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pynkhues · 3 years

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.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

#hbo succession #succession fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama #kendall x stewy #gerri x roman

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allmightluver · 3 years

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First lines meme

Ooo! 😲 thank you for the tag @justanotherfoolhere !!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines. Tag 10 authors!

I’m incredibly shy so if you would like to do this, I tag you!!

Ah I have some old stories from old fandoms (or side fandoms I should say), but as for MHA, most of my stories are just wips right now. I have approximately 5-6 stories in the works right now, however 3 are just thoughts yet, not written out, 1-2 are RP’s with another person that I’m not sure if I have the ability to share yet 😅, 1 is....extremely, well...NSFW 🙈 even the first line asfkgkka I’m not going to do that one, you’ll just have to read it on ao3 when it’s done 😖

However! I do have a massive story that’s been in the works for over a year now (atm it’s around 57,800 words), I’ve actually gotten stuck on it half way through and a friend is helping me by rping those parts with me. If anyone remembers from forever ago, I talked about writing a story about Toshinori actually becoming addicted to his painkillers, and overdosing during class, that’s this story. I have a good chunk of this written, so to make up for my lack of stories, I’ll post a few paragraphs of the beginning! (I hope that’s ok! 🙈)

((I should note, I don’t normally rp, the ones I’ve done are just with a close friend or two))

So, here’s a few paragraphs of what I’ve been calling “Painkiller” under the read more...

Eyelids sluggishly rise. Each blink seems to be getting slower and slower. And he’s still talking. How the soft furred mammal at the front of their table can speak for hours at a time without so much as a break is a superhuman feat. Of course, the principal isn’t human at all, which probably is how he can accomplish it.

Black eyes glance at the clock on the wall across from him. 1:50 p.m. This was supposed to be a short meeting. A quick briefing on the school’s protection and security upgrades. This is also the time to give feedback on how the procedures seem to be working. It had started during their lunch break at 12:30 p.m., and it’s still dragging on. Snipe as well as a few other teachers that have classes to teach at this time are absent, but the rest of the available staff are present.

Shota massages his eyelids, refraining from gritting his teeth against the stinging, and promptly tipping his head back to apply his eye drops. They’re almost gone, he’ll have to get a refill from Recovery Girl. Shota lowers his head once again, black locks falling back over his face.

He’s exhausted. A full night on patrol and then the morning teaching at UA. He’s done for the day after this, and all he wants is to sleep. He’ll still have to check in with Eri to be sure she’s been ok throughout the day, before he can collapse on his bed.

Eri was still adjusting to living at UA, but seemed to be doing well so far. When he couldn’t be with her, she had another teacher or staff member watching her. Thankfully, there hasn’t been an instance with her quirk going out of control. Yet. He hopes to keep it that way. She’s just starting school, but slowly. She has a lot of learning in just living before she can worry much about academic intelligence. But Shota has no concerns of her being able to catch up to her age and grade level. Eri’s proven to be smarter than they’ve given her credit for. Perhaps wiser in some ways than a kid her age should have to be.

Shota usually teachers her in his spare time. His hero work has decreased due to his stacking responsibilities. Last night was the first in close to a month, and he can feel in his sore muscles that it’s been too long. Thankfully, he can rest tonight, but if Nezu didn’t hurry this conference up he’s going to be pulling another all-nighter. The temptation to pull out his sleeping bag and snooze in the chair he sits is becoming harder to resist.

Shota’s gaze moves across the room at the other occupants.

Mic sits to his right, closest to Nezu. The man’s listening, but one can see the bored expression on his face as he picks at his painted nails.

Midnight across the table seems a bit more focused. Her arms rest on her lap as she listens to the white animal, adding in her thoughts every now and then.

Cementoss and Ectoplasm sit next to her, both relatively silent.

Shota’s eyes flick to the chair next to his left before moving to the closed door at the room’s entrance.

Yagi had been here as well. A few minutes ago, he had politely excused himself from the room and had yet to reappear.

Maybe he made a break for it, Shota thinks with envy. Though he knows it’s a lie.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Number One Hero to duck out of meetings and public places for short periods of time. No one questioned him on it, assuming he had business calls or the like. He was All Might after all, and surely a very busy man.

But now the Symbol of Peace is dead, and still the brief intermissions continue. In fact, they’re increasing in frequency. Shota has high doubts about the possibility of impromptu hero phone calls from the man’s agency, but doesn’t dwell on it.

Everyone, even All Might, has secrets. It isn’t Shota’s job to nose his way into everyone’s personal life.

His sore eyes blink in mild surprise when the door he had been focusing on slides open, and the man in his thoughts shyly stoops his head under the doorway to enter back into the room. Yagi closes the door again and takes his place beside Shota, moving quietly to attempt not to draw attention to himself. But it’s a wasted effort; whenever he’s present, all eyes immediately are drawn to him. Plus, it’s hard to ignore a 7 foot man.

Shota turns away, attempting to refocus on whatever their eccentric principal is speaking about.

For a while, the meeting draws on as usual, Nezu doing most of the talking and the other teachers providing input as they see fit. The way the conversation is leading, it seems like things are starting to wrap up. Finally. The last class of the day starts at 2:20 p.m. and that doesn’t leave much leeway room for any teachers that need prep time.

Shota leans back with a silent sigh through his nose, crossing his arms. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go check on Eri back at the dorms, and the sooner he can crash. Thinking about anything other is too hard to concentrate on.

Through his sleepy fog, something moves in his peripheral vision. Instinctually looking over to his left, he notices the lanky man next to him has wilted in posture, much like a plant with no water. The haze in Shota’s brain clears only slightly, having something more interesting to observe.

Now actually taking the time to study the other, Shota notices the haphazard blonde mane looks messier than normal. Yagi’s long, sinewy hands are placed comfortably on his lap, though a subtle tremble is running through his frame. A sheen of sweat is starting to form above his brow. Though his eyes remain fixed on the principal, the unfocused haze in the cyan pools gives Shota the impression Yagi isn’t paying attention. The normally bright irises are dull and almost completely hidden in the surrounding black sclera.

He looks pale. Must be sick. Shota lets his attention drift back to Nezu. Toshinori Yagi is a grown adult; he can take care of himself. If he doesn’t feel well, he’ll go home. These thoughts stubbornly go through Shota’s mind just before another pushes itself in.

He remembers the tall man entering the teacher’s lounge only two days after the Kamino incident. Yagi had been completely wrapped in bandages, bruises and stitched up cuts littering his body, and one arm was in a sling. Everyone had expected him to still be in the hospital, and not back to UA for at least a week, maybe two.

Shota recalls the other teachers chastising the ex-hero and trying to convince him to go home, to rest. Yagi had politely smiled, one that made Shota’s teeth grind at the obvious artificial gesture. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, only present to soothe their worries. But Yagi thanked them for their concern. Even then, their coworkers had tried to assist him in any way possible. He had always insisted he was fine, respectfully refusing their help. It became hard for their colleagues to accept when it was obvious the injured man was struggling with even the simplest tasks.

Recovery Girl had made frequent appearances, much to Yagi’s dismay. It was unfortunate his body couldn’t handle her quirk, and he had to heal naturally, so she made it her job to monitor him. She didn’t even try to deny she was only there to check in on him, to make sure he was behaving himself, at least to the miniscule level she could except from Toshinori. She was always disappointed, and expressed so outright. But she could do little to sway him in his own self-care habits, and he always waved her off with another deceptive smile.

If he had forced his straining, overworked, body to comply during that time, what’s stopping him from teaching his class in 15 minutes?

More movement next to him puts Shota’s thoughts on pause. Dark eyes flick over to the older man, being as inconspicuous about his spying as possible. With the black hair covering his face, most people probably can’t tell where he’s looking anyway, and he’s not moving his head at all.

One of Yagi’s arms slowly lifts to his face, resting his sharp elbow on the table. The large and scarred hand covers his mouth, baring his bony wrist and too-thin arm as his sleeve slides down a few inches. The pose might be meant to look like he’s simply resting his chin, gaze still locked on Nezu like he’s listening intently. But sitting this close to him, Shota can see how the tremors in his body have increased, sweat starting to run down the deep crevices of his face in tiny rivers. The glazed over look in those black eyes has been replaced by one subtly emitting a fight or flight expression.

Shota frowns. He’s gonna barf. The pro briefly wonders if he should use his capture weapon to grab the trash can in the corner of the room to prevent a mess on the carpet, or worse, the table.

Before he can act, Yagi’s chair abruptly slides backwards as the retired hero wrenches his body up, fumbles with the door handle, and rushes out of the room as quickly as his unstable limbs can carry him. He barely manages to slam the sliding door shut behind him before he’s out of everyone’s sight, the hasty squeaks of his shoes on the tile floor growing more and more distant.

Nezu pauses at the sudden outburst, all the room’s occupants staring at where All Might had disappeared. The feel of concern weighs heavily in the atmosphere.

Although Yagi had often left before, he always excused himself quietly or snuck away when the attention wasn’t on him. Something this dramatic has never happened.

-----

And we’ll leave it there for now! This is still a wip remember, so things may be changed here and there, but I hope this makes up for my lack of other stories!

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creativity-is-rebellion · 4 years

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Life on Intermission

So, for mental health reasons, I have decided to put my law studies on hold for six months while I gather myself. The thing I am supposed to be mostly doing is resting (which is the hardest thing in the world for me - I always need something to do). I think the main reason why it is difficult is because for the majority of my life I have had too much cortisol running through my body. When I was a kid (and teenager), I grew up in a tumultuous household with a narcissistic mother and an enabler for a father. I had to parent and counsel my mother day and night for her unresolved issues surrounding her own traumatic upbringing and stressful early life, which led to a transference of generational trauma from herself to me. I was both psychologically, (and one time) sexually abused by her. Adding to this, there was a constant money shortage, sometimes to the point of relying on food stamps, and I was bullied terribly at school. At 16 years of age, I was raped by a guy who had been my boyfriend of 3 months, and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse.

I graduated from school with a relatively good result, and thus was able to gain entry into the university program of my choice. Or rather, it was my parent's choice. I had won a few poetry competitions which had been published in some anthologies. I wanted to study creative writing, but my parents thought it would be better I learned something "more stable" (which is ironic), so I "decided" to study psychology, my third choice. Regardless, I thought this would be a way to start over, and leave the horrors of high school behind me. But because of my family's lack of money, it was impossible to move out on just the income I was getting from the casual job I had whilst supporting myself at university. And then, along came my first love, who I had a tumultuous relationship with. We were on again, off again for many months, in fact, many years. We first met in 2003, and parted ways for the last time at the beginning of 2006. In hindsight, I think he loved me, but just couldn't say it. At the time though, it was devastating. I moved states and universities to get away from the situation, first to Canberra (but I have followed me there), and then to Brisbane (but I have kind of followed me there too).

I was able to make a life for myself in Brisbane for a time, despite still living with my parents (who had followed me up there), but then the loneliness I felt, mixed with being given the wrong meds, led to my first full -blown manic episode. I was spending money I didn't have, and wracking up a debt on 3 credit cards and 2 personal loans. In 2005, I tried to take my life again, which (again) was unsuccessful. Towards the tail end of this spending spree, I met my future husband. This was a brief reprieve. I decided to take a year off uni and work full-time to pay my debt back, and my future husband and I moved in together. Within 7 months, I was pregnant with our first son, and, even though I went back to university, I kept having to defer because of money issues. After giving birth, I went though a pretty bad bout of postpartum depression,

In 2010, we got married, and things went well for a couple of months, until the financial situation became critical. We decided to move back to Norway, my husband's home country, despite me never even visiting, as he could get a better job there. I graduated with just one half of my double-degree, and off we went. Initially, things were good when we moved; I worked toward my master, learned the language, got a few jobs which allowed me to focus on practicing the language, and was of the impression that I would be able to study psychology in Bergen once I finished my language courses. But then, in 2012, I found out that I had been given the wrong information about this, and it was no longer an option. I wanted to leave, as there were no jobs available in my specialized area. I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts for the first time ever in 2012, but there would be another 3 times after that over my time in Norway. In 2013, I gave birth to my second son, which was truly a joy, and for which I didn't get any postpartum depression, but, at that time, my actual Bipolar was bad enough. My husband's career was taking off, and I felt my problems were ignored, and that he was leaving me behind. We didn't move back to Australia (my home country) until 2017. Again, there was another promise of a fresh start.

After working with my degree for a few months, I decided to do my PhD, which was awful (I covered that in a previous post). I loved teaching and participating in conducting research, though. With my income from these gigs, and my husband's income, we were living the high life. Until the teaching dried up and my husband's company folded at the beginning of 2019. The pressure of all of this led me to be hospitalized again in the psychiatric ward 2019 for 3 months. Afterwards, as soon as I came out, I had to look for work, due to our dire financial situation. We had been in the throes of building a new house when times were good, and now we were in more debt than we had ever been. My husband found work, but was now earning half of what he was earning before. I've applied for 600 jobs before I've got to his first job interview. I ended up getting casual work, but couldn't find anything permanent, and it didn't pay enough. I started my law degree, which got off to a prosperous start, but I was also diagnosed with Lupus, which would explain why I not only felt mentally shit, but also physically shit. And that takes my biography more or less up to the present (with some stuff most likely left out).

But now, I am taking a break. I am, for the first time, deciphering what happened to me, trying to process all of the trauma, in order to become a better version of myself. Here are just some of the things I am doing during this coronavirus lockdown to self-improve:

^ Here is book I need to read whilst in the throes of finally finishing my first novel. It's only taken me 13 years. Not biggie. I need to procrastinate less. But also be less harsh on myself. I've had some really dark periods in-between that have lasted years. Sometimes, I just feel like I lose so much time when the depression is particularly bad. It makes me overdo myself when I actually feel OK for once.

^ This is a picture of my jewelery projects and couch-side workroom for when I am on hiatus. I'm going to try to get my jewelry business in order during my time off, but it's all about moderation, as my jewelry-making sometimes becomes obsessive because I get a rush of ideas. For example, yesterday I made 3 necklaces and 4 bracelets in a trance-like state. It might be impending mania, and I have to try to keep track of it, and approach it in a healthy way.

^ My fitness and health has been a personal concern of mine for a while now. Due to being diagnosed with Lupus last year, the sedentary life of being a student, and having to take mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics for my Bipolar, I have put on a little bit of weight that I want to shed, but because of the physical pain I experience due to the flares, sometimes it's difficult to do anything but light exercise. It's all about baby steps. Daily walks are also good for boosting my mood.

There is also a number of boxes awaiting my attention in the garage, which I suppose could be seen as symbolic of me unloading both emotional and literal unwanted baggage / rubbish. Its a long road, but at least I am finally taking the necessary steps for dealing with unresolved trauma and ridding myself of painful secrets that have haunted me for the longest time. All I have to do now is to remind myself to breathe.

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

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((Author’s notes: Lol don’t ignore your hypos babes. This was like a uhhh vent piece bc I’ve started a new job and keep getting hypos at inconvenient times. Also bc we need more T1 rep out there. symptoms lists will always be like “oh they get shaky and pale and sweaty” meanwhile I’m over here like,,,, bruh that ain’t HALF of it. So. Have this ig lmao???))

The thing about hypos and performance nerves was: at the start, they feel the same.

John’s legs would feel heavy, he’d be sweaty, he’d shake. Then, ninety eight percent of the time, he’d go onstage and start playing with his best friends in the whole world and lose himself in the music, and those feelings would go away. (Well, not the sweating, but he was sweating for a different reason).

It had taken a bit of trial and error getting used to the feeling. They went through a lot of juice boxes and emergency shots of insulin trying to steady himself when he misjudged what was and wasn’t a hypo. That was years ago now though, and most of the time he had everything totally worked out with his body.

Most of the time.

The feeling had initially passed as excitement and adrenaline flooded his body as they started their concert. John played his bass and danced along to their music while Roger and Brian played with him and Freddie did his thing out front of the stage, exciting the crowd.

When his legs started feeling heavy again about half an hour into their set, he figured he was just tired. This was the third consecutive day they’d been playing. Forty five minutes into their set, and his legs were not just heavy but hollow as well, the feeling even starting to extend to his arms, he knew he was fucked.

It was fine, though. Another fifteen minutes of playing and they’d have a brief intermission where he could fix himself up. He was fine. He’d be fine. There was a huge catering table provided to them and all their crew, he’d have plenty to up his sugars.

His stomach panged at the thought, and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how fucking starving he was. God, he wanted to eat so bad… the song ended, and Freddie was doing his ay-ohs giving John a moment to study his hand. It was shaking, but not badly. He was sweating more than he usually was, and he must look pale, because Brian was throwing him a concerned look and miming the action of using a lancet.

John gave him a thumbs up and a smile. He felt like fucking shit, but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before, and nothing he wouldn’t deal with again. Hypos fucking sucked and whoever decided they should exist should go die in a fire, but he was fine. His feet started to hurt from holding up his weight, and he was still starving, and his legs were heavy and hollow, and his arms were starting to go hollow too, and all he wanted to do was sit down and eat and eat and eat, and he just felt shaky, and he was actually shaking judging by the trembling of his fingers, and he was cold and wet from sweat.

But it was annoying having to stop the show. It would only be fifteen more minutes. The intermission was there just for this type of thing! He knew his limits. He wasn’t going to pass out in fifteen minutes. He’d feel like absolute shit and feel like dying, but he’d make it. He wouldn’t have to bother anyone about this dumb little bitch of a disease. Fucking stupid diabetes. Stupid bitch ass hypos making him feel like shit. Who did they think they were. Always popping up at the most inconvenient times. Could never happen, say, when they were passing a lolly shop, nooo, only while he was trying to do his fucking job. Stupid idiot blood cells attacking his pancreas. Bitch ass little ho cells wanting their damn sugar.

He kept himself going like that until Freddie started talking to the crowd about them taking a break. Instead of sticking around and listening to his best friend make a five minute speech about them all getting laid or someshit, he just walked off. He handed his bass to one of the crew without his usual thank you, or even a smile. Yeah, maybe he’d pushed it a bit too far this time. Just a smidge. He’d been fine once he reached the catering table.

Fine he was, downing two glasses of full strength coke and piling one of the tiny plates with one of each of the pastries, as well as some of the savoury stuff. The other three found him sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the table, about a quarter through his plate, feeling better but still hungry.

“John Richard Deacon.” Freddie admonished, placing his hands on his hips. John grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But it was fine! I’m fine, see? Just hungry.” And sleepy, and a little sore still, but he wouldn’t mention that.

Freddie kneeled down in front of him, his face concerned, his mother hen instincts kicked into over-gear after not having noticed while they were on stage. John could see the cogs working in his brain and reached out to squeeze his arm.

“I only started feeling bad towards the end of Sheer Heart Attack, I wasn’t out there dying for long, I promise. If you wanna help me, please get me another fruit tart. I’m not ready to get up yet and it was sooo goooood.” He moaned exaggeratedly, the act getting a smile out of Freddie like he hoped.

The frontman huffed, rolling his eyes, but pushed himself up to actually get John another. Roger whacked him lightly on the back of the head, but otherwise didn’t say anything about the subject as he grabbed his own food and sat beside him on the floor. Freddie joined them, and Brian sighed, towering above them for a minute before grinning and caving, also sitting on the floor.

They spent the rest of their intermission there, eating and talking and laughing, John finally feeling better by the time they had to go back out. Brian stopped them before they left, looking down at him.

“Seriously though, John. You know if you need it any of us can distract them for a few minutes while you look after yourself. The last thing we want is you feeling bad, even if you’re ‘fine’, or ‘you’ll last’.”

John felt his heart swell. It always felt good to be reminded how much you were loved. He smiled at his friends and nodded.

“Yeah, I know.” He replied, rolling his eyes slightly as they just continued to look at him. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you guys know next time! Okay?”

“Splendid, darling. Now let’s finish our show.” Freddie grinned, taking him by the arm and dragging him back towards the stage.

#submission #lovely!! poor john ;o;#john #type 1 diabetic!john #mickeygayrightsmouse

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decepti-geek · 5 years

Text

My dumbass Strictly Come Dancing AU masterpost

So Strictly finally featured a dance to Power of Love a while back! which meant that like a fool, I ran away and started earnestly working on a silly idea I’d been sitting on, and this is the result. Heavy on the cygate, with Rodimus and Minimus as accidental breakout stars, a LOT of Postmodern Jukebox music, and a veeeery haphazard work-in-progress playlist.

The point of this is basically to make people who watch the show giggle a bit, I guess, but also! If anyone has any idea of who would judge/host (cause I got nothin’), or even ideas for extra couples, PLEASE drop by my inbox, and ditto a thousand times over if anyone can think of new song/dance style pairings for any of the couples!!! I wanna Talk about this AU okay, it’s silly and fluffy and it’s been giving me joy for months and hopefully it’ll be fun for people who read it too.

Under a cut cause this got L O N G.

A couple of notes: I’m definitely moving musicals week to much earlier in the competition, since musicals are like, a good 25% of my overall music taste, which doesn’t translate well to only having four or so couples left at that point. And a note about who the minibots get paired with - I know actual Strictly tends to match for height, but I feel like in Cybertronian society that could be taken in… a variety of bad ways, not least perpetuating the idea of former disposables or similar only being allowed to dance with other disposables. So I figure with this one, the system’s a little different (also i just want my OTPs to dance together okay).

This is also, admittedly, more drama-filled than actual Strictly appears to the casual viewer, BUT I know the tabloids make much of the show even if I’m not a habitual tabloid reader.

(And I know I have a lot of charlestons in here, shush, it’s my favourite dance).

So! Thus far, the professional dancers/celebs I have outlined are:

Brainstorm - who, honestly, is basically Kevin. He’s willing to push things a bit further than the others with choreography and concepts, and sometimes he does push things a bit too far and they come out kinda weird to the judges (think the charleston to Cantina Band), but still adored by the popular vote. It makes for an interesting combination when he’s matched with serious, dedicated Jack-of-all-limelights Perceptor, who I see as being a bit like a reverse Brian Cox?? He started out well-known in the academic sector, then made it big as, idk, an actor (in the Mads Mikkelsen vein) and maybe a bit of modelling, and now he’s wound up here (I just realised that a lot of my celebs are more famous than the majority on Strictly tend to be, OH WELL).

They clash a LOT in initial rehearsals, but somewhere along the line Perceptor comes round enough to see that no, he did not get paired with the frivolous pro who doesn’t care about winning - Brainstorm just has a unique way of showing his love for his craft.

Also, you know how every year there's like, one lady pro who sprints over and full on leaps at her partner when he's revealed? Yeah, that's Brainstorm.

I’d like to think they make it to the semi-finals. And I desperately want to say that they have a dance to She Blinded Me With Science (cha cha cha maybe?). Kinda also want to steal Kevin's Doctor Who tango idea that he did this year. I think you could squeeze a quickstep out of End Of The World As We Know It, and then they've got two PMJ songs: a charleston to Final Countdown, and a foxtrot to I Believe In A Thing Called Love. ALSO HALLOWEEN JIVE TO TIME WARP I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

Tarn - who is here mostly so I can have him dance the paso doble to Phantom of the Opera with Pharma. These two are both suuuuper committed to the competitive aspect, enough that they’re willing to put aside their initial, rather drastic ideological differences, although the bickering does eventually eat away at their partnership. They get eliminated about midway through (though they do make it to the equivalent of Blackpool), and subsequently have a brief fling followed by a dramatic split that the tabloids eat up every last morsel of.

Other songs I can see them dancing to include a quickstep or American Smooth to Intermission by Scissor Sisters, a charleston to Crazy In Love (same arrangement as Kevin and Louise’s just, y’know, maybe not Harley/Joker themed), and maaaaybe their rumba is PMJ’s version of Toxic, with possibly a tango to Killer by the Hoosiers.

There’s added tension, too, in that - since I’m trying to look at the ‘celebrity’ aspect in the broader way Cybertronians might, as well - Pharma’s own main professional rival is competing this year alongside him.

Said rival being partnered with Drift, who’s been on the team of pro dancers long enough that he’s undergone something of a shift. It used to be that he got the younger, more… shall we say, visually appealing celebrity dancers, and he’d happily choreograph routines that oozed as much danger and/or sex appeal as the producers called for - to the ire of more than one watching conjunx endura. While he might once or twice have encouraged that to go further behind the scenes in his early days, he’s matured the longer he’s been in the business. Following a bit of a new-age spiritual journey between two seasons of the show, Drift has since come to be regarded as a friendly, experienced face for the not-quite-so-young, nervously inexperienced celebs, though the audience hasn’t exactly been quick to forget his past.

The decision to partner him with Ratchet (physician to the rich and powerful; philanthropist; unflappable, no-nonsense, complete and utter grump) is therefore met with some confusion. This was a calculated move on the part of the show’s producers, though - in the early days of Drift’s run with the series, he botched a lift and came down from it with a pretty impressive sprain. Sparing no expense for their most prized dancer at the time, the best of the best was called in to sort him out.

There was a disagreement in the treatment room, concerning the morality of Drift seducing his latest celebrity partner away from her conjunx, and the resulting shouting match passed into legend among the production crew, even if it was somehow prevented from being leaked to the public. The higher-ups are now capitalising on this, as the whole thing is sure to explode in some sort of direction, and they want the ratings boost that will result once it does.

Except… it never explodes. See, that confrontation with Ratchet was the first half of what led Drift to revise his behaviour. He'd started his dancing career young, with a string of agents, managers, what have you at the beginning encouraging him to believe that there's no such thing as bad publicity, and it didn't matter who he hurt along the way. The fact that someone famed for his straightforwardness and his principles - in a famously cutthroat environment - was now calling him up on that behaviour was enough to make Drift begin to question it. Throw in meeting Wing on a hiking holiday a few years down the line, after a shaky year of competitions and an unexpected early elimination from the show, and he's ready to really start bettering himself.

It showed, obviously, but never so much before now, where Drift is actively trying to prove that he took Ratchet’s words on board. Ratchet is… a little freaked out by the intensity of his conviction to do so, but they work through it and develop one of the strongest working relationships of any on the show.

It takes until after the show to become anything more than a working relationship, because they're both rather shy in their own ways, but when it finally does no one's really surprised anymore.

They definitely dance the jive to Bad Case of Loving You, and I'm entertaining the idea of a Halloween salsa to Jump In The Line from Beetlejuice mostly for the staging potential of the moving furniture, especially the rocking chair and all the jokes to be had from that. :D

And after LL 25… they’ve gotta dance to Easter Parade by Emmy the Great, it’s just perfect for them. I think it’d work best as a waltz, with some editing.

There’s also Skids, whose star rapidly rose and then stayed at the top, upon entering the competitive dancing scene. He was a quick study and he's also a decent teacher, so he gets matched with star comedian Swerve, who has veeeery little confidence in his ability. Although it’s not something he entirely gets over, at least enough to get them both more than halfway, it IS something he sticks at after leaving the competition, and he stays in touch with Skids as well.

Nobody’s ever really sure if their regular meetups post-series are dance lessons or ‘dance lessons.’ (Mostly because Skids is very, very skilled at flying under the radar).

And I d e s p e r a t e l y want to steal Kellie Bright’s dance to Oom Pah Pah for these two, cause a Viennese waltz set in a tavern is perfect for Swerve.

Lug is one half of the inevitable married pro couple, and I weirdly like the idea of her being matched with Windblade? Not really got any ideas for them on the song front, other than maaaaaybe a charleston to Nowadays from Chicago? but I think they’d make it a good way into the proceedings - they seem like they’d get along well, and Windblade’s got a natural grace to her.

Lug’s wife and partner in crime dance is Anode, who has a similarly capable celebrity student, in celebrated scientist and author Nautica. Unfortunately, these two don’t quite get off on the best foot, and a lot of initial promise becomes a flash in the pan that quickly falls apart. Their routines and skill are still pretty memorable (barring the one bad week that ruined things), even if they don’t make it as far.

They charleston to Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines because cmon. Nautica’s an engineer and Anode is a literal biplane.

Perhaps surprisingly, I’m chucking Whirl in here as a professional, too - a new hire for this year, viewed by the producers as a bit of a risk - paired up with renowned psychologist and amnesiac deity Rung. The idea I’m running with is that for Whirl, the dancing is basically an outlet post-empurata. It lets him exhaust himself physically and mentally, as long as he completely throws himself into it (and boy does he ever)... so that he can blunt the edge of the hurt he’s still got bottled up. And before he found this outlet, he had a chequered past to say the least, which the media capitalises on immediately, plunging the new guy into the spotlight. The new guy adamantly refuses to be a sob story, or the subject of inspiration porn, and smashes more than one camera to illustrate this point, so all the attention ends up veering towards the negative as a result.

Rung, though - Rung can see, more than anything, that Whirl still needs help, no matter how adamant he might be that he’s found his own balance. Rung’s in this to learn and have fun - and for his faults, Whirl is a decent teacher - but he can never ignore when he sees someone hurting. At first, the most he does is quietly stand up to any stray reporters who come hassling (with the patented I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed approach), but they do eventually develop a firm friendship, once Whirl realises he’s actually got someone on his side for once.

Rung himself is in a Bad position to do anything more, given that even the three weeks of initial training was time enough to develop something of a bond; so instead, he quietly slips Whirl the number of a younger associate: someone who, he assures Whirl, is coming from a place of experience - not all professional, but personal, too. It takes a while, because well, it’s Whirl, but there comes a point where he approaches Rung looking a little awkward, and thanks him - Krok’s been a great help.

As for the actual competition, Rung’s forgettability and Whirl’s new reputation work against them and they leave fairly early; but every subsequent week sees Rung in the audience to watch Whirl in the group numbers. They take absolutely aaaaaaaages after that to get their shit together, but by the time the next year rolls around, Rung’s position as audience support is official and constant, thanks to his ‘dating one of the pros’ status.

So far, I’ve only got two songs for them: a charleston to Caravan Palace’s cover of Black Betty, and a Viennese waltz to the Waltz of the Hours from Coppelia.

There’s also Jazz, who’s something of a legend even among the pros, mostly for his seeming ability to match up to even the very greatest of pressures. It’s something that’s seen him through to multiple finals over the years, and this year should be no exception…

… Were it not for the slight snag in that Mirage, a Towers noble, is our That One Celebrity; who the public perceive to have had just a bit too much prior dance experience for the competition to be entirely fair. And he’s Jazz’s partner.

I see Mirage being picked on particularly because the Towers upbringing probably does involve some kind of formal dance training. So these two are really, really good, but that unfortunately means they’re just a bit too good for what’s supposed to be a half-amateur contest. A low public vote and a bad dance-off sees them eliminated just shy of the semi-final.

I really can’t explain why, but I’m fixated on the idea of their charleston being a Halloween one, to Remains of the Day from Corpse Bride, and they could have maybe a quickstep (??) to Oh My My by Summer Kennedy (thanks Clara!). They also have the dubious honour of being the only couple I've found a samba song for: another PMJ one, which is Such Great Heights. (I Dislike sambas in general cause they seem so tricky and clunky most of the time, but if anyone can pull one off it’s these two).

And then, Primus love him, there’s Soundwave, who is possibly more experienced, talented and capable than any other pro in the competition, past or present (though Jazz, despite being his usual partner, would dispute that).

Which, of course, means he gets signed up to coach the complete and utter duds. Shockwave was never really going to get far in this, being a former Senator of questionable popularity, and, as Whirl would put it, the token empurata victim. That's all before the fact that he's just… really crap at dancing. Soundwave does his best, but he doesn't exactly have much to work with, and they're eliminated second week. As poor Soundwave has sadly become a bit accustomed to over the years.

In a similar boat for the first time this year is Knock Out - which, at least at first, he is none too pleased about. The guy he gets matched with is technically an athlete - but endurance and strength have never exactly been the mainstream focus of Cybertronian sport, even if they're what Breakdown has in spades.

He also has plenty of enthusiasm and a very earnest desire to try, that Knock Out can't help but be charmed by, even if it's not enough to get them more than about four weeks in. I think it'd be really sweet if these two had an American Smooth to Wouldn't It Be Lovely from My Fair Lady.

Someone who's had a mostly-friendly rivalry with Knock Out while they've both been on the show is Rodimus, who's in that same flashy, pretty vein along with Drift (his professional partner, incidentally), but who's been willing basically from the get-go to take on whoever he needs to season by season.

In short, he's a bit of a wild card, and this year he's been handed the younger (and less famous) of the Ambus brothers. The problem in this particular case is Minimus’ chronic, painful stage fright. Dominus, in his misguided wisdom, thought trial by fire would be good for him, and laid on the peer pressure until Mims agreed, but he is very much a fish out of water at first, and it shows.

The thing is, though - most of his mistakes are a result of nerves, rather than lack of talent. The judges do comment on his natural poise during the traditional ballroom numbers, and for all that Roddy acts dumb, he's shrewd enough to work gradually on bringing Minimus out of his shell, often taking advantage of Mims’ intense focus during rehearsals.

Because he might be shaky on the performance front, but Minimus Ambus has never been known for shoddiness in his work, and doesn’t plan to start now. And Roddy uses that to his advantage - he’ll sneak in extra moves mid-week, while they’re running through a routine, and Minimus will be stood there at the end of it, having just managed something he was obviously capable of, but never would’ve imagined he could be.

A few weeks in, and he’s thriving.

Dance-wise, I'd say definitely a jive to Don’t Stop Me Now, and I like the idea of them having Rebel Rebel for their paso. I want them to make it to the final just so Rodimus can choreograph a showdance to Dare (because try as I might, I just Cannot make it fit one of the usual dance styles. Roddy’s probably had it saved up as the song he WILL showdance to in his first final). I'm thinking as well, an American Smooth to Grace Kelly by Mika cause it honestly fits them really nicely, AND Lost Coastlines could work as a quickstep song I reckon, so let's give it to the first and second in command of the LL! Idk if I Do Adore by Mindy Gledhill has quite the right tempo for a foxtrot, but I think even if it needs a bit of tweaking it’d be really nice. And another potentially really random one, but: charleston to You Give A Little Love from Bugsy Malone (for musicals week?).

Also, they totally cha cha (or maybe salsa?) to Does Your Mother Know, specifically the Christine Baranski version (and they do the Leg Thing from the scene in the movie, you know the one).

As coincidence would have it, Minimus’ own brother-in-law is also a celebrity contestant this year! Rewind has gone from Ambus arm candy to acclaimed filmmaker/journalist in his own right, and for his stint on Strictly he's been paired up with Chromedome. This guy has managed to get himself the nickname ‘Unlucky’, on account that he's fallen in love and subsequently into relationships with not one but three of his previous celebrity partners. There was never any cheating or anything otherwise untoward involved, but things always seemed to end within a year, leaving Chromedome heartbroken and never really up to his best in the show following each breakup. This should have been one such year - after Pivot - except that his new partner is so very sharp and exuberant and just plain magnetic that poor Domey finds himself drawn in regardless.

And I say poor Domey, because as mentioned above, Dominus Ambus is alive and kicking, not to mention in the audience every weekend.

Things get even more complicated when Rewind realises he’s also kinda interested in his new partner - possibly responding to Chromedome’s own feelings, no matter how hard he tries to hide them. They attract more than their fair share of judgemental social media comments, both as a result of things the tabloids dig up and from people speculating that they have a little too much chemistry on the dancefloor. Eyes are also, obviously, on Dominus each week, and he seems oddly impassive about the whole thing - but then, he always has been very guarded about his private affairs. It’s generally assumed that things will come to a head between him and Rewind soon enough, though.

Songs include a salsa to Faster by Matt Nathanson and - is it too on the nose for them to waltz to Memory during musicals week? I also want their charleston to be the PMJ cover of Chasing Pavements.

And this is soooooooooo cheesy, but I really want their rumba to be Unfaithful by Rihanna. THAT one gets a load of media attention, and it's the week following that they bow out instead of allowing the usual elimination process to go ahead.

The twist comes a couple of weeks later, after the media storm has died down; it gets stirred right back up again the moment a photo surfaces of Rewind and Dominus leaving a screening of Rewind’s latest hit… each of them holding one of Chromedome’s hands.

Some say that the reason Chromedome’s partners tended to leave him (until now) has something to do with his continued association/professional partnership with Prowl: a very old flame, but more importantly, a one-mech embodiment of the Strictly Curse.

This guy is a mess, and he gets everywhere: as well as Chromedome, it’s rumoured he was involved with Jazz at one point, and then there’s the assorted flings with his celebrity partners, including the two-year period where he made his way through both members of the same band who signed up for the show in succession... as well as the other four who didn’t.

He’s scary good technically though, and more than a little merciless, so no matter his reputation he usually manages to push his partners quite far into the competition. This year’s offering is scientist Tarantulas, who’s another bit of token representation, for the beastformers this time (my imaginary Cybertronian broadcasting network is apparently not the most progressive).

There’s no polite way to put this: I imagine they’re at each other almost immediately. Both very sharp, and driven, and inventive, and what begins as a glorious meeting of minds in initial training, ends in a quest for the nearest store cupboard. It’s not the most stable of arrangements - sure, Tarantulas is utterly smitten with Prowl’s vision and determination, but Prowl often struggles reining him in and getting him to knuckle down, and tends to resort to leaning a bit too heavily on the personal side of their relationship to get what he wants. As with Ratchet and Drift, everyone’s on tenterhooks waiting for things to blow up, but somehow they actually reach the final. How long they’ll last beyond that is anyone’s guess.

These guys have quite a few songs already. Paso to Poison by Alice Cooper (for Halloween week no less, it begins with Prowl trussed up on a giant fake web, and Tarantulas descending from the ceiling in fine accordance with Strictly tradition), jive to Jailhouse Rock, and their rumba is the PMJ cover of Blank Space, it's a Prowl song, fight me.

Also I'd like to think they could manage, like, a foxtrot to Viva La Vida but don't quote me on that. I also like the idea of a tango to Control by Halsey? And they don't have a musicals song yet so now I wanna chuck in a waltz to Sibella from Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder since that's my current obsession.

Elsewhere we have one of the younger dancers, who's been actively mentored by Prowl and has a not-so-friendly rivalry with Rodimus… Getaway!!! (Professional partner: Skids).

He actually goes out in the first week, bless him, through no fault of his own, as for some reason the producers saw fit to match him with Thunderclash. Predictably, this was an unmitigated disaster, and for the PR team it's even more of a problem, as one of the biggest names of this season has been kicked off before the show’s had a chance to begin - apparently, the routine was so bad that even Thunderclash’s fame wasn't enough to save him. For Getaway, it means that he's now hanging around at a bit of a loose end, since he still has to be there for the group numbers. Which gives him plenty of time to cause problems for…

Last but by no conceivable means least, Tailgate! When he joins the professional troupe he seems quite naive and childish, to the point that he’s not exactly taken seriously at first (for anyone who watches the show, think how AJ and his partners get a lot of high school/teen romance themed dances despite him being in his 20s).

THEN in this current series, who should come along but an unlikely celebrity entrant who Tailgate just so happens to be a MASSIVE fan of. Cyclonus is a singer of a… somewhat acquired taste, who’s been talked into this by his agent and is frankly dreading the latin dancing but can manage a tolerable waltz from the get-go. Being the aforementioned huge fan, Tailgate sweet-talks and pulls a few strings behind the scenes to get paired up with someone other than his usual ‘youngest celeb in the competition’.

As is the format of the show, Cyclonus doesn’t find out who his partner is until the ‘introduction’ episode; he’d been hoping for someone experienced and dependable, like Soundwave, so when he finds out the result he has misgivings to say the least. Tailgate by contrast is over the moon (that his scheme worked), and it definitely shows. That nets Cyclonus a bit of negative attention right out of the gate - he’s here looking all stoic and uptight and serious while Tailgate’s practically bouncing with joy, and words like ‘ungrateful’ and ‘stuck up’ get floated around social media a lot. (Although his painfully awkward expressions do become a bit of an ongoing meme).

(The expressions thing is also a problem during performances cause like, the whole serious, intense semi-glare works perfectly for a tango or a paso, but that shit will not fly in a waltz or a cha cha, and boy do the judges let him know it).

Tailgate, for his part, is a little surprised to discover how very reticent Cyclonus is, even in rehearsals. He’s dedicated enough to learning the routines, and quite adept at the performance aspect mostly thanks to his already strong connection to music, but trying to get even a word of small talk out of him is like trying to get blood from a stone. Tailgate takes it in his stride though, and chatters enough for two people to compensate.

It doesn’t take him long to suss out that Cyclonus isn’t entirely happy to be here, and he responds to that in a similar way, scheduling in little things to do together in their breaks and taking care at first not to push Cyclonus too far outside his comfort zone choreography-wise. He also, slightly misguidedly, tries to encourage the idea of them hanging out with his own professional partner… said partner, unfortunately, being Whirl, who manages to get right up Cyclonus’ nose.

(Those two have more success hitting it off when Cyclonus walks outside on a break, only to witness Whirl tearing the latest loitering photographer a new one. From there, it’s a weird kind of forged-in-strife bond, as they realise they’re about the only two people in these studios who actively flee media attention when it appears).

(Cyclonus has found some kind of storeroom that he uses as a bolt-hole in the event of said unwanted attention; Whirl absolutely sniffs said bolt-hole out, and proceeds to mercilessly bug him on his breaks).

Obviously, Cyclonus can’t fail to be touched by Tailgate’s efforts, and his easy kindness - though again, obviously, he’d never admit it. And thus begins the saga of the judges’ glowing comments, week by week, on Cyclonus’ performance skills (despite the face) and the evident chemistry they have while they’re dancing… only for Cyclonus to clam right the fuck up the moment the music stops. The way he acts during the rehearsal segments says a lot, though, even if he barely speaks during them.

Basically, they’re the couple where my mum would be watching them shrewdly each week, nodding and going “He’s head over heels, look.” and we, her dense af family, would reply “You what???”

So this whole thing continues to (very) slowly gather momentum for several weeks until.... Enter Getaway!! Who is salty that not only was he eliminated so very quickly, but also that literally all of the press attention went to Thunderclash, leaving him hanging around completely uselessly until next year. He decides to worm his way back into the limelight by stirring up some Drama, and sets his sights on poor Tailgate as his target.

What he doesn’t expect, however (and neither does Cyclonus really) is that his meddling almost pushes Cyclonus to quit the competition altogether - not feeling like he deserves or has anything to offer to Tailgate, but also unwilling to stay and watch all this bullshit unfold, especially now that the media’s caught wind of it. Unfortunately, Cyclonus’ misgivings get into the rumour mill somehow, and by the time Tailgate hears about them, his partner has apparently already handed in his notice. He then drops Getaway like a hot potato and goes running off to quit himself (because really, these two are both disasters), and it’s up to Whirl to drag Cyclonus out of the storeroom where he’s been brooding and get these two to actually talk, goddammit!

Aaaaaaand once that’s sorted, they’re still terribly awkward about pretty much everything. But! They’re getting there!!! By the time they reach the semi-final they’re the centre of plenty of gossip, though there’s no proof of anything yet as Whirl is being fucking militant about keeping non-show cameras away from their studio. It’s in the week following that someone finally gets a photo of them: on a break, sat outside, Cyclonus kissing Tailgate’s hands.

Dances! Cha cha to Power Of Love, obviously, since that's what kicked this whole thing off. (Am I a terrible person if they jive to Only The Good Die Young?) Then there's a charleston to Boyfriend by Lou Bega, a salsa to I Want You Back, and a rumba to the PMJ version of Jolene, all choreographed post-Getaway.

And I am VERY excited because I've realised they could waltz to Love Like You. They'd also have a Viennese waltz to No One Else from Great Comet in musicals week, and I like the idea of a tango to Devil’s Backbone, and a paso to Coat of Arms by Jonathan Thulin. And possibly an Argentine tango to La Llrona, if it was arranged the way it is in Coco (“Alas, Llrona in sky blue”, I have to, guys. I have to) .

ALSO I'm going to cheat and say that Power Of Love is just one of their regular week dances, since it isn't just from a movie, as I also want a foxtrot to Beauty and the Beast because a) it’s perfect for them and b) mandatory A Day Or Forever reference.

They make it to the final, and showdance to Shrike by Hozier. AND because I am the creator of this au and My Word Is God, I’m hereby declaring that they end up as the winners. So there. :p

And congrats to anyone who actually made it this far!!!! As I said above, please send me ideas for songs, judges, anything, really! :D

#mtmte #lost light #Cygate #rodimags #dratchet #simpatico #tarnma #whrung #KOBD #taraprowl #christ theres a lot of ships in this arent there #That Dumbass Strictly AU

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kjack89 · 6 years

Note

12 for poetry smash? 👀

12. ‘I love you’ said when we lay together on the fresh spring grass

Taking a brief intermission from E/R. It’s been 18 years since I wrote poetry smash so hopefully you enjoy, Nonny! Canon era because we could all do with a little bit more canon-era happiness.

“My dear fellow,” Prouvaire said with an arched eyebrow as he took in Bahorel’s supine position against the green grass in the Jardin des Plantes, the early afternoon sunlight dappling the ground, “were you Grantaire I would assume you had been too early in your cups, and were you Bossuet, an accident I would presume had felled you here.”

“And yet I am neither,” Bahorel told him with the somewhat impish smile he seemed to reserve solely for Jehan. “And thus you have not yet sussed out what my purpose here may be.” He patted the patch of grass next to him. “Come, join me.”

Prouvaire hesitated. “For what purpose?”

Bahorel gave him a somewhat amused look. “Often enough you drag me from my bed to lie similarly and view the night sky, and yet you find reason to question me?” he said, mostly rhetorically. “My dear man, the least you could do is afford me the luxury of joining me thus in the daytime.”

Seemingly convinced by Bahorel’s argument, Prouvaire lay down next to him, their arms just brushing. “Are you studying the clouds?” he asked, scanning the fluffy white clouds that dotted the sky. “Oft I find inspiration in their shapes and movements.”

Bahorel shook his head, just slightly. “No, it is not the clouds that have drawn me hence.”

“Watching the birds, then?” Prouvaire guessed. “As they swoop and play and laugh?”

“Not the birds either,” Bahorel said comfortably.

Jehan tilted his head to look at Bahorel. “What then?” he asked. “What do you do, lying thus?”

Bahorel thought about it for a moment. “Nothing,” he pronounced finally.

Prouvaire looked back up at the sky, his expression contemplative. “Nothing,” he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if he was unfamiliar with its shape. “What a curious notion. Can one truly do nothing?”

“If one tries hard enough,” Bahorel assured him. “And with the right company.”

Jehan smiled a little at that, glancing again at Bahorel. “And am I the right company?” he asked teasingly.

In response, Bahorel wove their fingers together without looking away from the bright expanse of blue that stretched above them. Jehan’s smile softened and he shifted to rest his head lightly against Bahorel’s shoulder. After a long moment, he sighed. “I think I could get used to doing nothing,” he told Bahorel. “At least, so long as I am doing nothing with you.” He closed his eyes, feeling the sun warm the skin of his face, certain to bring his freckles out earlier this spring than usual. “I love you.”

He said it almost off-handedly and for one moment, it appeared as if Bahorel had not heard it. But then Bahorel lifted their clasped hands to press a kiss to Prouvaire’s knuckles.

And together they lay, having discovered as so many lovers do, the simple bliss found in spending an afternoon doing nothing with the best of company.

#poetry smash #bahorel #jean prouvaire #jehan prouvaire #jehan #ask #answered #hey nonny #ask meme #long post for ts #established relationship #ish anyway #idk #Anonymous

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dawdl-ing · 5 years

Text

Open Mic Night

(I was in a writing mood yesterday, and typed up this lil’ diddy! My Fallout 4 Sole Survivor can sing and I wanted to give her some time in the limelight. Hope you enjoy!)

Tonight -for the first time ever- it was Open Mic Night at the Third Rail, and the town of Goodneighbor was abuzz with curiosity. Word got around that anyone, synth, ghoul, or drifter, could get up in front of the night club to sing their favorite tune, free of charge!

Carol‘s eyes drifted around the room. The nightclub was fuller than usual that night, everyone wanting to see if any new talents could be discovered, or ready to have some bloody good fun. They chattered and bubbled with excitement amongst each other, creating a low hum throughout. Singers (and artists in general) were hard to come by in the barren Commonwealth, so what if they heard someone other than Magnolia who was actually decent?

Carol tentatively sat on a leather couch, taking small sips of water to distract herself from her anxiety. She frowned at the marks her red lipstick made on the glass, and set it down on the table in front of her. She wasn’t used to dolling herself up this much, despite having a regular beauty routine she kept up as one of her many coping mechanisms for the Wasteland.

The minute she heard about Open Mic Night, she knew she just had to sign up. None of her post war loved ones had heard her sing before, so they were there with her, for moral support, and for their own curiosity. Nick Valentine, Piper Wright, Robert Joseph MacCready, Mayor Hancock, the infamous Lone Wanderer and her boyfriend Butch coming to visit among them. All but Piper and Nick scattered about the place, having already given her their best wishes.

Carol loved performing with all of her heart, but her nerves still got the best of her at the thought of getting up in front of people. She twiddled her thumbs nervously.

Piper noticed her tense expression. She reached over and squeezed Carol’s hand comfortingly. “You’re gonna do great, doll. I know it.”, she encouraged, warmly. Carol smiled at her lover and squeezed her hand right back. “Thanks Pipes.” She said. Nick, who was standing to her right gave her a reassuring nod in agreement. “Yeah kid, you’re gonna be fantastic.”

Their conversation ended with Magnolia drifting onto the stage, commencing for Open Mic Night to finally begin. Everyone whooped and hollered, the night of fun finally starting.

After a decently long round of songs and Hancock’s unnecessarily vulgar (yet very entertaining) rendition of “60 Minute Man” by Billy Ward and The Dominoes, Magnolia, feeling that the Sole Survivor needed a “proper introduction”, summoned Carol to the stage.

As Carol joined her, Magnolia stepped down from her usual perch, kissing the young woman on the cheek for good luck as she went.

After finding her place in front of the microphone, Carol signaled the band to her right with a confidant nod, and they began the intro. A beautiful, jazzy tune soared into the air, a saxophone taking the lead in the measure. The song was one of Carol’s favorites from before the war: “Lullaby in Birdland” by Ella Fitzgerald. The sheet music the band was using was a very lucky find indeed, Carol and Piper coming across it during their adventures in Vault 81. It was located in the small classroom where the kids practiced their studies.

The Vault’s schoolteacher, Katy, gladly allowed them to borrow it as payment for telling her students stories about the Minutemen and the Commonwealth. The song was unknown of among some of patrons, them used to the jazzy tunes of Magnolia and the repetitive round of tunes on the radio. The Pre-War ghouls present however, appreciated the choice, some humming along, nostalgia and longing in the air.

Taking a reassuring breath, Carol began to sing at her cue. Everyone listened, invested. Carol’s performance was starting to be a welcome change in atmosphere for the usually seedy, smoky nightclub. Her voice was different than Magnolia’s, though not to anyone’s chagrin. It was higher, heavier, and full of theatricality.

The song floated through the club, bathing the patrons in its rich sound and maturity from years of passion and practice.

Piper’s eyes did not leave the stage, a wide, idiotic smile growing on her face. During the song, Carol made an effort to keep eye contact with Piper on the especially tender lyrics, making Piper grin even bigger in embarrassment and affection.

If Nick could tear up, he would. The image of his good friend onstage in her best dress brought back a wave of nostalgia from the old Nick’s memories. One of he and Jenny enjoying each other’s company in a local club, while a lounge singer wailed about her man leaving her. He smiled as well, quietly taking a drink from his glass of bourbon.

Carol decided to end the song with a very powerful belt that almost made the sitters closest to her watery eyed. After her big finish, there was a moment of silence. Everyone rose to their feet, giving her a standing ovation. The club was roaring in approval, Hancock being the most enthusiastic, given his tipsy state. When the crowd’s applause started dying, Magnolia joined Carol again on the stage, announcing that they would take a “little break”. She turned to Carol, a wry grin on her face. “Looks like I’ve got myself some competition, huh?” She said with a wink.

Both of them made their way off the stage, the lights getting a bit brighter to signal the brief intermission.

Piper was the first to greet Carol, showering her enthusiastically with kisses. “CAROL! HOLY SHIT!!” She exclaimed in awe, “I didn’t know you could sing like that!!” Carol giggled, hugging Piper tightly. “Thank you, Piper.” She replied, breathlessly. She in turn gave her a peck on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick print were her lips had been. They both giggled like school girls at the sight.

Nick greeted them, touching Carol’s shoulder gently. “Doll, you were glowing up there.”, he complimented, “I really, really enjoyed it.” Carol beamed, “Thank you so much, Nick.” She smiled appreciatively.

Piper wrapped her arm around Carol’s waist, bringing her close. “Let’s go get some victory drinks and enjoy the rest of the night, eh?” She said, maneuvering them toward the bar to join the rest of their group. “Yes, let’s.” Carol happily agreed, a skip in her step.

#fallout 4 #the third rail #magnolia #fallout oc #fallout #my writing #piper x sole survivor #piper wright #nick valentine

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cynicallystiles · 6 years

Text

Beach Sunrises: Kid in Love

Author: @cynicallystiles

Warning: Physical harassment, slight physical abuse, mentions of girls loving girls, bar fight, cop evasion, reckless behavior, cursing, and some slight teasing of smut.

Abbreviations: y/e/c = your eye color

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x Reader

Summary: While on tour one day, Shawn sees a woman watching the sunrise by herself. Thinking that he’ll never see her again, he tries to forget as he goes on with the rest of his day. But, serendipity seems to have other ideas…

Notes: Yo, I gave up sleep to finish this on time for y’all. Enjoy my dark and twisty mind. PLEASE REBLOG OR COMMENT if you like it! I always welcome messages and asks about my work! Enjoy! P.S. Two fics in one day is unheard of for me.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 Part 4

Words: 5,560

First P.O.V.

I manage to shakily get the tray back to the table. When Xander notices my return, he immediately starts acting weird. "You got my favorite!!" He exclaims before he pulls me in for a hug. "Okay, so I have the perfect song for you to sing next!"

I look at him skeptically. "What if I wanted to pick my own solo song?"

"Then I would have to say tough luck," he says truthfully. "Because your birthday night is really about me and what I want. Didn't you know?"

I cock my head to the side. "What's going on? Not even you would dare make my birthday about you," I squint at him.

"Technically, it's not your birthday. So ha!" He grins at me mischievously.

I sigh heavily. "What's the song?" I know there's no changing his mind once he starts bringing loopholes into the equation.

"Yay! Okay. So you're gonna sing IDEKYN," he says excitedly.

I lean against the tall table, despite my small height. "Okay...why that one? I mean there are so many Shawn songs you love hearing me sing. That's not one of them," I interrogate him.

"Maybe I want to hear something new on my own personal radio," he beams at me.

I glare at him intimidatingly. After not being able to read any clues on his face, I give in. "Your wish is my command," I say as I roll my eyes. He claps excitedly and we both grab a toothpick with a melon ball.

I raise mine to him and he does the same before we both eat it and then down the shots they came with. Anna finishes her song just as I leave the table. We pass each other and I shoot her a wink before we high-five.

I settle in on a bar stool as I adjust the mic. After doing so, the DJ makes a corny joke about me getting a standing ovation for this next one. The alcohol must be starting to set in because I find that extremely funny and can't help but laugh.

After signaling that I'm ready, the songs starts. I start out sitting down and by the time the song picks up, I'm standing and walking around the stage with the mic. It's fun to just bop along and do my own little dance moves to it.

As I get to the end of the song a glance over at our table to see Xander and Anna cheering me on. But, they're not alone. I can't quite make out who it is from this distance. It's a guy. Tall. Curly-ish hair. Surely, Xander hasn't picked up a guy already?

I finish the last lyric and bow while everyone claps. Of course, I can hear Anna calling for an encore. "I'm gonna take a brief intermission, guys! And when I come back...prepare to have your socks knocked off!" I giggle as I set the mic back in the stand and hop offstage.

My head is feeling slightly dizzy, and I can tell that I should probably start cutting back on the drinks or I'm not waking up until the evening tomorrow. I glance at the clock as I make my way back to the table. 12:39. A little less than two hours until I'll be cozy in my bed.

The closer I get to the table, the taller this mystery person seems to get. Xander sees me approaching and a wicked grin takes over his features. Meanwhile, Anna stands behind him and eyes the man suspiciously. I cock my eyebrow at her and she just shrugs like she had no part in it.

As I am finally within earshot of the table, I begin speaking. "Xander, what have we told you about picking up strays-" I begin to chuckle but it gets caught in my throat as the man turns his head toward me. I must be really drunk because there is no way that this is who I think it is.

He smiles broadly when he sees me. It's when he introduces himself that I know this isn't an alcoholic hallucination. "I'm Shawn. Though you probably already knew that seeing as how you were at my concert..." he laughs nervously.

My mouth almost drops but I force it to stay closed. I don't want to seem too weird. "Uh...yeah? Yeah, I did know that..." I shoot a glance at Xander who is giggling to himself. "Did you buy me Shawn Mendes for my birthday?"

Xander almost spits out his drink and even Shawn lets out a chuckle. I look back and forth between the two, while still observing the quietness of Anna in all this.

"Xander...It's really sweet and all, but I think he's a little out of your price range," I say feeling the alcohol in my system. He's about to say something back when I continue speaking, "I think you should probably return him to the store and get your money back. You'll be in debt for a very long time if you don't."

Oh, my god. Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!

I'm convinced that I'm thoroughly making a fool of myself when Shawn cracks up laughing. Xander does as well. "Oh honey, I'm well aware he's out of budget," Xander tells me as he lays a hand on my shoulder.

"Xander invited him to come when he went back to get your purse," Anna explains uninterestedly.

I look over at Shawn, who's already looking at me with concentration. "Why'd he do that?" I blurt out.

"Because I actually asked if I could tag along," Shawn tells me with a small giggle. He is even more beautiful up close.

I continue to stare intently at his honey eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you're more beautiful up close? 'Cuz you are..."

He shakes his head with a bashful smile. "Thanks. I don't think I actually have," he confesses.

My cheeks heat up and I realize that I'm being ridiculous. "I'm sorry! I didn't know I'd be meeting anyone important or I wouldn't have drank as much..." I comb my hair out of my face gently.

"No! It's alright," he says through laughs, "you're being honest. I like it." He smiles sincerely and I remember that Xander and Anna are still here.

I tear my gaze away from Shawn as I turn back to the group. "So, who's singing with me next?" I ask with a smile as I drum my hands on the table.

Xander and Anna exchange a look before looking back at me and Shawn. Xander with an excited look and Anna with a roll of her eyes. What is with her tonight? I glance down at the tray of shots.

"Hey...where'd all the shots go?" I look around concerned.

Xander speaks first, "I drank some and gave the rest away. Neither of us needs anymore..."

"Xander!! I paid for all of those! They were a lot," I say incredulously, the words coming out slower than I intended.

He shrugs. "You'll thank me for it later."

"Yeah, I'll thank you when you pay me back for each one you gave away," I grumble at him.

I feel a light touch on my shoulder and swing my head in the direction of it. This action caused me to get lightheaded for a brief moment. The source of the touch is Shawn, and my whole arm tingles.

"I still haven't gotten your name," he says with a shy smile.

My eyes widen and I laugh slightly. "Right! Sorry. I'm y/n. It is very nice to meet you," I say happily as I shake his tattooed hand. God, his hands are big.

Xander clears his throat and I let go of Shawn's hand. Not realizing that he was still holding onto mine as well.

Third P.O.V.

As she lets go of Shawn's hand, a slight blush creeps up her neck. She turns her attention back to Xander and Anna to begin discussing her next song. Shawn hardly hears anything they're saying because he's so focused on looking at her. She's so close he can see every single feature clearly now.

Even in the dimness of the bar lights, he can see that her eyes are an intense y/e/c. Her lips look soft despite the tiny cracks from dry weather. And when she smiles broadly as a laugh overtakes her body, he can see the dimples at the corners of her mouth. God, he wanted to kiss those dimples.

"Shawn?"

The sound of his name being called brings him back to reality. "Huh?" He asks shyly as he looks around at the staring faces. His eyes keep coming back to hers though.

Her nose crinkles again as she giggles with a closed smile. "We were asking what you thought I should do for my next song," she says.

"Oh. Uh..." He tries to think quickly as if he weren't just studying her as if she were some sample under a microscope.

She can tell that he wasn't paying attention. But, it doesn't bother her. She knows exactly what it's like to get so wrapped up in her own world that she doesn't know other people are around.

As she looks at him, her features light up with the ghost of an idea. "What if you did a duet with me?" Her smile slants as she chews on the inside of her lip.

"Me? No, I couldn't," he says nervously as he looks around. Her smile almost disappears and he quickly continues. "I-I mean I want to. It's just-I mean the people," he looks around again.

She contorts her face in a silly but confused way as she cocks her head at him. "Shawn, you just sang in front of a whole bunch of people. It's what you do," she finishes with a giggle at his awkwardness.

He loves the way she says his name like they're best friends. Like they didn't just meet in a bar after one of his concerts. It rolls off of her tongue as if she's been saying his name for her entire life.

He takes too long to respond as he thinks these things. So with a determined look on her face, she makes up his mind for him. "No one here is gonna know who you are. They're all old," she explains.

Before he can protest, she grabs his hand with her much tinier one and begins to drag him towards the stage. Despite him being a foot taller and probably a lot heavier than her, she's got some pull when she wants something. Not that Shawn was trying that hard to fight it. He was too focused on relishing in the fact that she was holding his hand.

She pushes him toward the stage as she goes over and whispers a song into the DJs ear. He grins as if it's a great song selection and begins setting it up. She bounds back over and up the small stairs to the stage, grabbing his hand along the way. Once onstage, she drags him to the middle and comes to a stop. She bounces in place with so much energy that it eases his nerves.

"So, what song did you pick?" Shawn asks as he looks down at her.

She immediately grins widely. "You're friends with Charlie Puth, right?" She bites her lip to contain her excited giggles.

"Um, yeah. But, I don't-" he begins but is cut off by the DJ getting the attention of the club.

He feels a slight pressure on his hand and he looks down. She never let go of his hand. Is she only being this touchy because she's been drinking? Is it only because he's him? Shawn said he likes the honesty that her tipsy state brings, but it also brings the question of what her regular personality is.

"If you forget the words, they're in front of us," she says encouragingly as she points to the screen.

She lets go of his hand to get the mics and he realizes how sweaty his hands are. He tries to discreetly wipe them on his pants as she approaches and hands him his mic. Before he can say anything else the song begins with his turn.

He stumbles at first. Partly because of nerves and partly because it took him a second to realize the song. But, he got into the groove of it. She danced adorably as he sang his verses, chiming in as the background singer. Seeing her so vibrant and having fun helped him relax.

It was when her turn started that things got interesting. She started dancing around him. Innocently, at first, as she made sassy gestures along with her lyrics. He sang backup for her and even bopped his body along to the beat. He couldn't help the smile that took over his face. Then she began running her hands over his chest and shoulders as she circled him. Every touch left a trail of tingling.

She reached the pre-chorus and he lost all focus. At the line "I won't fall to the ground on my knees" she proceeded to press her back against his chest and slide down his front to the floor. Then, she slid back up. It was quick in reality, but for Shawn, it felt like an eternity. He managed to sing his backup lines, his voice almost cracking when he repeated the word "knees."

He couldn't count how many times he gulped during the rest of that song. Before he knew it, the song was over and she was bowing over dramatically for the crowd. As she looks over, she realizes he's not bowing. She scoots over and grabs his hand so they can do a theater-style bow.

She moves to let go in order to return to the table, but he holds on. As she looks at him with wide eyes, he steps closer to her. In that moment he forgets that anyone else exists. He just wants to kiss her. As he switches his focus between her eyes and her lips, he steps closer again.

Shawn really should've remembered that there were people watching.

First P.O.V.

Still breathless from all the dancing and singing, we make our way back to the table and Anna decides to go sing another song. If I'm being honest, I'm also breathless from the way Shawn was looking at me. The way he was looking at my lips and inching closer.

I had let go of his hand when Xander started hollering about getting a room. As we sat at the high-chairs next to the table we didn't say much. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of him like I did at the beginning. Anna begins singing "Gravity" by Sara Bareilles.

"Xander! You let her pick this song?" I say as she begins singing sadly.

He looks at me shocked. "I'm not her mother, y/n. If she wants to sing a sad song, then let her," he states.

"She just depressing herself. I thought she was over this," I say as I roll my eyes.

Shawn speaks up as we continue to watch this sad display. "Uh, thought she was over what?"

"She fell in love with one of her friends," I begin as my eyes remain on Anna.

Xander chimes in to finish as my heart starts hurting for her. "The girl didn't like her back. Not that she didn't like girls. But, she specifically only saw her as a friend," he trails off as his eyes ghost over mine before turning to Anna.

Neither of us dares to say the name of the girl out loud. Not being able to bear watching it anymore, I excuse myself from the table. "I'm gonna go get water or a soda. You guys want anything?"

Xander shakes his head and I turn to Shawn. "Yeah, I'll come with you," he offers as he throws one last glance back at the stage.

Once at the bar and our orders are taken, he turns to me. "You were the girl weren't you?" He asks.

All I do is nod once, not elaborating on the story. "How'd you know?"

"Just this vibe I got from her. Like she wasn't exactly happy that I tagged along and sang with you. Or that I probably seem interested in you," he says as his voice grows quieter.

My eyes snap up to his. "You're interested in me?"

"Yeah. I mean, I can't get you out of my head since-" he cuts himself off but I finish his sentence.

"Since, you saw me on the beach this morning."

"How-"

"Instagram. Obviously." I chuckle and he visibly releases a breath he was holding. As if he was relieved that I'm not mad about him recording me.

"Sorry..." He says shyly.

I step closer to him, craning my neck to look into his eyes. "Don't be..."

He leans his head down as I rise up on my toes to lessen the distance. As if neither of us had any control over our bodies, the distance got smaller. His nose brushed against mine and both of our lips are hesitant. Before we can kiss, Shawn is yanked back by an unknown force.

"Hey!" Shawn and I both yell instinctually.

I come out of my haze and see the full picture. A hand had grasped Shawn by the collar of his jacket and pulled him back before shoving him hard into the wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I yell angrily.

The man stares at me with hatred in his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You pretend like you don't want attention coming to the bar dressed like that. But, then you get onstage and dance provocatively up against some kid?!"

It's the man from earlier who hit on me. At this point, I'm no longer scared. I'm pissed. "Listen, I don't even fucking know you. So, why don't you quit being a creep and go hit on someone who doesn't have standards?!" I spit the words out, repulsed.

"You're gonna pay for that-" he begins as he ascends on me. He grabs my arm and twists it towards him.

The grasp is ripped free when the man is shoved to the ground. I look up and see Shawn standing there, seething. "Don't you fucking touch her." His words are like ice and nothing I've ever heard on him before. Threatening.

The disgusting man doesn't give up so easily, though. He quickly stands to his feet and sucker punches Shawn. At this point, the whole bar has turned their attention towards us.

Anna stands frozen onstage, the song cut off by the DJ because of the commotion. Xander is attempting to get to the bar but people have gotten up from their seats to see better.

"Shawn!" I yell as I attempt to move toward him.

"I don't think so, little lady," the man grumbles as he advances toward me.

Years of self-defense classes kick in. As soon as he's within range, I wind up my foot and kick squarely in between his legs. He hunches over in pain, and as he's distracted I take the back of his head with my hands to slam his face into my knee. He looks at me, barely standing anymore.

Win all the next fights. Finish him off.

Without hesitating a second further, I pull back my fist with all my strength and bash his face once before he goes down. Still running on adrenaline, I race over and find Shawn.

"Shawn!" He looks at me and removes his hand from holding his face. "Oh, my god your lip!"

"It's fine. Are you-" he begins as his hand reaches for my arm, but is cut off by the sound of sirens outside.

Our heads whip around the room and see the DJ on the phone. Apparently, he thought it was gonna get nasty.

"You gotta go! If the press finds out-" I begin rambling in panic-mode as I look for a way out that's not the front.

"What about you? I'm not gonna leave you!" He says urgently.

"I'll meet you outside, but you gotta go now! I'll be right behind you," I command as I push him towards an employee entrance.

"But-"

"GO!"

He rushes through the door and the cops charge through the door. Everyone panics and begins running around drawing the attention of the cops, all running for their own reasons. I dart toward Xander at the table.

"We gotta go!" I say as I grab my purse.

"How the hell did you pummel that guy?" He asks incredulously.

"Now is not the time!" Without waiting to see if they were behind me, I run to the employee entrance and out the emergency exit. Once outside, I can see there are still a few cops standing in front of the door.

I discreetly begin walking toward Xander's car. As they see me they immediately call for my attention. "Hey! Miss! No one is allowed to leave!"

As they take a step toward me, fight or flight kicks in. I choose flight. I break off into a sprint away from the parking lot, not bothering to wait for Xander. As I'm running down the street in the direction of the hotel a car pulls up beside me with the window down.

"Y/n, get in!" It's Shawn. He must've seen me bolt. I quickly clamor into the car and he takes off speeding away from the venue.

As soon as we are a few blocks away, he slows to a regular speed. The adrenaline begins to slow down and I breathe heavily, muscles shaking. Shawn is breathing the same.

Despite myself, I begin giggling.

"Y/n?"

I continue giggling and it breaks into full-on laughter. The longer Shawn watches me, the more a smile breaks out on his face. Eventually, he's laughing hysterically with me.

The laughter dies down and the situation sets in. I'm still feeling the alcohol, and also the adrenaline. So, I unbuckle my seatbelt and begin crawling out the window.

"Y/n! Get back in the car! What the hell are you doing?"

I come to a sitting position in the window with my legs hanging inside the car, steadying myself with my arms on the roof. "I'm living, Shawn!" I yell happily.

As he drives down the empty streets, I let out several "WHOO-HOOS" at the top of my lungs.

"Do it with me, Shawn!" I urge him.

Eventually, he joins in and I can tell he's having fun. Our fun is interrupted when my stomach growls. I lower myself back into the car and look at the time. 1:15.

"Hey, Shawn?" I say as I look over at him.

"Yeah?" He glances at me as he bites his bottom lip to contain his grin.

"You hungry?" I smirk as I imitate his lame pick up line.

He glances at me again. His eyes different this time. "Absolutely."

Third P.O.V.

“Know any places that are open this late?” Shawn asks as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Oh, my gosh. Yes,” she says giddily before giving him directions.

A few minutes later they pull up to a drive-thru on the outside of an old-style diner. The machine crackles and a voice comes through the box.

“Welcome to Benny’s Diner, home of our famous cheesy dogs. May I take your order?”

Before Shawn can lean out the window and respond, y/n has unbuckled her seatbelt again. She quickly climbs over him, hanging her top half out of the window and her bottom half in the air in front of Shawn.

He shifts in his seat trying to contain his arousal by this position. She looks back in the window and smirks at him. She knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

“Bennyyy!!! My man!! How’s the midnight rush?” She jokes as if she’s familiar with the server.

“Y/n? Is that you?” He asks with a chuckle.

“The one and only! And I brought a friend!” She continues chatting as her butt wiggles unconsciously.

Shawn has got to get her off of his lap because this view is killing him. He’s about to just have at her in the drive-thru.

She finally makes an order. A rather large one, Shawn thinks, for someone of her size. But, he remembers she also ordered for him as well. They pull up to the front window and he shifts in his seat to reach his wallet.

“No, no, no! This is on me!” She says before crawling across him again. This time quicker than the last. Finally, the food is ready and they park in the lot to eat the food.

He begins to open the bags, but she quickly exits the car. She takes her food and shake with her. “Y/n, where are you going?”

“Just c’mon,” she says as she pokes her head back in the window before disappearing just as fast.

It’s 1:30 at night. They’ve already evaded cops tonight, drove down the streets screaming as she hung out the window, and yet he would still follow her further.

He gets out and follows her to the rear of the car where she climbs up and sits on the top of the vehicle. Chuckling, he imitates her actions. He already knows better than to question her motives.

They sit in silence as he watches her basically inhale 3 large orders of cheesy bacon fries, 2 small mozzarella stick orders, and half of her shake. He must be staring because she stops mid-sip and looks at him.

“Oh, my god. I’m being disgusting aren’t I?” She shakes her head as she covers her mouth with her hand.

He reaches over and tucks some hair behind her ear. His fingertips brush her cartilage piercing and she heats up at the touch. His touch did things to her. Dangerous things.

“You’re not,” he says reassuringly with a content smile. “I’m just trying to figure out where you put it all.”

She giggles. “I’m like the Flash,” she says as she takes another sip, “I burn calories so fast that I have to eat all the time.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

He laughs at this. God, she was funny. She takes her phone out as he continues eating. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” He looks up from his burger.

She sighs as she sets her phone back down. “My phone is dead so I can’t call Xander to let him know we’re okay. We kind of bailed on him.” She holds back a laugh because she knows it’s inappropriate.

“You can use mine,” he hands it over without hesitation.

She takes it shyly and opens up the dialing part. Her thumbs hover over the numbers. “Fuck. I have no idea what his number is,” she laughs.

“How do you not know your best friend’s number?” He questions with a chuckle.

She shrugs as she hands his phone back. “It’s automatically saved. Speed dial, ya know? The only numbers I have memorized are mine, my mom’s and-“ She cuts herself off, looking down at her criss-crossed lap.

“And?” He asks but immediately regrets it.

She sips her milkshake again and realizes that it’s empty. “And nobody. Just my moms and mine.” Just like that, her outgoing and giggly demeanor was gone. Locked away behind something that hurt her.

“So...” he tries to find something to say to lighten the mood, but he’s at a loss for words.

“What time is it?” She asks abruptly.

He checks his watch. “1:45, why?”

She takes a sharp inhale of breath. “It’s late, I should really get home.”

She gathers up her trash and walks over to throw it in the dumpster. Her movements slower than they were when they were on their wild adventure. When she returns she immediately gets in the car and waits for Shawn to drive her home.

He’s mentally kicking himself, wondering what flipped so quickly. And how he could get her to come back out of her shell. He didn’t want her to retreat. He wanted to know everything about her. But, she didn’t want him to know anything.

It’s not long before they are back at the hotel. She hesitated at the elevator, debating whether to go back to her room or his. She steps in just before the door closes.

“Can I use your phone when we get in?” She asks quietly.

“Of course.”

Once inside his room, she takes the phone to the bathroom. He looks at the bedside table. The clock says 2. He begins to hear her voice muffled on the other side of the door. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop so he begins to change out of the sweaty and slightly bloody clothes.

After about ten minutes, she exits the bathroom. Her expression a little brighter than before. “Thanks for letting-“ she stops when she looks up and sees him standing there shirtless.

“Oh! Sorry, I was just,” he fumbles around for something to put on. “I was just changing, I didn’t know-“

She silently walks over to the bedside table and sets the phone down. Then, she turns to Shawn and her eyes roam the bareness of his chest. She makes her way closer to him.

He doesn’t know what’s happening so he stands still. Almost as if he were trying not to startle a deer. Once she reaches him, her hand extends out to cup his jaw. Her thumb brushes over the cut on his lip from the punch. It’s scabbed now.

“Oh, no,” she says quietly. Almost to herself as she continues to scrutinize the cut.

“Y/n, I’m alright,” he tries to assure her. But, his physical health his not what she’s worried about.

His arm reaches out and brushes over her arm where the man grabbed her. She almost winces, the outline of a bruise forming. “You’re hurt,” he observes.

“I’m not the one who has a meet and greet in two days where tons of pictures will be taken...” Her thumb strokes his lip absentmindedly. Her gaze betrays her and Shawn knows that she blames herself somehow.

He moves his hand to brush her cheek, his fingers finding resting places behind her ear and into her hair. His large thumb strokes her cheekbone lightly. “Why is the press your only concern? Even when we were in the bar, your first thought was to protect me from getting caught in bad publicity...”

Her eyes finally leave his lip and she looks into his honey eyes. Her expression softens. “Because that’s your life, Shawn. Your life is about your image and I didn’t want to be the one to screw it up...”

“Hey,” he says as his eyebrows furrow. “You do not have to put the weight of my career on your shoulders. We just met-“

“We just met and I’m already almost getting you arrested,” she cuts him off, but there is only shame in her voice. “I admire you. I admire you and the way you treat people with kindness. Your newest song? It’s gonna reach people in ways that music should. You have important messages to share and what kind of fan would I be if I ruined your image?”

She’s so good. Wise beyond her small age of 21. She sees the big pictures and the tiniest details that go into them. She was hurt, and he could tell she had a past and secrets that she didn’t want to share. But, she was kind. And she was radiant. Most importantly, she saw him. She sees through the celebrity part of it all to understand him, and what he’s really about.

His entire body moves of its own accord as the hand in her hair pulls her forward. The other hand snaking behind her to the small of her back. He leans down and gently, but fiercely attaches his lips to hers. She sighs into his lips and one of her hands grips the hair at the base of his head. Her other one reaching up to cup his hand around her ear.

It’s passionate. Neither had even used their tongue yet. Just movement and synchronicity in their kisses. Shawn is surprised by how much restraint he’s showing. That is until she instinctually nibbles his bottom lip. Hell breaks loose inside of him as he grips her thighs raises her up. She assists with a jump and wraps her legs around his waist.

He walks slowly towards the bed, wanting to give her time to back out. But, she didn’t. His knees reach the bed and he lays her down gently, but quickly as he hovers over her. His pendant dangles just over the space between her collarbones before he reconnects their lips.

Both of them are kind of in a trance with how much every touch tingles. Shawn knew deep in his bones that this was meant to be. But, a question lurked in the back of his mind the whole time. Did she feel the same?

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andrewuttaro · 6 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 11 - CBJ

I was going to save Rob Ray using the term “Gloryhole” to describe Artemi Panarin’s second goal for the P.S. but I couldn’t help myself and that is just everything you need to know about Rob Ray the broadcaster in one hilarious live TV misspeak. Was he misspeaking? I feel like he used the word totally seriously just not fully realizing what it means… you know in sexual parlay. I actually missed that epic call, I had turned off the stream; not in rage, OT does make the heart race, but I was at my wife’s grandma’s house deep in the Finger Lakes. They aren’t the people to forego a game in the World Series for an October Sabres game. Rob Ray had a pretty classic gaff about that too but this isn’t a Rob Ray blog, this is New Look Sabres. I got to say, I don’t know if I would go through the effort to watch a stream on my phone on Saturday night for last year’s Sabres. This game is pretty indicative of the New Look Sabres I envisioned naming this blog. The Columbus Blue Jackets have proven themselves to be the frustration factory of hockey in the playoffs and if the Sabres ever want to get back to those they will need to beat some CBJs this season. The Buffalo Sabres did not look out of place against these guys and that says a lot.

Tage Thompson made himself useful and got an assist on Kyle Okposo’s first goal of the game crashing the net 98 seconds into the game. Two thoughts on that: Tage Thompson sat the last several games and several Smart Sabres folks pointed out the uselessness of not sending him down. He has taken his time to get comfortable in the system and didn’t look great but if he can start producing he ought to stay. I won’t be offended if he goes down at this point but hey, silver linings, right? Second Thought: Crashing that net. Look at most of the goals the Sabres have scored so far this season, thirty goals to be exact, and the majority will be crashing that net. If the Sabres score goals I’m not upset but is crashing the net the substitute for all our guys not shooting from the point? Just a thought, it’s more rhetorical, I had a lot of time to think about this game. Pierre-Luc Dubois shot from the point. After receiving a pass from Panarin he shot one high on Linus Ullmark. Five minutes later Jeff Skinner found a puck sent from McCabe and launched it two-hole. For the second time in two games a Sabres goal got challenged and stood. I could get used to this. The Sabres would enter the first intermission up 2-1 on the home team. Then the second period happened.

The Buffalo Sabres shut off. They got a single powerplay opportunity but it was the first period since maybe the San Jose game when we saw the Sabres just fall flat. Did they play their game? Perhaps they did: Jack Eichel screeched in on Joonas Korpisalo and got robbed. It wasn’t Sabres who scored this period. Artemi Panarin was a man on a mission scoring 94 seconds into the second in a goal that I will say was sick because I, like anyone with two eyes for hockey, want that guy on my team. He made Ristolainen look like he didn’t know ice is slippery. Those cannon blasts just kept coming and Cam Atkinson scored twice 32 seconds apart to put the Jackets up 4-2 through forty minutes of hockey. I am not even going to defend my boy Linus Ullmark in this period. The whole team sleep walked through this period. Then the New Look Sabres got back in the final frame. Jason Pominville scored on a behind-the-net setup from Jack Eichel to get the game within one two and a half minutes in. Two minutes later the Sabres highlight of this game happened. It took eleven games into his first full NHL season but Casey Mittelstadt scored one, a sausy one on the powerplay but it was his. That’s one monkey we all ought to be happy is off our favorite child’s back. The two teams traded chances for the rest of regulation; one shot by Columbus’ Anthony Duclair was taking a gentle stroll toward the line when Sam Reinhart fished it out. That may have been the play that secured the point in this game as this one went to a brief OT before Artemi Panarin out maneuvered three misaligned Sabres and won it. Sabres lost in OT 5-4 and altogether you probably love what you glean from the Blue and Gold team in this game.

I brought up crashing the net earlier because I think it’s a really interesting point of study in Phil Housley’s system. I am no expert, that’s kind of one of this blog’s calling cards, but does a net-crashing team not play fundamentally differently than a shoot first team? This league is overwhelmingly going in a speed-first direction and that’s made defenses slimmer and agile. Not many teams beat the shit out of you in front of the net anymore. It’s a good strategy for now, but I am just not certain how sustainable it is. It could also be a fair analysis of this team’s strengths by the coaching staff. I looked at those thirty goals Buffalo has scored, aw yeah its cool having that many goals through only eleven games, and very few lead you to believe any skater on this team prefers to shoot from the point. Jack Eichel’s overly-selfless pass-first mentality is well documented but I couldn’t find anyone really who jumps out as an honest-to-God shooter on this team. Kyle Okposo, who has looked like a new acquisition as of late thank God, stands out as something of a shooter but who else? Conor Sheary scores slappers from close up, minus well just call him Lumberjack Conor at this point, Jeff Skinner has scored more of his goals rather tight in there and I’ll leave Sam Reinhart alone for now. Jason Pominville even shoots from a place he can hear the goalies breathe. Maybe I had too much time to think about this game.

This team looks capable of comebacks and that is as refreshing as it gets. More than one observer across the bloggers, beat reporters and newsmen said following this game that this matchup last year… or really any season since Obama’s first term, would’ve turned into a rout. Buffalo comes back now and that’s what good teams do. I will gladly take a few OT heartbreaks that result in a point than fighting the urge to turn off the game before it’s over. Speaking of things I don’t want to turn off: how do you like this blog? Yea, I am talking to you with the shirt. It’s nice to see feedback come in certain non-word ways but it would be cool to read it in text too. Share this, like it, heart it, all of the above, and just spread it around. Know someone stressing about that OT loss to a team that is probably better? Send this to them. Hey you, this ain’t the old Sabres, these guys are allowed to lose tough games if they’re going to fight that hard in them. Well anyway, Tuesday night Calgary comes to town on the back of a faceoff against those cardiac kids up in Toronto so maybe we can put out a fire with one of our own. A home and home with Ottawa awaits us later in the week and a win streak here benefits not only how the rest of the season goes but also divisional bragging rights! Let’s go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. I really hated Artemi Panarin in 2016. I thought he stole Jack Eichel’s Calder Trophy but as I have matured as a hockey fan I realize it wasn’t so much an injustice as an armed heist.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #nhl #blog #cbj

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 6 years

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Title: The Last Word (ao3) Characters: Sirius Black, Orion Black Summary: After his near expulsion at the end of his fifth year, Sirius returns home to his mother's new plans for him and his father as his last hope.Orion thinks it's high time Sirius grew up and began taking his responsibilities seriously; he's beginning to realize how much he's indulged his son. (Warnings for mentions of corporal punishment and mention of suicide) (Also lots of drama)

This fic brought to you by Caps OT Intermission thx boys

The sudden silence echoing in his home caused Orion Black to glance up from his paper. The fight that had been raging downstairs for near an hour now had, it appeared, run its course. It had started, not for the first time, with a snide comment from Orion’s elder son meant to rile up his mother. Sirius has been in one of his darker moods all week, confining himself to his room or stalking around their home when he left, snapping at everyone. Orion’s wife had taken his bait, and they’d escalated from there.

One might have thought, Orion mused, that his near expulsion from school just several weeks ago might cow the boy into good behavior. One would have hoped too much.

Orion himself had left when his wife had brought up the inferior company Sirius chose to keep. Their voices tended to rise exponentially when that topic came up. He sat, listening for a moment, to see if something would reignite the battle.

He heard footsteps rushing down the hall. Presumably, to Sirius’ room. Orion returned to his paper, ignoring the footsteps as they came closer.

The footsteps did not pass, however, to the stairs, and Orion was thoroughly startled when the door burst open. He barely had a moment to take in his son’s wild-eyed appearance, the tears streaking down his face, before he said, “Papa, please!” and flung himself on the ground, around his father’s knees.

“Sirius!” he said, alarmed. Sirius called him Papa only very rarely since he’d turned ten, and hadn’t seen the boy cry since even before then. “What is the matter?”

“You know,” Sirius said. “You know she wants to send me away!”

It was true Walburga had been scheming things for Sirius. It wasn’t the first time she’d raised the question of arranging him a marriage and transferring him to Beauxbatons, but it had received greater urgency in the past few weeks. Two days after they had heard news of Sirius’ near expulsion, she had come into his bedroom. That itself had told Orion he had better pay attention, as she rarely bothered him there these days. She had said, briskly, that it was high time they find a girl to settle Sirius down with and that she as contacting their French connections about transferring him out of Hogwarts and away from the influence of that Muggle-lover and their lollygagging Half-Blood friends. Orion had only nodded when she told him it was for the best, was what he needed. It made sense.

“Please Papa,” Sirius said again, pleading. “Don’t let her, don’t let her send me away.”

“A marriage would still be several years off,” Orion assured him, letting a hand settle on his hair, far more patient than he had any right to be. “And your mother and I have discussed you transferring. After the incident this spring--,”

Sirius had only been home from school a month, and the incident with the Snape boy occurred just a few weeks prior to that. He had been punished severely as soon as he got home. It was the first time Orion had ever taken the cane in his study to either of his boys. Quiet Regulus rarely needed any discipline, and when he did a stern word and look was enough to shake him, and, as both Cygnus and Druella hinted snidely, they were too soft with Sirius. They frequently took away his voice, which he hated, and confined him to his room, which he hated, but the fact stood that most of his discipline consisted of arguing with him.

He had rather thought that the caning would sate Walburga enough she would back away from her other plans. He had said as much to her, that perhaps they had punished Sirius enough. But Sirius had taken his beating stoicly, had never once even so much as whimpered, had only gripped the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white, and had been so defiantly cheerful, despite how clearly painful walking and sitting was for him that night, at dinner that Orion had a feeling his punishment had been ineffective, too little, too late. Walburga had given him a look across the table, and he had nodded his agreement.

He had a suspicion that she had not meant to tell Sirius this very night, until she had certain aspects solidified and Orion’s knowledge, but that Sirius had managed to set her off enough to begin threatening.

“You can’t, you can’t,” Sirius pleaded. “Papa, please, my friends are there. You can’t take them away from me, they’re all I have.”

“You have us,” Orion said sharply. “You have this family. Above all else. Have we not given you everything you could want and need?”

“You don’t love me,” Sirius sobbed. It was pathetic, made more so by the fact that he meant it and wasn’t just the accusation of a petulant child who hadn’t gotten his way.

He and Walburga had indulged him far too much as a child, had let him grow wild and free for sixteen years, but now that he was close to coming of age, it was time to prune, only Orion and Walburga were finding the branches and vines were overgrown and thick. They should have started pruning years ago, and now the only way to clear the overgrowth was destroying it.

“Really, now, Sirius,” Orion said impatiently. “It’s not as bad as all that. It’s time you started listening to your mother.”

“I’ll kill myself,” Sirius bit out, raising his face to meet Orion’s gaze. His expression was stormy, tears still flowing, but twisted with anger, as ugly as he’d ever seen his handsome son. It bothered him that he thought Sirius might actually do it. “I’ll kill myself before I let her--”

Orion slapped him hard across the face. Perhaps too hard—the boy’s face whipped to the side with the force of the blow.

For a moment, there was just quiet, Orion breathing harshly, Sirius’ uneven, panting huffs of breath. Sirius didn’t turn his head back, but he did raise a hand to touch his cheek gingerly.

Orion reached out and gripped his chin, not as hard as he might have, conscious of the swelling on Sirius’ right side and jerked his head back so he was looking up at his father. Orion saw, with some detachment, his lip was bleeding too. It had, however, shocked him out of his tears.

“Pull yourself together,” he hissed. “You are above these hysterics and such begging is unbecoming if a Black. Spoiled, selfish boy, do you think you are the only one who has been asked to do something he doesn’t want? Do you think you are the only one who has ever been asked to do his duty? You are almost of age and it is high time you grow up.”

Sirius held his gaze, eyes wide and far more vulnerable than Orion had ever seen. The resemblance between him and Regulus was striking. He looked very young.

Orion continued. “You will clean yourself up. You will apologize to your mother.”

“I will not,” Sirius said, and Orion’s grip on his tightened.

He leaned forward. “Then you will stay in your room with no meals until such a time you are ready to treat her with respect.”

He waited for an answer, and when none came, he started again. “You are not to leave the house this summer. You will join me in managing the family affairs. We’ve neglected such education for you for far too long. You will meet whichever girl your mother and I decide for you. You will be kind to her and treat her respectfully. You will not run her or her family off. And when fall comes, you will go to the school we deem best for you. We have endured your disgraceful sorting and all the shame you have brought to this family long enough. You will go with no complaints, you will continue to achieve high marks, and you will have no contact with your—,” his lip sneered, “—friends.”

“I will not,” Sirius said quietly. The wide-eyed vulnerability disappeared into the haughty Black stare. Cool, disinterested. It should have infuriated Orion. It only made him feel very old.

“You will,” Orion repeated, “or so help me, I will disown you.”

It was mostly a bluff, but he could feel Sirius, arms still clutched around his knees, face trapped in his hand, still. He did not answer.

“You will,” Orion said again, a brief flash of wonder at his own stupidity for inviting a bout of childish back and forth. His son always had to have to last word.

Still, he did not answer. It worried Orion more than he cared to admit that there was no vivacious comeback and infuriated him that he refused his father the respect of an answer. Perhaps they’d finally tamed him, as they had wanted. Perhaps his silence was his last word.

“Get up,” he said, releasing Sirius abruptly from his grasp. “You’re dismissed. Return to your room until you apologize.”

Sirius stared at him and then stood. He was tall, athletic, the most handsome boy Orion has ever seen, far outstripping even his own brother, even in his current state, too long hair in disarray, eyes puffy from crying, face red and tear streaked, his cheek swelling and lip still cut. He looked at Orion, almost searchingly, then left, shutting the door, uncharacteristically quiet, behind him.

Orion would have to call upon Regulus and Kreacher to prevent either from sneaking Sirius food or healing cream for his face. But for just a moment, after Sirius had gone, he buried his face in his hands.

Sirius did not reappear from his room the next day. By mid-afternoon, Orion had had quite enough. “Idiotic foolish ingrate,” he muttered to himself, climbing up the stairs. “Stubborn, ungrateful, impertinent child.”

He burst into the room, shouting his son’s name, without knocking, and froze. Sirius was not there. Orion looked around. It was far too neat for Sirius’ tastes, almost barren. A few clothes remained behind, a stack of last year’s textbooks. His broom was gone, his wand and trunk too. His window was still open, curtains fluttering in the summer breeze.

Orion walked over to the sill. A note sat folded there. He shut the window, opened the piece of paper.

Hastily scribbled on it, in his son’s sloppy scrawl, “I won’t. —S”

His last word, and that was it.

#Sirius Black #Orion Black #Black Family #Harry Potter #Hp #Fanfic tag #my fic #katie's adventures in writing

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aibidil · 6 years

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So if you had to choose, out of Harry or Draco, which one do you think gets more turned on by the sight of the other one with their sleeves rolled up to the elbows exposing FOREARMS?

Why hello, @goldentruth813, forearms!drarry, you say? You have come to the right place.

First of all, I hope it’s clear that there’s no real answer to this question, because, like with most things with these two, they’re both completely lost over each other and that includes forearms.

And, like most lovers, they enjoy each other’s bodies in general. They don’t have perfect bodies, you know, but that doesn’t matter to people in love. Harry has a pretty good physique from trying to keep up with Greg and Dudley at the gym, but the truth is he can’t lay off the treacle tart and has a bit of a belly, and Draco is totally into it. And Draco is good-looking, but he’s also kinda too skinny and he never goes to the gym with the others because “honestly Harry, have you smelled it there?” but Harry thinks Draco is gorgeous and doesn’t mind his pointiness. In any case, I digress. They love each other’s bodies.

But the thing about bodies is they’re usually clothed in public? So you might stare at the way a set of shoulders fill out a pair of robes, or you might admire the curve of an ass in a pair of gabardine wizarding trousers or ratty but well-fitted Muggle jeans, but in general the bodies are kept under wraps. Which is a pretty good thing, indeed, because these two have a hard enough time keeping their hands off each other. Harry has confided more than once to Draco that he doesn’t understand how Ginny keeps her hands off Luna when Luna wears that set of robes with the plunging neckline.

But forearms. Forearms.

Draco blames/credits the first time they ever kissed on Harry’s forearms in a baseball tee. It had those three-quarter sleeves, you know, and that really thin, soft cotton. After the war, Muggle fashion was in vogue, and all the Quidditch teams had started selling Muggle-inspired team paraphernalia. Harry liked to wear the Montrose Magpies tee to annoy Ron (who, incidentally, had bought one of every item in the Cannons inventory). And Harry had these gorgeous tanned forearms sticking out of this blasted Muggle-inspired plebeian Quidditch tee? But Draco really had always liked the Magpies? And Harry, at the time, had been busy writing and each stroke of the quill caused the muscles in his forearms to move, and the arms were covered with this layer of dark hair and Draco was overcome with this desire to know where that hair ended? Was his back hairy?—Merlin forbid; Draco had to know; it was for science, really. And so he was just staring at Harry’s arms, and then Harry stuck his tongue between his teeth, because he’s the kind of bloke to stick his tongue in his teeth when he’s concentrating, and Draco may have kind of sort of Vanished the desk Harry was working at and grabbed Harry’s stupidly strong and tan and hairy forearms and yanked Harry toward him for a searing kiss.

These days Harry’s forearms distract Draco in a different way (though the Montrose Magpies baseball tee—which Harry still fucking has, and please can you read the Life-Changing Wizarding Magic of Tidying Up? It fucking brings me joy, Draco!—still drives Draco a bit randy, if he’s honest), because Harry is usually in his work robes and his gorgeous forearms are usually covered. So when he finally takes off his robes, which signals a sort of winding-down relaxation that always portends good things for Draco, the forearms cause a sort of anticipatory Pavlovian response. Forearms? Time to cook dinner with Harry. Forearms? Time for a do you feel like a glass of wine? Forearms? Fuck dinner, time to cast a Stasis and deal with that later.

Another less common way in which Harry’s forearms drive Draco to distraction occurs at events where Harry, for whatever reason, is wearing Muggle suits. Like Dudley and Greg’s destination beach wedding (Muggles in attendance, no robes allowed). Harry, it turns out, really hates wearing suits and immediately starts to act like he’s been hit with an Itching Jinx, grasping at his collar, fussing with his tie, whinging about how the shoulders don’t allow a free range of movement. So inevitably, Harry starts stripping off pieces of the suit, and this is when Draco generally sits back, swirling his drink, slowly feeling heat bloom in the pit of his stomach. Usually Harry loosens the tie first, exposing some of his neck, and then the suit jacket, which often reveals a waistcoat (and Circe, Draco has a real thing for waistcoats). But the next part is when the heat blossoming in Draco’s stomach starts to rise to his chest and neck: Harry unfastens his wrists and rolls up the sleeves. And it doesn’t even make any sense—there’s no logic involved here—because Harry is always good looking and he’s basically wearing the same thing regardless of the configuration of the sleeves, but let’s just say that once the sleeves are rolled up, Draco’s face is red and they’ve Apparated to a private location within a few minutes. (Harry generally returns to the function wearing something more comfortable, because “Draco, fuck it, there’s no way I’m putting that on twice in one day! You just took it off me!”)

But Harry is, believe it or not, just as obsessed with Draco’s forearms. Perhaps it’s because Draco is usually so buttoned-up. Draco is crisply pressed shirts and fussy robes and not ever rolling up his sleeves even if it’s the middle of the summer and sweat is dripping off his brow and down his neck. The first time Harry sees Draco roll up his sleeves, they’re sitting at a table together and it’s hot and they’re preoccupied and Draco does it without thinking. Harry has a coughing fit, because—in addition to staring at Draco’s forearms, which are lean and pale but also the tiniest bit freckly if you’re up close and the leanness allows you to see the muscles really well—it means that Draco trusts him. It means that Draco trusts him enough to stop with being buttoned-up, but it also means that Draco trusts him enough to see the Dark Mark and not freak out.

And the Dark Mark is horrible. It was awful when Voldemort was alive and it’s stomach-churning even after his death, when it’s faded to a pink scar. It’s ugly and it stands for ugly things, and Harry can’t stop thinking about how out of place it looks on Draco’s pale arm. Because Draco has done so much to redeem himself since the war; Draco isn’t ugly anymore (Draco was never physically ugly, of course, Harry mentally corrects, only the ideology was ugly). So the Mark seems incongruous on this Draco’s arm, and the human eye is drawn to incongruous things. Draco sees Harry looking and quirks an eyebrow, knowing Harry well enough by this point to know that he wouldn’t say anything hurtful about the Mark, but curious, nevertheless, about what Harry will say. But Harry only traces it with a finger, marveling at the way the scar tissue feels, and says, “Sometimes I wish the evil in me had a clear visual reminder like this: it’s still there, but it’s the past, you know?” And Draco stares at him for a moment—in awe, overcome with feelings he can’t quite name—before he pulls Harry into his lap and they divest themselves of their shirts entirely.

And when Draco agrees to start working with the new Muggle Studies and History of Magic professors at Hogwarts to talk to the students about the war and the toxicity of Voldemort’s ideology (“if you can even call it an ideology”), he starts to wear a uniform that consists of Muggle-style trousers, waistcoat, and shirt with rolled-up sleeves every day. Because showing off what remains of the Mark is part of his work, and overcoming his anxiety about letting people see it is for the greater good. And Harry really can’t control himself around that (“Are you sure you shouldn’t have sorted Hufflepuff, Harry?”). Draco has to ban Harry from accompanying him to Hogwarts, because the first time, after Harry spent an hour watching Draco discuss the war with a group of third-year Ravenclaws with his forearms and Mark on display, they ended up fucking in Myrtle’s bathroom, and the second time, after Draco had taught a lesson and somehow ended up with his forearms and face covered in chalk from the blackboard, Harry nearly Splinched himself trying to Apparate to avoid being caught with his trousers down by an ever-nosy Filch.

In fact, just yesterday, they were sitting at a table eating oats (“steel cut, not rolled, Harry”) in their pyjama pants and t-shirts, they were each driven to distraction by the other’s forearms, and after a brief (not-so-brief) breakfast intermission during which time the oats congealed, Harry declared, “I think we ought to wear our dressing gowns to breakfast on days we have to be somewhere.”

So it’s pretty much a tie, really.Tagging @lol-zeitgeistic @callingdrarry @carpemermaidtales @llap115 and everyone else who was involved in the Forearm Discourse of 2017.

#drarry #forearms #drarry squad #dark mark #goldentruth813 #asks #I really got carried away #grudders

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buzzkillmag · 4 years

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2019 WRAPPED: a few contributors’ (and my) records of the year

in order of release, here are some of our contributors’ albums of the year, alongside my extremely extensive list of my favorite LPs released in the past 365 days.

1. january 18, heard it in a past life by maggie rogers

this album, without a doubt, shaped this entire year for me, but whenever i’m asked to explain how, or why, i get choked up. at the time of its release, i was in such a strange place mentally that i couldn’t listen to “light on” - one of the most popular songs on the album - without sobbing uncontrollably, even if that meant excusing myself to cry in the restroom when it came on at work. i am so grateful to have had hiiapl to grow with this year. maggie rogers is one of the most influential artists in the world right now, and i know this album is a lot of people’s record of the year. recommendations: light on, burning, on + off, the knife

2. january 25, amo by bring me the horizon

the return of british metalcore band bring me the horizon was such a heavily anticipated one, given the fact that their last LP release was in 2015, but i don’t think anyone could have expected the record they were going to release, or how different it would be from anything they’d ever made. bring me the horizon made a really impressive leap into something of an unknown; there has been, both unfortunately and understandably, some backlash regarding exactly what genres the band had decided to experiment with and whether they’d lost their roots in deathcore. but they’ve promised that despite this jump, they’ll still be as rowdy as ever in their live shows. amo is one of my favorite records of the year because of its genre-bending, and because of its desperation and emotion. it’s turned bring me the horizon from a band i never really cared for into one i now seek out when i’m thinking of what to listen to on drives. recommendations: mantra, in the dark, sugar honey ice + tea, mother tongue

3. february 1, midnight by set it off

my favorite record of 2019 is midnight by set it off. not only did the band completely reinvent their aesthetic, they also showcase a more mature and cohesive sound. cody (the lead singer) is a classically trained clarinetist and I think his knowledge of music really shows on this record. each song has little surprises here and there, and shows the work of musicians who understand rhythm and texture. there’s a little something for everyone, from the angsty undertones of “killer in the mirror” and “dancing with the devil,” to the raw, beautiful emotion of the ballad “unopened windows.” hands down best record of 2019! -gabriela (twitter || instagram)

4. march 1, wasteland, baby! by hozier

I wish I could do my dissertation on the various ways Wasteland, Baby! is a masterpiece but unfortunately I'm in a museum studies program and I don't think my professors would accept that proposal. Hozier was somehow able to fit every emotion a human being is capable of feeling in a mere 57 minutes (and 21 seconds of course) and, by the end, has made the listener feel warm and hopeful despite a large theme being, y'know, the literal ending of everything. Don't even get me started on his referencing and imagery we could be here FOREVER talking about Shrike alone! Even Spotify was like "Hey this is literally all you listened to this year, you good?". Hozier and Wasteland, Baby! have been through one of the toughest years of my life with me - including the transition into a new country - and they will forever have a place in my heart. -alissa (instagram)

5. march 22, mystic truth by bad suns

up until this year - and this release - bad suns were always a background artist in my life. i’ve been listening to them since they first released “cardiac arrest” and it was a single of the week on itunes, but only casually. this was, however, the year i saw them live, on their mystic truth tour in late spring. recommendations: away we go, the world and i, love by mistake

6. march 29, you are ok by the maine

the maine are the most dramatic band in the world, and i love them to death for it. after staging a funeral for their 2017 release, lovely little lonely, in october 2018 to signify their departure from social media, they spent nearly six months in silence to write and record before releasing their seventh record, you are ok, this past march. this record makes me more - for lack of a better word - emo than any of their previous work, in spite and as a consequence of its blatant deviation from the loneliness of anything they’ve released pretty much since black & white. you are ok is, from its very first breath, evolved. recommendations: slip the noose, my best habit, tears won’t cry (shinju), heaven we’re already here

7. march 29, when we all fall asleep, where do we go? by billie eilish

the debut full-length from music prodigy billie eilish was long-awaited by dedicated fans and the general public alike, and when it finally dropped in march of this year, not a single person on this planet was disappointed (probably a hyperbole and consequently bad journalism, but who cares, i never claimed to tell the whole entire truth). when we all fall asleep is a genre-defying masterpiece; the tracks don’t feel as if they should be played on the radio, but because of eilish’s more mainstream previous releases, she’d essentially earned a permanent slot in most popular stations’ rotations. i also had the privilege of watching her play to one of the biggest crowds that reading festival’s main stage had ever seen, and she blew myself (and everyone else there) away. recommendations: xanny, all the good girls go to hell, when the party’s over, my strange addiction, bury a friend

9. april 26, the balance by catfish and the bottlemen

despite criticisms that they’ve been making the same album for five years, i genuinely believe that with every new release, catfish and the bottlemen produce more emotionally coherent and intelligent music. i finally got to see them this year, on their tour supporting the balance, too, after years of casual listening. the balance turned me into a ravenous catfish fan; i spent two months after the show devouring all of the content surrounding them i could find, listening to all three of their albums on repeat, and crying endlessly over how beautiful van mccann is. this album absolutely defined the back half of my 2019, and i’m always shocked to learn that there are people who don’t love it as fiercely as i do. i have such an overflowing fountain of feelings about this album that i’m still not entirely sure how to write about, but all i have to say is that, if you haven’t yet, please please please give this album a spin. recommendations: fluctuate, conversation, intermission, overlap

10. may 24, future dust by the amazons

the amazons are the best band i discovered this year, hands down. according to my spotify year in review, i listened to over 9 hours of their music since seeing them at reading in august (not including all the times i spun this record on vinyl in that time as well). future dust is a masterpiece; there is not one bad track; every time i listen to it, it gets better. they’ve got rock and roll on lock. no one else has come close since maybe the arctic monkeys, but the amazons have brought it back. i’m having a hard time stringing together words about the way this record makes me feel, but i hope that you’ll see this, listen to it top to bottom six or seven times, and make your own feelings about it. recommendations: mother, fuzzy tree, black magic, 25, doubt

11. june 14, doom days by bastille

i will probably forever hate myself for falling out of love with bastille after i graduated high school. i’m not entirely sure what happened (actually, i am - i was shoved too far up the maine’s ass to care about anything else) but i know that i loved them more than anything when i was a teenager, and the doom days album cycle - specifically their reading set - reignited that love, so i’ll be forever grateful to it for that. this album is conceptual and amazing, set over the course of one night when the writer - presumably frontman dan smith, whose brain this came out of - attends a party with his friends in an attempt at escapism. the world is fucked - dan’s words, but also mine - and sometimes we really do just need to pull the wool over our own eyes for once and let loose, even if just for a night. it starts at a “quarter past midnight,” when the night has only just begun, endless possibilities stretched out ahead of him, and finishes with “joy,” about waking up on the kitchen floor, your phone going off in your hand, the only person who really matters in your life on the other end of the line. bastille have always released music that makes it clear that they give a fuck what happens to earth and her people, and with doom days, they’ve perfected that sound. recommendations: quarter past midnight, divide, million pieces, joy

12. august 23, GINGER by brockhampton

after a brief hiatus, my favourite all-american boyband returned with their fifth studio album, GINGER. with a noticeably matured and somewhat mellowed shift within the hip-hop collective, this record explores themes of grief and disconnection to the backdrop of upbeat melodies such as on "boy bye" and sweet love songs such as on "sugar". though perhaps my favourite sentiment on this record lies within the fact that it opens with the echoed words, "I don't know where I'm going," and closes poignantly with the heartfelt statement, "Thank God that I'm built for the distance." -katy (twitter | instagram)

13. september 13, hypersonic missiles by sam fender

hypersonic missiles, the debut full-length from geordie singer-songwriter-maestro sam fender, was my most anticipated release this year. fender has faced a mess of obstacles this year, mostly health-related, after winning the BRIT awards’ critics’ choice award at the start of it, and as a result has had to cancel a majority of the shows he’d had schedules and push back the release of hypersonic missiles a whole month. it was well worth the wait, though, and i ended up writing an essay-length review of it for highlight magazine when i finally did get to hear it. filled to the brim with emotional ballads and belters alike, hypersonic missiles is a culmination of over five years of songwriting and even longer of sam being fed up - with his government, with his peers, with the misrepresentation of mental health by the media. we’ve only had this record for three months, but i can already tell it’s timeless. i’m only hoping sam’s voice recovers enough that he can continue to tour to promote it before returning to studio (reportedly the electric lady in new york city!) to record his second release. recommendations: hypersonic missiles, white privilege, you’re not the only one, will we talk?, two people

14. september 13, pride & disaster by sleep on it

my favorite record of the year is undoubtedly ‘Pride & Disaster’ by Sleep On It. Pride & Disaster arrived the perfect time for me, as I just transferred out of college. I felt lost and unsure of my future. However, listening to Pride & Disaster gave me a sense of hope and support that I’ll be okay on my new journey. -julie (twitter)

15. october 4, interrobang by bayside

Just like the title, there's no single form of punctuation that can explain the brilliance of this album. 'Interrobang' takes the classic Bayside sound to a new level with heavier riffs, faster time signatures, and iconic lyrics. From "Heaven," a stand out anthem for aging punks in the scene to "Bury Me," a melodic metal inspired breakout track, this album is laced together perfectly with both the past and future of Bayside. By tip toeing the line between metal, alt rock, and pop punk, the band has shown that even after almost twenty years as a band, they can still innovate and transform with new music. -katie (twitter | instagram)

16. december 13, fine line by harry styles

i wanted to include this in this roundup, considering i haven’t stopped listening to it since it came out (and i saw him live!), but i did also write an entire review of the album. you can read it here!

honorable mentions (aka albums i didn’t feel like writing an essay about - or just didn’t listen to all that much - but still think you should give a chance)

1. swmrs, berkeley’s on fire (february 15, 2019) 2. circa waves, what’s it like over there? (april 4, 2019 - i wrote a whole review about this record for highlight and not many of my feelings about it have changed since then.) 3. cage the elephant, social cues (april 19, 2019) 4. ten tonnes, ten tonnes (may 3, 2019) 5. palace, life after (july 12, 2019) 6. clairo, immunity (august 2, 2019) 7. the myserines, take control ep (august 8, 2019) 8. muna, saves the day (september 6, 2019) 9. from indian lakes, dimly lit (october 18, 2019)

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crumblingautumnleaves · 7 years

Text

Too Far

Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: The boys unintentionally hurt the reader’s feelings after making some careless jokes.

Pairing(s): MET x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, a lil bit of angst but ultimately a happy ending (spoilers).

“What would grandma find disturbing, yet oddly charming?” Mark asked the three of you, waggling his eyebrows in a comical manner.

You scanned your cards before sliding your best into the centre along with Ethan’s and Tyler’s. Kathryn was watching from the sidelines, desperate to get some extra work done, whilst Amy was in bed ill. That just left you and the troublesome trio to record the entire live stream; not that you were complaining, they were your best friends after all.

“Okay,” Mark announced, picking up the cards in front of him. “A big, black dick. Geese. Or...” He trailed off and you suppressed a smirk as you watched his face scrunch into a grin at your card. “Mark’s unquenchable thirst for Jacksepticeye’s delicious asshole.”

The boys roared with laughter and, in turn, you laughed at their reactions. Mark had one hand clutched to his chest as he tried to control his giggles, whilst Ethan was slamming his fists on the table. Even Tyler had one of those rare, toothy smiles on his face as he chuckled alongside them.

“That’s obviously the winner.” Mark managed to get out after his laughing fit, holding up the card for someone to take it.

“Thank you, although it was Mark-luverrr-number-one-xxx that wrote that card.” You declared, plucking the black card from his fingers and adding it to your growing pile of winnings.

“Your turn to pick one, Y/N.” Tyler told you, pushing the cards across to you.

You chose another fan written one and groaned. “What does Y/N do to stay in shape?”

“Y/N? In shape? Please, I saw them get a stitch from running down the stairs too fast.” Ethan laughed and you playfully hit him on the shoulder.

“Just gimme a card so I can judge it.” You nagged him and he stuck his tongue out in retaliation, finally handing you a white card. Tyler and Mark played theirs and you spread them out in front of you. “Ethan’s dying YouTube career. Vigorous jazz hands. Or projectile vomiting.” You studied the cards before picking the ‘Vigorous jazz hands’ card and handing it back to Ethan.

“Yay, I won!” He hollered. “Although I didn’t appreciate the dig at my channel.”

“Ethan, you have three hundred thousand subscribers. That’s great, man.” Mark reassured him, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “And only about ninety percent of them came from me, be proud.”

“You fucker.”

“Ethan’s right,” Tyler cut in. “He got a few from Jack too.”

“At least I have a real channel, Tyler.” Ethan shot back. “Go on, what else were you gonna mock me for? My acne? The fact that I’m copying every major YouTuber ever? That I moved from Maine to work here?”

The other two boys sat in silence, trying to think of something else to say.

“It could be worse,” Mark said after a while. “You could be Y/N. How many subs have you got, Y/N?”

“Forty thousand.” You grumbled. YouTube was always a sensitive topic between you three, the amount of subs you had compared to your best friends was slightly insulting and you kept finding yourself wondering why your channel was so much more insignificant.

“Now, aren’t you grateful that Mama Mark got you so many subscribers?” Mark asked Ethan.

“I’m clearly not the one who needs help.” Ethan remarked, nodding towards you.

“You’re right!” Mark cried, facing the camera that had been rolling the entire time. “Whoever is watching this, go subscribe to Y/N, they’re not that bad at making videos. Well, they are, but their ideas are original. Expect the gaming, the commentary and the overall theme of it. But yeah, check it out.”

“Gee, thanks Mark.” You mutter sarcastically, trying and failing not to take it personally.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for.” He admitted. “I didn’t mean to insult your channel.”

“Right, he was just wondering why he’s friends with you when you don’t get him extra views.” Tyler joked.

“Exactly. Why do you think Ethan hangs out with me?” Mark agreed, nudging the blue-haired boy playfully.

“Go ahead, you’ve made so many jokes about my career and acne that I’m immune to it.” He challenged.

“Crap, he’s right.” Mark said. “But if we really want to make jokes about physical appearance then we can just rip on Y/N again. Their whole face is one big joke.”

Shock consumed you as you struggled to blink back the tears that were fighting to escape. You couldn’t believe that one of your closest friends had gone there, especially after you had confided in him about your insecurities.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? The weight of reality finally setting in?” Tyler asked, commenting on your silence.

“Dude, not even the weight of reality can compare to Y/N’s weight.” Ethan laughed.

That did it.

“Excuse me,” you whispered, standing up and practically running out of the room. You covered your face with one hand so that neither the camera nor the boys saw the tears flowing down your cheeks.

Locking yourself in the bathroom, you let out a loud sob that triggered several more until your throat hurt and your eyes stung. You glared at yourself in the mirror, scrutinising every part of yourself that you hated. Finally, you wiped away any traces of tears and took a deep breath before exiting the bathroom. However, you got the wind knocked out of you when you immediately walked into something solid on the other side of the door. Looking up, you realised you had crashed straight into Tyler’s chest as he and the other two stood waiting for you with concerned looks on their faces.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Ethan asked softly.

“We wanted to check on you but decided to wait until you were finished in there to apologise.” Tyler added.

You glared at them, hurt sketched across your features. Mark stepped forwards slowly and wrapped his arms around you cautiously, as if you could shatter like glass at any second.

“I’m really sorry about what I said,” he apologised. “We all are. We realise we shouldn’t have made fun of you, even if it was just a joke. It was tactless and we want to make it up to you.”

“You know, I normally wouldn’t care if you make jokes about me,” you admitted. “But what you said is true. I’m constantly afraid that you’re going to cut me out because I’m not as successful as you. And what you said about my looks, well, that just hurt.”

“Are you kidding? Y/N you’re our friend, we couldn’t care less about how many subscribers you have.” Mark reassured you. “And as for your looks, you’re the only one that sees anything besides the smoking hot piece of ass you really are.” He paused before grimacing at what he had just said. “I kinda regret saying that, but you see my point.”

“Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sorry I left in the middle of the live stream.”

“Don’t worry about it, you are our main priority. We turned the microphone off as soon as you walked out. Right now it’s just showing Chica sleeping in her bed, the viewers love it.” Tyler told you with a grin.

“So do you want to continue with the stream or should we wrap it up?” Ethan queried.

“No, let’s carry on. I’ll be fine.” You told them, walking back to the table and scratching Chica behind the ears as she woke up from the commotion.

Mark switched the mic back on and apologised for the brief intermission before explaining that you were okay and everything had been resolved.

“And I just want to say in all seriousness that you should check out their channel. I have never known anyone more dedicated to their work, or as passionate about the community as Y/N. We’re all extremely grateful to have them in our lives.” He concluded.

You beamed at him, silently thanking him, before announcing that you should get back to the games.

A few hours later, you had quite possibly destroyed your friendship with the boys in Monopoly as you counted their money and stacked it into neat little piles.

“This is ridiculous, Y/N has all the good spots.” Ethan whined after landing on your square again.

“What can I say? Taking money from men is my speciality.” You say with a smile.

“That makes you sound like a hooker.” Mark laughed.

“Nah, hookers can get laid.” Tyler joked with a wink, resulting in a rude response from you as you struggled to hide the smile that had formed on your face.

“And there goes the last of my cash.” Ethan grumbled.

"Dolla dolla bills, y'all." You cheer, making it rain with their money. “I win, bitches.”

“Congratulations,” Mark drawled. His phone buzzed and he read the notification on the screen. “It’s Amy, she says to check your YouTube account.”

You frown before pulling it up on your own mobile. Everything looked normal except... wait.

“Holy shit!” You cried, clapping a hand over your mouth in shock.

“What is it?” Tyler feigned ignorance, but the smirk on his face suggested he already knew what was going on.

“Four hundred THOUSAND subscribers! I have four hundred thousand subscribers!” You screamed, grabbing the boys and pulling them into a group hug.

“You have more than me? Ouch, that hurts.” Ethan joked, holding a hand to his heart.

“Shut up, Ethan.” Mark scolded, turning back to you. “You deserve every single one of those subs and more. I just wish it didn’t take all this for people to figure that out. Including us.”

You beamed at him, tears springing to your eyes again, only this time you were crying for a different reason. “Thank you, I love you three idiots so much.” You told them. “But just so you know, once I’m Internet famous, I’ll have no use for you.”

“Ouch.”

“Rude.”

“So true though.”

#met x reader #x reader #youtube x reader #crankgameplays x reader #ethan nestor #ethan nestor x reader #tyler scheid x reader #Tyler Scheid #apocalypto_12 #markiplier x reader #mark fischbach x reader #mark fischbach

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cj-jacobs · 7 years

Text

No Kissing

(I took a brief intermission from working on my main fic to do a one-shot; I’ve seen a few people lately craving Bechloe married domestic fluff, and I’ve been feeling the same way, so I couldn’t resist the urge!)

Locking up her studio for the night, Beca pockets the key and heads across the back yard to the house. She comes in through the kitchen, finding it empty and silent this late in the evening. Checking the clock, she feels a slight twinge of guilt when she sees it’s past eight. Usually, despite the temptation of her equipment just a few steps away on the same property, she doesn’t allow herself to go back to work after dinner. (Or rather, Chloe doesn’t allow her to go back to work after dinner.) But with so many deadlines looming this week she’s had to make some exceptions.

She crosses the back hallway and peeks into the family room. Chloe is nowhere in evidence, but their daughter, Violet, is sitting on the plush area rug in the middle of the room, clutching her favorite blanket, staring at the TV and absorbed in what looks like a car insurance commercial featuring a talking monkey.

Beca steps quietly through the doorway and sneaks up closer, then crouches down a few feet behind her, still unnoticed. “Boo,” she says, but in a soft voice so as not to actually scare her.

Violet spins around, her face lighting up in surprise and an almost delirious joy. “Mama!” In one continuous motion she pulls herself up from the floor and throws herself at Beca, with as much passion as if days have passed since they’ve seen each other, instead of just hours.

Beca is knocked backwards off of her heels and onto her ass by the force of the impact. “Oh my God,” she laughs.

Violet hangs onto her through the stumble, her arms wrapped tightly around Beca’s neck. Beca pulls her close, squeezing her tiny body hard against her as she shuts her eyes, inhaling her scent. Her loose light red curls smell like baby shampoo and are still slightly damp from her bath, and she’s wearing soft cotton pajamas printed with moons and stars.

“Mmm, thank you,” Beca mumbles with real gratitude into her daughter’s small, warm shoulder. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, impressed as always by the sheer restorative power of a toddler’s hug. “I needed that.”

Violet finally detaches herself and pulls back, examining her face. With Beca sitting on the floor, they’re about the same height.

“Did you finish?” Violet asks her solemnly.

“Finish what?”

“The layering.”

Beca looks at her in amazement. Vocal layering is exactly what she’s been doing for the past twelve hours, with brief breaks for meals. But how could her not-quite-yet three year old daughter know that? It’s true, yesterday she and Cynthia-Rose had been discussing their options for a particular track while Violet scribbled in a coloring book on the floor of the studio, but she’d been singing quietly to herself and seemingly not paying any attention.

“We did finish. Were you listening when we were talking about that yesterday?” Beca asks her.

Violet nods.

“Wow. I keep forgetting you’re, like, a little person now.” It also makes her realize she’s going to have to start being more careful about the stuff that comes out of her mouth. She knew this day would come eventually, but she’s not sure she’s ready for it. “So,” she changes the subject. “I hear we’re watching a movie tonight.”

“Yep,” Violet confirms with excitement. “But only when Mommy comes down. She’s putting on her...” She struggles to remember the exact words, squinting and twisting her mouth in a way that’s so precisely like Chloe that it’s disorienting. “Comfy clothes,” she adds with a little nod, pleased with herself.

“Ugh, we have to wait for her?” Beca makes a face. “I say we just watch it without her.”

At this notion, Violet’s dark blue eyes widen in alarm. Those eyes, along with her pale complexion, are her only notable physical legacies from Beca--or technically from Beca’s brother, which amounts to nearly the same thing, since they’re so similar in both looks and personality that they were often mistaken for twins as children, even though Chris is a year older.

“I don’t want to,” she pouts.

Beca grins at her. “I’m just kidding. You gotta to learn to read the room, kid. So, what are we gonna watch?”

Fetching her chosen DVD from the nearby coffee table, Violet holds it up proudly. “This one.”

“Ohhh,” Beca groans. “Big Bird again, huh?” Violet’s choice, as usual, is an obnoxious Sesame Street movie from the eighties, in which Big Bird is removed from his home by a social worker played by a lady in a giant finch costume… or something. Beca’s never quite figured out the nonsense plot, despite the fact that she’s been forced to sit through it hundreds of times. Or maybe not hundreds, but it feels that way. Why can’t their child just watch Pixar like every other kid in America?

“It’s Aunt Aubrey’s movie,” Violet points out earnestly, as if reading her thoughts. “From when she was little.”

“That’s right, Aunt Aubrey gave you that, didn’t she? That was so generous of her. She deserves a big thank-you for that,” Beca says wryly. “Like, maybe some thank-you waterboarding.”

“Yep. Cuz it was so nice,” Violet agrees, not batting an eye at the waterboarding mention. From Chloe, she’s inherited a remarkable resistance to other people’s sarcasm. This is a trait that comes in handy when dealing with Beca.

“So nice,” Beca echoes. “But are you sure you don’t want to watch something else, just for a change? Like, literally, anything else?” she pleads.

“Nope,” Violet says firmly. “Big Bird.”

Beca knows it’s hopeless, but there’s time to kill before Chloe comes down, because somehow even changing into pajamas takes her forever, so she pulls her jacket off and kicks off her shoes, then crawls over and begins to shuffle through the DVDs in the storage bin that pulls out from the coffee table. “Let’s see what else those freaks have left here over the years. How about… a Monster Truck Rally? Pretty sure that was Amy’s. Want to watch big trucks crush things?” Beca teases her, tickling her at the same time. “Hmm?”

“No,” Violet wriggles away, smiling.

“No? Something more sophisticated?” Beca tries again. “Dead Poets Society, maybe.”

“Mm-mm.”

“You are one tough customer. Moulin Rouge?”

She shakes her head vigorously.

“Casablanca?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Violet says with strained patience.

“Yeah, me neither,” Beca admits. “Um… Great Performances: Collegiate Acapella Edition?”

“No!”

“Jeez, okay,” Beca holds up her hands in defense. “Actually, I’m with you on that one. How about… Silence of the Lambs?”

Violet seems intrigued by the mention of lambs. She thinks about it, studying the DVD she’s still holding, weighing her loyalty to Big Bird. But, finally, “No,” she decides.

“Thank God,” Beca says. “Did not have a backup plan for that one.”

Even though she can’t possibly understand this joke, Violet finds it funny anyway. The two of them are still laughing when Beca suddenly looks up and realizes Chloe is standing in the doorway, watching them with a half-smile. She has the strangest look on her face, soft and wistful but somehow faraway, like she’s trying to remember something. Beca gets the distinct impression she’s been standing there for a while.

“Hey, weirdo. You spying on us?”

“Mommy, look!” Violet holds up the DVD to show her.

Coming out of her semi-trance, Chloe snaps right into mom mode. “Oh my gosh, are we watching Big Bird?” she gushes, as if this is the most exciting news she’s heard all day. Beca admires this skill, even if she still hasn’t mastered it herself. “You want me to put it in?” Chloe asks, coming further into the room and picking up the remote control.

But Violet protests this immediately; she wants to do it herself. “No, me!” She stretches her arms up for the remote. “I’ll do it.”

“You want to do it? Go for it,” Chloe gives her the remote and watches as she scampers across the room to the DVD player. “Let me know if you need help.”

“I could use some,” Beca says, holding out her hands.

“Hey, you.” Chloe smiles and helps pull her up from the floor, giving her a quick hello peck as she does. “Did you get done?”

“Yeah, for the most part. She’s still not totally happy with it, but what else is new.”

“She’ll love it when it’s all finished,” Chloe assures her, a hand on Beca’s lower back as they move over to the couch. “She always does.”

They sit down, Chloe still monitoring the progress with the movie. So far, Violet seems to know what she’s doing, although she’s progressing slowly, handling the disc with a careful reverence.

“It would be such a shame if anything ever happened to that movie,” Beca remarks casually.

“Don’t you dare,” Chloe warns her, trying not to laugh.

“Hey.” Beca waits until Chloe looks over at her. “So, what was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“A minute ago, when you were standing there,” she looks toward the doorway. “You had this look on your face, like…” she trails off. “I don’t know, it was weird. I mean, weirder than usual.”

Chloe smiles. But she doesn’t answer right away, and she seems to be considering what she wants to say. “It’ll sound crazy.”

Now Beca’s intrigued. “When has that ever stopped you?”

But Chloe’s focus is suddenly diverted by the fact that Violet has succeeded in starting the movie. “Look at you!” she praises her. “You did it all by yourself!”

Glowing with confidence, Violet adjusts the volume to her preferred too-loud level, then, apparently feeling herself the mistress of ceremonies, she crosses the room and dims the lights to their usual soft movie-watching glow, straining upward to reach the switch, which she just barely manages with the tips of her fingers.

“Nice job,” Beca comments. “Now can you go make us some popcorn?”

“No!” Violet retorts, returning to the rug and plopping herself down on the floor to watch the movie.

“Thought it was worth a shot,” Beca says. She turns her attention back to Chloe, lowering her voice so as not to distract their daughter. “Well? Still waiting, here.”

Again, Chloe’s quiet for a second. When she finally speaks, her question isn’t what Beca was expecting at all. “Do you remember the day we saw this house for the first time?”

Confused, Beca searches her memory. “Yeah, I guess. I remember you wouldn’t even tell me why we were in Topanga, until we were here.”

“I didn’t know if you’d come with me, otherwise. We weren’t even together then. Or at least… not officially.”

“Yeah. I do recall that part,” Beca says, looking away, her expression a bit guilty. Those days are far from her proudest memories. “God, it felt like the tour lasted forever,” she adds dryly. “That real estate agent hated me, dude.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, amused. “She didn’t hate you. But you weren’t exactly on your best behavior,” she chides her.

“I tried,” Beca insists, not very convincingly. “What do you expect from me when someone uses the word nook in an un-ironic way? I only have one setting when it comes to that stuff.”

Chloe shakes her head a little, but her affection for even Beca’s worst qualities is clear to see. “Anyway. When she was showing us the first floor, and we were leaving this room? I remember I stopped and looked back for a second, and… okay, this is the crazy part. It’s like I could see this. And I forgot about it, until just now. When I was coming in, and you guys were sitting on the floor like that? It just came back to me, all of a sudden. I remembered standing there, that day, and imagining,” she pauses. “What it could be like. If we were a couple. And this was our house. It was like, I could see it so clearly. When I finally came back to reality, I remember you were looking at me like I’d gone off the deep end.”

“I was?” Beca winces a little. She doesn’t have a clear memory of any of this, but the fact that she was being an ass doesn’t surprise her at all. “Sorry.”

“No, I don’t blame you. It must have looked strange. But it’s like,” Chloe gazes around the room again now, “this is just what I was picturing, in my head. How it would be. How this room would look, if we lived here. And you, and her,” she gestures at their daughter. “Just, all of us. All of this. That’s what I wanted. It’s all I ever wanted. Sometimes I still can’t believe-- “ she breaks off, her voice suddenly catching. Her eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, but as if she knows she’s being silly, she bites her bottom lip and laughs at herself a little, her expression suddenly flashing into a brilliant smile.

As is usually the case for her, Beca’s surprised by her own reaction, at how she unexpectedly feels everything inside her light up. It’s the combination of the emotion and the smile that gets her every time, how Chloe can veer from one to the other within seconds, even mixing them together in unanticipated ways. She tries to think of something to say, but then decides against it. Words are never her strong suit, especially in moments like this.

Instead, she shifts closer to her on the couch and, cupping Chloe’s face gently in her hands, draws her forward into a soft, lingering kiss. Surprised by the gesture, Chloe becomes completely still, closing her eyes and melting into it, as if she’s trying to slow down time to make it last longer.

“Don’t kiss!”

They’re startled by the exasperated voice coming from just a few feet away. Pulling apart, they find Violet standing in front of the couch, gazing at them in stern warning, hands on her tiny hips in a miniature approximation of the way Chloe used to look during a frustrating Bellas rehearsal.

Chloe gasps in exaggerated astonishment. “Why can’t we kiss?”

“Because. Now you missed it.”

“Oh no, did we miss the beginning?”

Beca says quickly, “That’s okay.” But Violet has already moved back toward the TV, brandishing the remote control like a weapon. “No, babe, it’s fine, you don’t have to--” she attempts. Then she sighs. “Yeah, she’s gonna start it over.” She looks at Chloe, mouthing the words, “Damn it.”

Violet walks herself through the remote control buttons out loud. “Push this one. Then… this one.” The fact that she hasn’t fully mastered her th-sounds yet means that it sounds more like “Den dis one.” Even Beca is powerless to withstand the force of this cuteness.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Chloe calls to her, after she succeeds in starting the movie again from the very beginning. “That was so nice of you.”

She comes back toward them, repeating with emphasis, “Don’t. Kiss.” As if to offer them something in return for their obedience, she says, “You can kiss at the boring part.”

“At the boring part?” Beca says. “Do we get to decide when that is, or-- ?”

“No,” Violet says. “I’ll tell you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Beca smiles. “We’ll just wait, then.”

“We’ll be good, we promise,” Chloe tells her.

Violet seems skeptical, but she nevertheless settles herself onto her stomach in the middle of the rug, her favorite spot for watching TV, and turns her attention back to the screen. They wait a few seconds until she seems to be fully absorbed in the movie.

“She’s so bossy,” Chloe whispers with something like pride.

“Yeah. Wonder where she gets that from?”

Chloe raises one hand to her chest in cartoonish innocence. “I don’t have any idea what you mean.” Then she transitions to pure ingenue, batting her eyelashes.

Grinning slyly, Beca nudges her leg with her foot. Chloe nudges her back with her bare toes, suppressing a giggle. Beca retaliates by sliding her foot slowly up Chloe’s calf, underneath her sweat pants. Despite the fact that this is basic teen level flirtation, they’re now in full-on eye sex mode. After another few minutes of this discreet PG-level canoodling, something causes Chloe’s attention to flit back to their daughter, and she freezes as a comically guilty expression crosses her features. “Oh, no,” she laughs under her breath.

Beca follows her gaze to see that Violet has pivoted around and is facing them, watching them with suspicion.

Chloe protests, “We didn’t do anything!”

“You were gonna kiss again.”

“You can’t prove that,” Beca argues.

Violet only stares at her, sulking. She is not here for this bullshit.

Now Beca begs, “Please don’t start the movie again.”

To distract her, Chloe offers, “You want to come over here and sit with us? So you can keep an eye on us better?”

She considers, then agrees. “Kay.” Pulling herself up from the floor, she comes to them, and they each grasp one of her hands and hoist her up onto the sofa. She nestles down in between them. Pleased with her new position, she crows, “Now you can’t kiss anymore.”

Chloe seems to take this as a challenge. “You better watch it, missy, or we’re gonna kiss you instead.”

“Uh-uh,” Violet shakes her head, already smiling. “Not me.” But it’s too late, and she’s soon convulsed in squealing, writhing laughter as they come at her from both sides, pinning her between them and covering her cheeks and both sides of her head with loud, theatrical smooches, with some tickling thrown in for good measure.

After she survives this coordinated maternal attack, Violet takes a few seconds to recover, sprawled against the couch cushions and breathing hard. Her face is pink and her eyes are shining with mirth, the occasional drunk-sounding chuckle still bubbling out of her.

“You didn’t pee yourself, did you?” Beca asks her.

Chloe’s mouth drops open in pretended offense on Violet’s behalf. “Beca. She’s a big girl.”

“I’m a big girl!” Violet repeats indignantly to Beca.

“My mistake,” Beca says.

“But…” Violet reflects, always honest. “I maybe peed a little.”

Chloe smiles, reassuring her, “That’s okay, baby, that one was our fault.” She straightens and smooths Violet’s pajama top, which has gotten twisted in all her squirming. “You ready to watch the movie for real now?”

“Yes!” she agrees, turning her attention back to the screen. But it’s clear as she rubs her eyes hard that a shift has taken place, and she’s heading into the sleepy zone. Right on cue, she snuggles into Chloe’s side and her thumb goes into her mouth. Beca may get the excited welcomes, but Chloe is the one she gravitates toward when she’s tired or just needs comforting. Not hard to see why.

After another few minutes, Violet slides down even further, her head now in Chloe’s lap, her feet draped over Beca’s legs. Watching her, Beca tries to gauge by her breathing just how close to sleep she is. The more drowsy she gets, the younger she seems, and in the dim light, with Chloe stroking her hair back from her face and her eyelids getting heavy, she now strongly resembles the infant she was only, what, last week? That’s what it feels like, anyway. If they’re lucky, maybe she’ll pass out before the movie is halfway over and they can put something else on. But another part of Beca, the greedy mom part, wants Violet to stay awake longer, especially after seeing so little of her today.

She glances up at Chloe and notices that she, too, is watching Violet, gazing down at her with a soft, rapt expression of wonder. Looking at them both, Beca only now feels the full meaning of what Chloe was talking about, before. As she takes in the vision of the two of them against the full sweep of the background--the room, the house, everything they have together--she thinks about what Chloe must have been seeing when she looked into this empty room years ago. She thinks about how close she herself came, through her own stubbornness and denial, to rendering those images into an unfulfilled prophecy, a mirage that would have vanished like smoke. How close she came to losing it all.

But she didn’t. By some miracle that she still doesn’t fully understand, she didn’t. It’s all real, and solid, and tangible. Like Chloe almost said earlier before she stopped herself, the words as clear to Beca as if she’d spoken them out loud, it actually happened. This is their real life.

She only realizes how long she’s been staring at her when Chloe glances over and catches her. Awkwardly, Beca looks away, then gives it up and looks back, flashing her a sheepish smirk. She can tell by the look on Chloe’s face that she hasn’t managed to hide anything at all. By this point, Chloe knows how to read her emotions maybe better than she does herself.

So she gives in to the moment and lets her guard down, something she’s still no expert at but which she’s managing with more frequency as the years go by. Staring into Chloe’s eyes, she silently mouths the words I love you.

This time it’s Chloe who leans in toward her--carefully, trying not to catch Violet’s notice. Beca meets her halfway. Their lips join and mold together with the kind of perfectly choreographed and precise intimacy that can only develop between people who have kissed each other thousands of times before. And yet somehow, even with their sixth wedding anniversary approaching soon, it still hasn’t gotten old. Despite what the world has always conditioned them to believe, they’re both starting to suspect that maybe it never will. Not for them.

Chloe breaks the kiss so gently that the transition is hardly noticed, her forehead pressed against Beca’s. “I love you too,” she whispers against her lips, not making any sound.

Nevertheless, despite their best efforts, they detect a subtle shift in Violet’s position, and they look down to find that they’ve been caught, for the third time.

She’s pulled her thumb out of her mouth and is gazing at them with indecision, so tired that she doesn’t know whether it’s worth it to protest.

Then Chloe winks at her, including her in their secret, rather than leaving her on the outside of it. This is all it takes, because, like Chloe herself, Violet’s moods can shift from one extreme to the other within seconds. Like sun breaking through clouds, her eyes crinkle and she flashes them a complicit smile, forgiving them for their lapse. Then she pops her thumb back into her mouth and rotates her head toward the glow of the TV, her eyelids almost immediately beginning to grow heavy again.

Now, Beca shifts herself closer to Chloe, smoothly transferring more of Violet’s lower body onto her own legs, moving near enough to allow Chloe the option to lean against her, an option she quickly perceives and takes. As Chloe settles into her Beca presses her lips to her head for just a minute, lingering there, breathing her in. She takes a deep, slow breath and lets it out, relaxing into the soft warmth of Chloe’s body, turning her eyes back to the TV and the inescapable Big Bird. Maybe in a minute, she thinks, she’ll get up and make them some popcorn herself. But not just yet.

For right now, she just wants to sit here, with her wife’s head nestled on her shoulder and their baby dozing off on their laps.

#ughh this is the most disgustingly fluffy thing i've ever written #DISGUSTING #i'm ashamed of myself #i better post it before i change my mind #bechloe #bechloe fic

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