

“Boing Boing Boing”

Water dome?

Water Dome in Lava?

Well he tried zombies/bunnies

Lava in the water sphere?

Only fight at top of fishbowl got it.

GO GENEVIEVE!

Come on girl you’ve got this!

No Genevieve babe please don’t lose.

“The boats going down.” “It’s yelling timber.” “Like that song that hasn’t been made yet.”

Hurry up and die. I love it.

NO GENEVIEVE!!!!!

Do do do do

That was a longer fight. But pretty good.

To the cellars! Not to the cellars!

No! The boat is gone!

That was close.

This feels like a funky Pokémon game.

Jacky is a finalist! Good for him. I’m not cheering for him but good for him.

TRIANGLE FORMATION

Who’s missing? Oh wait it’s Bartholomew

“Intense prison cosmetic surgery”

Rabbits! We love rabbits.

Oh no faceplant mode!

What is even happening?!?!

Thinking creatively.

Just don’t die. What a game.

Cant wait to watch the thinking creatively animatic.

In a boat to avoid floating.

Attack!

Go Ran!

Oh we’re lagging.

Disable the dive mode!

The zombies are a bit much. Oh everyone’s actually fighting.

Rats why weren’t there baby zombies when Watson was going. They even made a Phil reference.

No treaties.

Go Ran! Keep on running away.

I love Ran.

GO RAN! I love Grevious. But GO RAN

Faster Zombies. Zombies go zoom.

Oh Grevious won.

Wait why does Ran have grass and why do they see him again.

Placing more dirt to clean old dirt.

Poor Grevious.

I feel sorry for him now.

Stand on da dirt.

Put the rabbits in the cages!!!!

I cheer for Grevious.

And yes there are many a loser.

Everything is so spicy. As in lava is there.

You can’t kick your fiancé’s future descendent out of the gang.

A full inventory

Watson with the backup button!

Seriously all he can do is be a dad.

OH BOY LAGGIOUS IS BACK!

And he’s here for the picture.

And Watson is (still) bullying him!

Bartholomew is pure trouble.

Ooops. The root beer was on the brain.

Watson! Come get your drunk!

Oh wait he actually did! I love this so much.

Petition for more Phil in Tales.

Only Genevieve voting for Jacky

Some people refusing to vote.

I’m sorry who asked if Laggius is ok.

He is always (not) ok

He is fine. See.

I love Laggius’ character the most.

Go winners!

Reformed kinda. If that doesn’t sum up the whole of the smp.

All the grass in the cage.

And Laggius being his slow self.

Nothing v. General

I love how it went from King to Emperor to King

And there is Laggius.

I don’t know how anyone else is spelling Laggius but I like this way and refuse to edit it if it actually spelled different.

Oh we’re getting more ads.

1/3 let’s go

#tales from the smp #tftsmp #dreamsmp #dsmp #delayed liveblogging

[district2001]

Mousebusters  Part 1.

Seventeen AU: 14th member

Jangmi x SVT

Recap: Jangmi during part 1 of GOSE ‘Mousebusters’

Words: 1.1k

AN: Requests are OPEN: Please please please send me what you want to see from Jangmi. I’m also open to feedback :)

Jangmi’s Masterlist

“Mr Brainturn” Vernon suggested, causing English line (who were ironically sitting on either side of him) to start laughing hysterically.

“In sync. In sync.” Jangmi added, in English, causing all 3 of the members to look directly into the camera and say the line whilst rotating their fingers

“Ok ok. What about Jangmi?” Dino asked.

How about Mr… wait no. Miss..” Jangmi couldn’t finish her sentence, as she was laughing hysterically at her mistake.

“Jangmi’s decided she’s had enough changing the Korean language, that she’s now changing English aswell” Seungkwan joked, causing Jangmi to throw her bucket hat at him.

She missed. Obviously. But the threat was still there.

The main vocalist death glared her but continued taking ideas for her name. “Mr not Miss”

“Mr Timtam”

“Mr burned the pancakes this morning.” Jangmi scoffed at Seungcheol’s idea. That ungrateful brat was mocking her cooking skills, to the world. She made a mental note to not give him any pancakes next time.

“Mr Maknae” Mingyu suggested.

“Ohhhh it has alliteration” Jangmi said to Josh, flaunting her English skills, whilst dramatically flipping her hair. She was the best English speaker in Seventeen for a reason.

Soon they all had stupid nicknames, some stupider than others (Dino’s took the cake) and were given 2 hours to find the mice.

Jangmi decided to pair up with Mingyu and Jeonghan (mainly because she knew that Jeonghan wouldn’t run much). She was immediately happy with her decision, once they asked the drone director to see where the 96’ line were.

They sent the pawns (Mr Chew & Mr Gilette) to go find them, whilst they then decided to split up.

Within 5 minutes, she heard Jeonghan screaming that he had seen one of the rodents.

“Should we run and catch him?” She asked her camera man, who shrugged, letting her make the final decision.

“Nah” Answering her own question, she continued walking around the lot, ignoring Jun’s pleads for help.

When passing one of the buildings, she suddenly stopped and took her phone out. Causing her camera man to ask what she was doing.

She signalled for him to wait, until she showed her phone to the screen. It was a picture of her when they shot ‘Aju Nice,’ which was coincidently filmed at the same location.

“Can you please help me recreate this picture?” Jangmi asked nicely, giving the cameraman no choice but to help her out.

Jangmi recreated her signature pose during their earlier era’s, which was just a basic peace sign and her biggest smile.

Their photoshoot session was interrupted by Mr Chew, who told them that they needed to head back to base.

“What were you even doing?” Vernon questioned, using a tissue to dab the sweat of his face.

“Fan Service” Jangmi replied proudly, showing off her new pictures, which caused Vernon to roll his eyes.

“Ok so we know what Woozi’s power is, we just need to find the other three?” She asked, still unsure of the rules.

“Yup. He can only use his power 2 more times though.” He answered, looking around cautiously, just incase there was a mouse sighting.

There was none.

Once they landed back in base, they started running back out again. Except Jeonghan and Jangmi who went straight to the drone director again. Brains not brawns was their motto.

They then decided to walk around the lot, and were soon accompanied by Seungcheol.

“You haven’t run at all?” He accused, as soon as she saw Jangmi.

She smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and ran away from her leader.

“Don’t you run away from me!” He yelled. “Come back right now. You didn’t answer my question. Ya!...” She didn’t make out what the rest he was saying, as she was too busy laughing with her camera man, who was running for the first time this episode.

She stopped as soon as they turned the corner and dropped down on her knees.

“Never again” She whined, her breaths deep and heavy. Hopefully her personal trainer won’t watch this episode, because man would she get a scolding. And then probably be forced to get p early and go for runs. Disgusting.

After sitting on the floor for a good five minutes, she then decided that she should do the bare minimum and help her team.

“I think we should focus on finding Hoshi. I bet you my signed Nuest album that he’s hiding somewhere.” Jangmi spoke directly into the camera, with 100% confidence.

So her Camera Man and her walked up and down the endless rows of tarp, to find the performance leader.

Unfortunately for her, every piece of tarp she picked up had none of the 95′ line hiding inside. Although one had a nest of ants, which cause Jangmi to scream for her life.

Bless the audio directors.

She wondered what the purpose of all the tarp coverings were, besides making her life miserable.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she saw one of the tarps move ever so slightly. She wouldn’t have second guessed it because it was quite windy, but the wind was momentarily at a standstill.

Jangmi motioned for the camera to come closer, as well as signalling everyone around her to be quiet.

“I don’t think anyones here.” Jangmi yelled loudly. “I think I’m going to go over to Warehouse 18.” 

She lied.

She slowly, yet stealthily, moved towards the off white plastic sheet-

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Jangmi and her camera man both jumped. So much for her plan. Way to ruin in Wonwoo.

Wait. Wonwoo the mouse.

“Sorry” She bowed to her camera man before running after the mouse, squirting some coloured paint on his back.

“Come here you little shit!” She screamed, as Vernon overtook her. She really needed to work on her cardio.

“Oh wait! Come here to little mouse.” The editors and Pledis would probably prefer using that.

Jangmi pushed her arms back and forth, forcing her legs to keep up with the rest of her boys. She wasn’t doing a very good job, as the other mousebusters were either ahead of her or running beside her.

“I’m too tired” She exclaimed to no one, drawing out a deep breath of air.

Her legs were not listening to her brain, and she could tell that her breathing was having a slight wheeze to it.

Soon she couldn’t even see the mouse that she was meant to be catching, and therefore decided that there was no point in her running and causing her heart to nearly give way.

She came to a gradual stop, and turned around to find her camera man not even having broken a sweat.

Jangmi pleaded whilst clasping both her hands together. “Can you edit this so I look like I run fast. Or that I ran a long distance. And not the length of 2 warehouses. Please.”

The camera director only smiled, causing Jangmi to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I only stopped running because I felt bad for you following me carrying the camera. See how considerate I am. You should give me more screentime.”

Previous: Privacy

Next: Hit the Road

Next GOSE Episode: Catch Stock Part 1

#seventeen #svt #going seventeen #going svt #gose #mousebusters #seventeen 14th member #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen oc #seventeen imagine #kpop #kpop au #kpop!female #kpop!oc #svt au #svt oc #seventeen series #requests open #kpop oc #kpop!female member #kpop female oc

[minjungfmd]

butterfly / creative claims verification

writing verification for @fmdjiah‘s butterfly. an instrumental inspired by the dreaminess of a movie, and lyrics that write a love story that feels like a remnant of a dream. warnings / none wc / 1687, not including lyrics 

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

despite how many times she’s repeated the movies in her head — set forth with the question of whether any erasure of the memory counts towards the steps of healing — she finds something new.

this time, the fixation on the cinematic score, an ethereal dream shifting the pieces of fragments of fiction versus reality prompts her fingers on the keyboard to start trickling a series of notes, one by one. trickling dainty, delicately. it mimics the tempo of classically thought-of harps, and the note leads to a drag over one and another. and when inspiration hits, she goes straight towards her home-studio, the new file of a blank screened ableton before the record starts, and she carries the notes, letting the settings hit almost to the notch of mute.

there’s no heavy emphasis, just the trickle of notes she wants to carry the dream of the track. it’s the lucid dreams, the ones that feel like when you’re drunk on little hours of sleep with heavy eyelids, and a heavy heart to match. the nostalgia that comes in waves, just like the gentle sounds to lull you to sleep, knowing full well you can’t.

she imagines the song to have a feeling, the lyrics that are sung in a way it just drags. heels in the ground, one word blending into another in a sultry emotion that counteracts the nostalgia lodged in the song — makes note of that for later, but for now, inaudible words, just phasing past her lips in small ideas of how the melody goes.

she takes the first one, the counter-progression of the initial notes as she hums the words, taking two notes forward in the same pitch before the other falls back. it all contrasts by the time she takes a stark turn, starting another line with a higher note, only to transition down. her pen jots the time stamp, a possible falsetto? she leaves that to later judgement.

but work doesn’t always come in a streamlined process, just as it’s hard to solidify ideas one by one, in a cohesive manner. instead, it comes wayward from all angles, and she falls back to the instrumental, taking in the slow bpm tempo — leading with a possible chord, heavy on the synth to start each trickle of keys. this time, the setting’s louder, spotlighting the attention to the thickness of the beginning, setting up for the entirety of the dream.

-

when she falls back on the track, she finds herself doused in inspiration days later. working on bits and pieces, martyring it like a puzzle still to be written. she takes her notes, one by one, still no lyrics at hand but an idea of non-coherent words and strings of random sentences — the heaviness of the chords, the synth and the trickle of keys she alters with editing, building up from the minimalism of the keys to heaviness of the synth by the time she picks where she sees the chorus.

vibrato on the voice, drag the end.

she writes that down, singing along empty words — a more powerful vocal execution, even where her own struggles. a dip before the vibrato and the drags paint the canvas whole.

the song’s not for her, least not when the power dynamics of the song — the counteraction between the softness of the dream with the voices of reality are centered around the song. the verses carry themselves alone before she takes in a different set of notes, speeding them up towards the end. a nameless track with an empty story — it’s the skeletons of something, maybe someday it’ll come into fruition.

— 

the song repeats itself in her head, like a taste of irony. it bleeds into her thoughts when she’s drifting back, lost in the middle of a meeting — the dreamy synths drowning out the talks of the executives, and by the time she spares a few hours, she’s already back into the studio, notebook wide scribbling down rudimentary sketches of clouds and figures.

turns out, it’s another love song struck in her mind when dreams entice a figure of her past that comes to haunt her in sweet memories, too sweet to be drowned out by any erasure.

she writes the first few words:

drawn in a dream that i can’t wake up from i was still looking for you

it’s like sleep walking, or some wicked form of lucid dreaming. walking around in circles hoping for a figure of the past keeping up — but the reality brings to a limbo that leaves her double questioning the thoughts of what’s real and what’s fake if the thing she’s looking for all along becomes the centerpiece  that all draws to him.

because she knows, optimistic thinking. wishful dreaming — it all dies the second dreams blur with reality, and what’s sitting in front of her becomes the hopes and wishes she spent her 11:11s and pennies on. her breath held still, a person of permanency to become exposed right in front of only to realize the first taste becomes like the first hit of a drug that takes over the body in full throttle. exhilaration, and addition all lying on the first whiff, putting her on a cloud nine, skies above her head. no recollection for the past nor future when the present feels so good.

now that i found you i can’t wake up i can’t escape from you

but even addicts have their downfall and the high doesn’t last long. least not when the shaky withdrawals of a person no longer being there starts to breed the downfall for a constant lingering feeling of wanting something that’s not there. she knows it, and she’s sure anyone else does too — the way he’s there and then poofs into fine air, the remnants of the cologne left on his clothes the only piece to tether her back (only, that’s a lie. it’s always been a lie when the memory becomes the final force of red string tethering her still).

in the end, he’s not a creature to be caved in nor is she a creature meant to stay still. freedom lingers like a butterfly always waiting at the end, with the only possibility of hope: maybe, someday it’ll return.

even if i struggle to hold onto you’re still like a butterfly

she wonders how she became a lovelorn addict in the first place. how she became jaded by the pinky promises and breaths shared underneath the blanket. heartbeats playing in sync, and the gleam in her eye that writes the story for a future left unwritten — little did she know, it’d be left as the future untold. 

if anything, it’s pride that tells her to regret. prevent the beggar nature to fall onto her knees and plead for a sense of freedom — because the more she thinks, the more she dwindles and the pang in her gut grows. 

she writes down her pleas here, because if not here — then anywhere housed in her thoughts would topple over the self-ruination in.

let go of my tired heart the deeper i get, the smaller i become the one that got away, making my heart more painful

it’s a pity song, a pitied dream. one word after the other scrawling itself across the pages. yet, the journal houses the same old song written fifteen different ways, each word, each sentence staking the same words unspoken to a boy she can’t bring herself to call. empty lines, and empty text messages — erased, then re-written over and over. and the only remedy becomes the hope that someday it’ll enter his own ears through the speakers — because in the end, she falls inside cowardice. falls too short, becomes a coward to bring herself to say it out loud: i miss you. i hate you. but i can’t regret you.

-

like a school girl, she carries her harddrive close to her chest. crossed again, hidden behind a mask as she finds her way, her own unwelcomed entrance coming in a peek through the doors before she steps into the studio. her hands toss the disk to her friend, sitting happily in front of the desk — he’s a free soul, unbridled by any company and a worker to all. still, friendship crosses work boundaries when she comes in for a second set of ears, and he picks up on the one-two cues already halfway plugging the drive into the computer.

“i want to add a series of chords, guitar — but i can’t get the right set, or the right set.” it’s her concession, when she hums along what she means, fingers already pointing to a screen at the set time point. “i’ve added in as much synth as you could see — heavy handed especially where the chorus blurs into the second verse, and the end of each line to exude that cloudy blur i want in this song. but here.” her nails tap once more at the screen. “i want this weird chord style, where it’s somewhere between electric and acoustic, heavier than the piano that carries the song.” 

too many words, and she waits in the silence, arms crossed against her chest — awaiting an answer. but she knows, her friend works in silence, taking in the entire song the whole way through before parting his lips to give any sort of answer.

“you could add it towards the end of the song? the entire beginning sounds too heavy on the synth to add anything else.”

she weighs her choices, a song spurned on by inspiration. yet, she stands in a limbo of not knowing what to do, and what to add. instead, she tilts her head, lips unevenly pursed to the side of her face. “could we try adding chords? but the specific settings of an unplugged electric guitar”

“you don’t think it’ll clash?”

“if we keep it silenced enough it doesn’t drown out the keys, i think it could work.”

her friend motions over to the lines of guitar stockpiled in the side of the room, “take your pick.”

her hands gravitate towards the first guitar, taking a seat on the couch behind them. uncertain, she motions with a nod to play back the instrumental of the song, void of her guide vocals, strumming one take to the next. it all leads to a simple c, and she flicks her gaze up, a eureka gloating in her eyes. “it’s this.”

#famedverification #fmdverification

[parkerxchesteruwu]

Chapter 1: Danger

Beads of sweat fell from his face as he struggled to keep his breath manually altered, rhythmic and tranquil, holding himself from the flickering flame beneath his own skin. He could feel the wick he’d shown to the world slowly begin to spark; a lighter was being held up against his heart and he was letting it happen.

He’d always found himself to be the skeptical type - never stopping to listen to something out of his own field of view. Even the most stubborn were aware of their own stubborn tendencies. But now, in this light, when things were dim, he’d become open to possibility. Whether crawling too close to the moonlit fire was dangerous was up for interpretation.

“Parker..”

His own name rolled off the tongue of the man beneath him. The darkness struggled to highlight the smaller’s features, but even now he could pinpoint the rigid jawline and angular facial characteristics of his best friend. What had led them to be so close, lips moments away from connecting, was beyond him - one booze after another fogs the brain. His breaths were labored, and smelt like alcohol. He knew it was only the chemicals in his brain that were making him act like this; and even so, it felt right. The crisp lines of light from the half-open blinds shining illumination onto the other man’s features told him so. In the harshness - helplessness of the moment, he couldn’t help but say his friend’s name back.

“Chester.”

-

“Hey, dude, come have a look at this.”

Parker’s eyelids fluttered at his best friend’s voice. He stood in the corner of the room the two of them always found themselves in; Parker’s kitchen, where they’d edit content for money and split the pay at the end. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy making videos to put on youtube, though there were cons. Having corporate business owners ask him, ‘What do you do for a living?’ was a problem in itself. But he knew he had it well enough. 

Parker responded to Chester’s words with a frenzied smile - he knew the drowsiness of the half-open blinds revealing nothing but black and strips of illumination were getting to him. Sleepless nights of editing footage for a video that’d probably get copyright stricken within a day did numbers on the man’s strength to stay awake. His ambition to work normally coincided with his desire to create - his stubborn tendencies, maybe. He’d been told in his early childhood something along the lines of ‘When you start things, you see it through to its completion’. Parker supposed that was productive in all the ways it could be; but in terms of his mental health, that’s where things plummeted. 

Without a worded response, Chester’s eyes darted to the figure making his way over, and he cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms, leaning back on the wooden chair he comfortably sat at. “Can’t you turn on the lights or something?” He stifled back a chuckle at Parker’s drowsy state, “The blinds are making your forehead look shinier than your career.”

“Our career,” Parker retaliated with a playful undertone. Their banter was always something he savored with a gentle delicacy - it was something only they could have, and it was personal. Their mixing personalities intertwining together to make whatever their lives were brought a special touch to Parker’s daily struggle. It was the lighter of an unlit hole - the fire in a dark cave. Something he held onto with a passion. A stubborn, arrogant passion.

Chester smiled with sincerity. “Anyway, take a look.” His hands gestured to a laptop screen with its brightness at the lowest setting - requested by Parker himself - displaying an email inbox they’d come back to every couple of weeks. the same old same old, but he savored it. He savored everything when it came to Chester.

“What am I looking at?” Parker bit back a grin. He could feel his friend’s all-so-familiar glare seething into his features, and then came the scoff. “The email.” Parker saw it crystal clear. “Which one?”

“Parker.” Chester’s tone was a little more serious, and he still managed to forget he was smiling. Parker could pinpoint the exact curvature he’d see when the smaller man grinned. It was something he did a lot, according to Parker; he was bad at pretending to feel something he wasn’t. Lying was a given weak point, too. 

“Sorry, sorry.”

His eyelids drifted into pale submission as Parker found himself lowering to Chester’s point of view - he stared at the screen and read through what he was instructed to; a video proposal, and an idea. A muttered “What do you think?” came from his best friend, left unto Parker. Parker’s thoughts.

“I think,” He began, leaning upwards again and placing a hand on the table Chester sat at, gripping the wooden ledge. “We should worry about it tomorrow.” The light dripping through from the half-open blinds hit his irises in just the right spot and he had to blink. “Be serious.” Parker bit back with a nonchalant glare. “Be quiet.”

He found his feet propelling him to a colder part of the kitchen, locking eyes with the food-bank; the fridge. Unstable cognition and the need for relief brought his hands to the freezer, pulling on the handle in safety. He felt safe, like this. 

He could feel Chester’s eyes glued onto his figure. He reached into the freezing compartment and grabbed hold of an icy cold beer - a bottle he could hold onto without it slipping from his hands. His hands fit around it nicely. He stopped for a moment, and in the silence he’d grabbed another - not for himself, but for his friend.

“You can’t get drunk while we’re working.” Chester scoffed, typing away at his laptop’s keyboard. “Nobody said I was getting drunk. Just a few drinks, is all..” He closed the freezer with a nudge of his foot, “Besides. You should be thanking me.” Chester’s eyes darted from the screen to Parker’s hands and he rolled them in his realization. “I brought you one too.”

“Oh, however will I repay you for this kind act..” Chester’s sarcastic tone lingered on his words, falling off his tongue like they were meant to be. Parker took the opportunity. “Drink with me.” He found a seat next to Chester and placed the two bottles on the table, small drops of icy water falling onto the table. It probably tasted refreshing, by the look of it. Though dimly lit, it felt like they were in one of those beer ads.

To enjoy something like this with his friend was something he savored, too. Everything was held onto when it came to Chester - looks, and smiles, and words. A gentle admiration he displayed in small acts of sarcasm. He really adored his friend.. and he was surprised he’d stuck around to deal with someone like him, too.

“Just for you, your majesty.” Chester stifled an ‘annoyed’ grin and took hold of one of the bottles, leading Parker to do the same. “Cheers.”

Parker knew that he was tough to be around. Even in his good moments, he was to-the-point, and a skeptic. He’d be left with strong, solid evidence and still want to go further. He was one to go beyond his limits - his personal boundaries - and he knew it was dangerous, but the edge of it kept him going. Out with the old, and in with the new. Things were always new with Chester.

They took a swig in dismembered sync, feeling the icy cold substance fall down their throats and into their body system. It was relieving, and sharp, and had an edge to it that was dangerous. Parker knew he’d be getting drunk that night; the first sip had pulled him into that mindset. but at least he’d be getting drunk with Chester.

Drinks and drinks, laugh after laugh, his clock out of service and the night still apparent. They were in Parker’s living room now, on their 3rd, or 2nd, or something along the lines of that. Parker’s distinguishable features were covered by the blindspot of their dimly-lit illumination, as were Chester’s.

He felt safe like this. Even in his intoxicated state, he felt safe, knowing he could spend his nights savoring these moments like he always did. He savored Chester. What did it mean, to savor Chester?

“So...” Chester was in the middle of speaking through slurred sentences and giddy hiccups. He wasn’t new to the feeling of being drunk; of course, you’re not always aware of it when it happens. But he knew when Parker had sat next to him that it was how the night would end, and he’d accepted it before his mouth could say it straight.

The blinds’ lights shifted as a passing car’s headlights focused the illumination on a different part of the open spaces, and Chester’s features - his angular jawline, and rigid facial characteristics - were heightened, through the crisp sheen of light. It was only for a split second, but through the blurred moments and loss of time it felt too long to be normal. A moment where everything Parker savored was there, in front of him, in safety. He felt safe like this, in savor. But he also knew he had a knack for going over the edge. Feeling dangerous.

Before he could pinpoint what he was doing, his own desire to feel unsafe poured over him, and his glares became heavier, and more personal. He felt safe like this, but he loved to go beyond the boundary. Cross the line, just to see how it goes.

It seemed like Chester noticed it too. His breaths became shorter, but deeper, if that made any sense. The alcohol had gotten to the two of them hours ago and the air felt hot. Thick. Passing cars became the only noises beyond their own breaths. This was the taste-test of beyond savor - beyond Parker’s limit, his own morals, and his own thoughts. He knew it was weird of him to be like this. He knew it was wrong, because he’d never think of Chester of anything other than his friend. But that’s what he felt safe in, and he was ravenous for danger.

He moved closer. He liked the way danger felt. Sharp, and blunt, all at the same time. Chester’s grip on his bottle faltered as he placed his beer down on the coffee table near the couch. In his arrogance, he knew that Chester was aware of his hunger, and whether he was hungry too was beyond him.

Thick. Thick, and heavy, the air felt almost intoxicating to hold in his lungs. This was scary, and this was dangerous. The way the adrenaline pumped through him was addicting.

There was no time to savor, now. Opportunity arose and Parker was ready to fall victim to his arrogance. Once starting something, he’d see it through to its completion. 

A hand moved to Chester’s thigh, clothed in demin jean he couldn’t remember the colour of in the dim light. After a moment of thick silence and awaited protest, the flags of danger rung in his brain, realizing Chester was not stopping this. The hunger for danger.. all of it, turned to Chester, his best friend. Savoring Chester was just a fool’s copout for the hint of something more beneath his glares. No words. Just thoughts, and emotions, and silent compliance. he wanted this. Chester wanted danger, too.

Beads of sweat fell from his face as he struggled to keep his breath manually altered, rhythmic and tranquil, holding himself from the flickering flame beneath his own skin. He could feel the wick he’d shown to the world slowly begin to spark; a lighter was being held up against his heart and he was letting it happen.

He’d always found himself to be the skeptical type - never stopping to listen to something out of his own field of view. Even the most stubborn were aware of their own stubborn tendencies. But now, in this light, when things were dim, he’d become open to possibility. Whether crawling too close to the moonlit fire was dangerous was up for interpretation.

“Parker..”

His own name rolled off the tongue of the man beneath him. The darkness struggled to highlight the smaller’s features, but even now he could pinpoint the rigid jawline and angular facial characteristics of his best friend. What had led them to be so close, lips moments away from connecting, was beyond him - one booze after another fogs the brain. His breaths were labored, and smelt like alcohol. He knew it was only the chemicals in his brain that were making him act like this; and even so, it felt right. The crisp lines of light from the half-open blinds shining illumination onto the other man’s features told him so. In the harshness - helplessness of the moment, he couldn’t help but push himself onto the man, kissing him with silent fury, only to pull away and say his friend’s name back.

“Chester.”

#whatthefuckdidijustwrite fanfiction?? pleasethiswasjustmeantobeajoke chester parker paster PASTA lifeofluxury luxurypranks

[writingformadderton]

Surprise Date

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 2403

Summary: Richard is in love with Taron and wants to surprise him with a date. Not knowing what Taron likes he asks him what would be his perfect date. After some time apart it finally happens...

Additional Tags: First date, picnic, kiss, fluff, soft

Requested by anonym

It’s after the premiere of Rocketman in Cannes when the idea sparks Richard’s mind. The audience is roaring with applause, the majority of the area on their feet with appreciation for the film. It’s when Taron looks over at Richard, a sliver of something more than pride shining in his eyes. It’s when he strolls over to his best friend, embracing him in a hug that feels too close to home. It’s when things calm down and Taron is on his way back to the hotel for the night that Richard decides to swallow his pride and text him.

Hey, u wanna grab something to drink? x

Rich taps his foot anxiously in the back of the limo, thoughts bouncing through his mind. His phone buzzes almost immediately after sending the text, though, which has him picking the phone back up just as quickly as he’d set it down.

I’ve got both beer and wine here if you wanna come to my room instead. x

Rich smiles to himself, aware of what he was doing and loving how oblivious Taron was to it.

The thing is, Richard isn’t sure of Taron’s sexuality. Things would happen on set from time to time, setting off flags that he wasn’t straight, but then interviews would come out and Taron would deny any rumors surrounding that topic. “I just love a bromance” was the one sentence that Rich remembers most distinctly, raising an eyebrow at the comment. The Scot has strong feelings for the younger Welsh man, but isn’t sure how to tell him without scaring him off. In the past, it was always a fear of breaking their friendship. Now, though, he’s simply afraid of rejection from the man he’s been pining over for well over a year.

The limo stops at the curb of the road. The driver walks around to the side to open the door for Richard, sending a friendly nod and smile his way as he steps out. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, eyeing the hotel up and down once before walking inside. Richard’s room is just across the hall from Taron’s, so location isn’t an issue at all. Plus, being on the top floor gives them the most beautiful view of Cannes.

He knocks on the door which swings open almost immediately, a beaming Taron standing before him.

“We did it!” Taron exclaims, the tone of his voice mimicking the one from carpool karaoke.

Rich laughs, pulling him in for another tight hug. “Fuck, we did. I can’t believe it’s all over.”

Taron shakes his head in disbelief, “Me neither, you aren’t alone,” he steps aside to let Richard in. “so, beer or wine? 

Rich tilts his head consideringly, weighing his options before settling on beer. Taron does the same, and both men end up in the living room with the TV playing softly in the background, the only other sound filling the air being that of their conversation.

They discuss anything and everything; the film, what they thought of Cannes, their plans now that they have a bit of a break. Eventually, the energy of the room calmed down and both men sat in silence for a moment.

“Oi, that sex scene was well edited,” Taron suddenly blurts out, eyes slightly gleaming as if he’s still on cloud 9. Rich almost chokes on his beer at the statement.

“Ye can’t just say those kinds of things while a man is drinking his beer!” Rich exclaims, leaving Taron in a fit of laughter.

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right,” It gets quiet again for one moment before eye contact is made and the giggles return.

Finally, at some point in the night, the moment feels right. Richard sighs before finally speaking up.

“T, can I ask ye something?” he clears his throat and bites the inside of his cheek, waiting for Taron’s response.

“Of course, what’s up?” T shifts his body so that he’s fully facing Rich now, clearly giving him his full attention.

“So, there’s this special someone,” Rich picks at his nails while he talks. “and I want to ask them out, but I’m not sure how,”

Taron sits back with a small smile on his face. “Rich, as long as you act yourself, they have to love you. Don’t be afraid of shooting your shot when--”

“No, no, sorry. That’s not quite how I meant it,” Richard interrupts Taron, scratching the back of his neck as his nerves begin to settle. “I guess, I dunno… what’s yer perfect idea of a date?”

It gets very, very quiet.

“I just need some ideas, mate,” he chuckles nervously, watching as Taron stares off into space.

“Well,” he begins, making himself comfortable. “I would take her out for a lovely picnic. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always found them to be so romantic. In a nice field somewhere, where the view is perfect enough to see the sun set,” he stops momentarily. “I’ve always loved going for walks through parks or nature trails. Oh, laying under the stars at night is one of the most intimate settings you can get. So, if you’re hoping to get laid, that’s always worked for me,” he chuckles, finishing his little rant.

Richard, once again, laughs nervously hearing Taron say that last part. “Noted. Thanks, mate. I appreciate it,” he sighs and sits back, sipping on his beer once again. He also notes that he only used the term “she” and wonders if it’s a reflex thing, or if he truly is straight.

“Anytime. So, do I know this special someone?” Taron wiggles his eyebrows, pulling another laugh out of Rich.

”No, ye don’t,” he pauses, glancing at the time on his phone before saying once more, “ye definitely don’t.”

_

An anxious sigh leaves his lips and his hands are becoming increasingly sweaty by the minute. He taps his foot against the concrete, fiddling with the loose bracelet on his wrist. He checks the time once. Then again. And maybe a few more times.

Richard took all of Taron’s words to heart and kept them in mind for months after their late night conversation, wanting to make their date as perfect as possible. He made sure to find the best places possible for all three things that were on Taron’s list: the park, the picnic, and the stargazing. He truly just wanted a perfect evening with the man that he (secretly still) loved.

“Rich!” Taron’s voice interrupts Richard’s thoughts, pulling him from the screen of his phone and forcing his gaze to the man in front of him.

“T, I missed ye,” they hug as they usually would, but Richard feels a bit more of a spark this time. “how’ve ye been?”

Taron shrugs, crossing his arms. “Actually quite alright. I’ve spent loads of time with family and friends, how about you? Any earth-shattering news?” he raises his eyebrows as if hoping to receive exciting information.

Richard chuckles, “No, nothing interesting, sorry mate,”

“S’alright. So, any particular reason you wanted to meet up here?” Taron continues.

“No, I just missed ye and thought it was nice enough outside to spend time here rather than inside,” he explains, earning a smile from Taron.

“I agree with that one, it’s gorgeous out,”

You’re gorgeous, Richard thinks.

“Alright, first pitstop here we come,” Richard grabs Taron by the wrist gently, feeling those similar sparks once again.

“Woah, woah, woah. Where are we going?” Taron laughs, giving in and following Rich toward the nature trail.

“A special someone once told me that nature trails are the perfect location for first dates,” Rich blurts, actually feeling quite proud of that answer. When Taron doesn’t respond, Richard turns around, seeing that he’s standing still, his eyes showing curiosity and slight understanding.

“Uh huh,” is all that he says in response, making Richard’s heart drop a bit.

Fuck, he thinks to himself. This was a dumb idea, why do you always set yourself up for failure?

Despite the response, though, Rich continues their walk, shoving his hands in his pockets so that they have somewhere to rest, wishing one of them were in Taron’s own hand instead. The fall leaves truly set the scene as the sun beams through the trees, adding a lovely reflection on the ponds that they pass on their walk. The silence is strange, though. It’s new for both of them, and it’s beginning to bother Rich.

“We’ve almost reached our next pitstop,” he turns around, clapping his hands together with a smile on his face, hoping to earn one in response. Taron bites his lip and squints his eyes slightly, finally smiling in return.

“What are you up to, Madden?” he mumbles under his breath.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Rich responds, grabbing T by the wrist once more to drag him towards the field that is finally in their range of sight.

They go off the trail to enter the low-cut field, the sun continuing to beam lightly whilst beginning to set. Taron perks up a bit, then.

“Okay, here we are,” Rich shuffles so that Taron can see what he was hiding, revealing a blanket that's been tossed neatly onto the grass, a slightly old fashioned picnic basket, and two pillows to top it off. Rich inhales slowly, maneuvering toward the area he’d set up, hoping and praying to God that he gets a positive reaction from the younger man. He turns around to see just what his facial expression has to offer, and his heart melts.

“Rich,” Taron’s voice shakes lightly as he places his hands on his hips like he doesn’t know where else to put them. “did you do all of this for me?”

“Well, er-- yeah, I did.” the answer comes out in a stutter, earning a giggle from T.

“So, that special person you told me about all those months ago…” Taron trails off, putting the puzzle together.

”Yeah, that was you, darling,” Rich walks toward T so that he’s standing right in front of him, hands still in his pockets. “look, I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way, I do. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, because Jesus Christ, I am so in love with you,” Richard says this all in the most poetic manner.

Taron finally removes his hands from his jean pockets and places them lightly on both sides of Richard’s face. “You are the sneakiest little shit I have ever met,” his eyes squint again as he studies the Scot’s face.

“I may be sneaky, but--” Richard’s response is cut off quickly by Taron’s lips crashing into his own, catching him off guard. He removes his own hands from his pockets and places them lightly on Taron’s hips, pulling him closer as their mouths move in a rhythm of sorts. Taron pulls away briefly, resting his forehead against Richard’s.

“I’m the most oblivious man alive,” Taron laughs and Richard chuckles at this.

“So, ye had a slight hunch that I liked you?” Rich questions and Taron scrunches up his nose at this, which may be the cutest fucking thing Richard has seen in his entire life.

“I had a hunch, yeah. Kinda thought it was all in my head, though, 

Richard shakes his head, “definitely not, love. Definitely not,”

 They spend the rest of their evening spilling truths about each other, sharing kisses and watching the sun set as if they’re in a romcom. Richard slings his arm around Taron’s waist and T rests his head against Rich’s shoulder, admiring the view in front of them.

“I’m so glad you didn’t freak out when I did all of this,” Rich begins. “I really thought it was a bit over the top, even for you.”

Taron gapes, sitting up slightly. “Even for me? Are you saying that I’m over the top?”

“No, just overdramatic,” Richard holds back his laughs and the look on Taron’s face is borderline hysterical.

T pushes Rich so that he’s lying on his back, looking at the newly formed stars in the sky, and straddles his hips, earning a soft whimper from the older man.

“You’re a dick,” Taron murmurs before leaning down fully and capturing Richard’s lips into his own. Richard’s hands run up and down T’s thighs, slowly migrating towards his bum and resting on the clothed flesh there.

“Oh, God,” Rich bites his lip and lets his head fall back, giving Taron full access to his neck, which he gratefully kisses at.

“What?” he asks against his skin, causing Rich to shiver.

“Ye just-- ye don’t know how long I’ve wanted this for, T. I’ve been pining for well over a year,” To prove his point, he pushes his hips up lightly, showing how hard he is from such little time.

“Yeah? You’ve thought about this before?” Taron smirks and Richard’s stomach drops at the voice he’s using.

“Yeah, have,” he gets out, squeezing lightly at his bum and earning a soft sigh in response.

“What do you want then, Rich?” Taron rolls his own hips slightly against Richard’s, the clothing covering them both becoming a bit overwhelming.

“D-dunno,” Richard mentally kicks himself for the stutter. He’s usually confident during sex or anything even remotely sexual, but for some reason, things with Taron are different.

Much different.

“Y’don’t know?” Taron asks, pausing his movements and Richard whines lowley. “I’m all yours now, Rich, do whatever you want with me.”

Richard’s eyes widen at this and he quickly goes into dominant mode, flipping their position so that he’s hovering over Taron, biting at every inch of skin that he can get. Taron’s hands clench gently at the back of Richard’s shirt, urging him to take it off. He does, then repeats the same motion with Taron’s.

“Do ye remember,” Richard leans down to pant in Taron’s ear. “when I asked ye what your perfect idea of a date would be,” single kisses are placed on the younger man’s stomach. “and when ye started to describe the star gazing part of it,” more kisses. “ye said it was a great way to get laid?” he finishes, glancing up to see Taron’s expression.

“Oh, Christ, yeah,” Taron’s voice shaking slightly. “please tell me this is going where I think it’s going, 

Rich smirks, “If ye think you’re about to receive the most amazing dicking down that you’ve ever experienced, yer absolutely right.”

@sarahegerton96 @anxiety-at-the-classroom @multicoloredchicken @taron-eggmcmuffin @naptitimadderton @primaba11erina @madderton-obsessed  @maddertonmyheart​

#taron egerton #Richard Madden #madderton #taron egerton fic #taron x richard #richard madden fic #madderton fic #fluff #first date #picnic #soft

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Going Through Motions{1}

Title: Going Through Motions {1}

Steve Rogers X Reader OFC Korral “Korri” Evans

Warning: Plot

Word Count: 1.9K

  Summary: You and Steve had a hot, passionate, and wild romance seven years ago when you worked with the Avengers. It was the best year of your life; you’d never felt the things you’d felt in all your life. Then out of nowhere, Steve just ended things—in a letter. A heartbreaking letter, then the world deemed him a criminal, and he disappeared. Now, you’ve moved on and have gotten engaged to rich man Marc Spector. Tony brings you back to work with the newly rebuilt Avengers that is still led by Captain America who is definitely done asking for permission and not looking for forgiveness. Or is he?

  Note: So, for this fic, we are going to alter the MCU timeline a bit. This takes place after Civil War, but Infinity War has not happened yet. Steve is off the grid for seven years before he comes back. {I know that’s a long time, but let me rock please} Also, I’m going to be introing/adding in Moon Knight (Marc Spector) in just because I feel like it and I want to start exploring other Marvel characters and of course I will twist him to serve my purposes.

**Loosley Proofread/edited**

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean?”

  “What’s not to understand? The Avengers are being put back together,” Tony exclaimed with a clap of his hands. Korral stood there gaping at him convinced he’d lost his mind. The Avengers had been broken up for the last near seven years. They were all sprawled out across the world doing god knows what. The CIA, FBI, SHIELD and every government entity had an order that if any of them were seen they were to be immediately apprehended if safe to do so and if they put up a fight they were to shoot to kill. That was the order for all except Steve; he was shoot to kill on sight.

   “Tony, I don’t understand.” He continued to walk, not caring that you’d stopped in the hall trying to make sense of his words. You scurried to catch up and made it just in time before the elevator doors closed. You pressed your back to the glass wall and took a deep breath.

   “Explain it to me, please.” Tony took a deep breath and paused his tapping into the tablet he held.

  “Right now, we are going down to the conference room that I hate the most to sit with the powers that be who think they’re in charge of the world’s defenses--,” he said normally before his voice dropped to a less than discreet whisper. “They’re really not,” he finished before pointing a self-gratifying finger to himself. Shaking your head, you stifled a scoff; this was nothing new, this was Tony. You didn’t mind, after working with him for the last ten years you’d gotten to know him pretty well.

   “What are we meeting with them for? I thought we hated them after the fallout.” Tony nodded and continued tapping into the tablet.

 “Oh, we do still hate them, but keep your enemies closer, remember.” You nodded because it was rule number two around here. “So. we’re going to meet them so they can officially gloss over their shortcomings in the last year to generously drop the charges against our friends,” he explained. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. The elevator stopped at the bottom floor, and Tony walked off, you remained still trying to catch up. You felt like you were in an alternate universe. “When did all this happen?” Again, you looked beside you and Tony wasn’t there, he was halfway across the lobby. You ran to him.

   “Last night,” he said before he stopped and looked at you. “Are you okay?” He had to be kidding. You currently had whiplash. You had no idea any of this was in the works. “Korral!” Tony shouted your name and snapped his fingers before your face. You focused on him. “Yes, I’m fine.” He studied you, and you wondered if he was using his high-tech glasses to scan you. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute to catch up. What do you need from me?” Tony started walking again, and it was then you saw the obscene amount of security agents standing around.

   “I’ve sent it to your tablet. I also want you to tally how many times one or more of them says this phrase sequence “our decision.” I’m placing my bet now that it’ll be more than twenty. What’s yours?” As you looked around you and accessed those around you, you tried to get control over your nervousness. If this order actually went through it meant a lot. It meant a hell of a lot. Shaking your head, you straightened your back and pasted a calm, detached expression to your face. “Twenty is lowballing it, go big or go home, I call every other sentence.” Tony smiled and nodded. “I like the way you think Evans.”

   The two of you walked toward the conference room, three secret agents stopped you and scanned your bodies with a wand no doubt checking for weapons. They were right to check. The wand beeped ferociously at Tony’s chest, and he gave them a “are you serious” look before they allowed him through the conference doors. When it was your turn, they looked over you but didn’t scan. They just nodded their head to let you through. They clearly didn’t think you were a threat. When you walked into the room there were seven powerful-looking men and dozens of others standing around. You quickly surveyed the room and made a note of everyone. Most were familiar faces, but there were a few that were all new to you.

   As you and Tony took your seats you scanned the file Tony sent you and smiled at the top disclaimer. “Don’t trust any of them, especially the one with the brown suit and purple tie, who wears purple and brown?” Pinching your lips, you tried to keep a professional exterior. The Secretary of State began his spiel; he looked less than happy to be saying the words. No doubt he hated to admit that the world needed the Avengers. Since their disbandment and the kill orders, chaos was everywhere, and threats came from left and right. They were stretched thin and quickly came to regret their decisions, but like the government, they also hated to admit their wrongdoings and make a change. That meant they would have to be right here in front of Tony and Tony was a less than gracious winner.

   Just as expected, every sentence showcased that they had come to this decision with no outside influence. Every time he said it Tony sent a message to you keeping tally of it. By the time the Secretary of State finished, it had easily been thirty minutes.  “So, let me get this right; you’re here with your tail between your legs admitting that you made a mistake, a very horrible mistake and now it’s your decision to rectify it? is that right?” You smirked and pinched your lips again. Of course Secretary of State Ross didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded his head to one of the many heads in the room. From the back, a young woman gathered a few folders and placed them in front of all who sat at the conference table. You opened the folder and saw images of the people you’d worked with for years and who you hadn’t physically seen in too long.

   “Glad to see you’re still the same Stark.” Tony looked in the folder. “I don’t know who you want me to turn into Ross; I can only be me.” You slowly flipped through the images, Clint, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Natasha and him. You stopped at his picture and almost audibly gasped, you didn’t expect he would be part of this deal. You thought it would be just the others. Your heart began pounding rapidly, and you slowly went over every detail of his face, every minuscule wrinkle, each bushy eyebrow, his defined nose, and equally defined jaw and his lips. Lips you’d surprisingly fell in love with. He was gorgeous. It had been seven years since you’d seen him, there was no indicating he looked this way anymore. He could have aged, wrinkled, something.

   “Do you want this to happen or not?” You brought your attention back to him those in the room and glanced at Tony who took a deep breath. “Continue.” Secretary Ross went over the details of the deal which primarily spoke of each of them having to remain on the straight and narrow and follow the rules that had been in place before everything went to shit. You knew they wouldn’t support the accords, that was never going to happen. A message came in from Tony, and he knew it too, but with Tony, he knew how to keep his hand hidden to make it seem he was playing ball. “You’re responsible Stark. This will blow back on you if this goes south—again,” Secretary Ross finished.

   Tony held up two of his fingers; “On my honor as a boy scout Ross. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He did the actual action for emphasis. “We’ll see. Let’s get this over with.” Tony took out his pen and signed his name then slid the folder to the center of the table. Across the table, Secretary Ross did the same, but unlike Tony, he didn’t look so confident, it was as if he expected this to go bad. Honestly, you didn’t know what to expect. Another ten minutes passed, and the meeting finished. You excused yourself to the ladies’ room and stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long trying to get a grasp on everything that had just happened.

   When you walked into Tony’s office thirty minutes later, he stood and waved you over. You hurried to his desk and listened to the tail end of his conversation. “It’s only a matter of time now. I expect the announcement tonight or tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.” He turned to you and smiled. “Ready for things to get a lot louder around here?” You scoffed. He couldn’t be serious. You nodded and did your best to smile. “Tony, does this include—him?” As if for the first time realizing your struggle Tony’s expression softened. “Steve. Uh, yeah. His terms are slightly different though; because of his role in breaking the others out and aiding and abetting Bucky they think his morals are compromised.” You nodded. You weren’t surprised by his actions once you’d learned of them. You and Steve had several long conversations where he told you all about his friendship with Bucky and his regrets over the years. Steve was as loyal as they came. That was one of the traits that solidified the decision to make him Captain America back in the day. He was goodness.

   “So, what are his terms?” Tony took a bottle of water out the mini-fridge and drank from it. “Well, they definitely want him to sign the accords and sort of agree to be surveilled,” he rushed out. You snorted. “That’s not happening Tony.” He nodded. “Oh, I know, but they don’t know that.”

   You were used to the ride the slope of right and wrong with Tony. “Why would you go out on a limb knowing he wouldn’t agree, especially after everything that happened between you?” Tony sighed and looked out over the setting sun of the New York skyline. “Seven years is a long time Korral. I’ve had a lot of time to think and see things differently and from other perspectives. You can thank Pepper for that.” You smiled; Pepper did make him more human. It was sweet. “I understand. Plus, he’s Captain America, he’s Earth’s best defender.” You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Tony nodded his head and walked away. “Laugh it up. I know you’re laughing to hide the fact that you’re freaking out about this especially given the nature of your relationship back then and the state of your relationship with Marc currently.”

  Yeah, he called you out—extra loud. “Wow.” Tony smiled again and sat behind his desk. “If those are the terms, he won’t come back Tony. There is no way in hell he would come back on the grid to be controlled. You know Steve.” He sat there studying you. “Is it that you truly believe he won’t come back or you’re afraid he will?” You shook your head, rolled your eyes and looked out the window. “He won’t come back,” you finalized before you turned and walked to the door. “Good night.” There would be nothing in the world that would drag him back into the light especially to give up his freedom.

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