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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.��

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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moumouton4 · 1 year

Text

That Moment You Tried To Be On Top Hcs || Naruto characters x reader

Including : Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Kakashi Hatake, Yamato, Iruka Umino and Hidan

A/n : I received 2 asks and I'll be working on them slowly as I have exams soon ! Though it's be easier to know what you're thinking about if I could ask you the question I got. I'm thinking of the idols one of example 👀

A/n 2 : If you want to see others characters with this hc I'm open to suggestions ✨

Warnings : NSFW, penetrative sex, riding, cockwarming, 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Words count : 1983

Sasuke :

You decided not to talk to about it with him beforehand. You know him very well and 1. he never talk about sex and 2. because of his pride and as stupid as it may sound he tell you "no" right away

So you tried your luck while doing it when you were on top of him and his cock was sliding in and out of your tight cunt

If he realizes that you are trying to get out of his grip he will immediately put more pressure to keep you pinned where you are under him "Do you think I'm your bitch or something ?" It will take a lot for him to conceive the fact that you can be on top while you are having sex

So you had to blackmail him. Always finding excuses to refuse doing it so he couldn't be able touch you the way he was craving

You decided to hold out until he gave in and let you be on top. And frankly for the now you were holding on well

The same could not be said for him. He thought he could hold out but after 2 months without sex he thought he was going to go crazy because of how hard his cock was his every time he saw you

He really questioned one of his opinions for the first time in his life when he half-heartedly accepted that you were on top. And when he saw you riding him, oh gosh you looked like a goddess. As his hands squeezed your perfect breasts, with your gaze that seemed to was going to implode with pleasure was fixed in his, and the divine sounds you let out caressing his ears

He swears he's never cum so hard in his life he even moaned

Okay he might like it but don't expect it to be like this all the time nor even sometimes, he doesn't want to be vulnerable to you :(

But who knows with time he might end up letting you see more of his red, sweaty, disheveled face as you ride his pretty cock

He lowkey knows this moment will happen at some point and he can't wait for it to happen

Naruto :

You preferred not to tell him beforehand, because you knew he was going to tell his friends he still did afterwards. Also to do it when you're going at it will avoid you to be subjected to his endless questions about why and how you asked him that. Like he's going to worry about him not making you feel good :(

When you try though, he doesn't understand right away why you try to get out of his grip by wrapping your legs around his like this

He thought you wanted to stop or that something is wrong. So he releases you but to his surprise you flipped him over and found yourself on top of him. Pinning him to the bed just like you were a few moments before. His cock still buried inside you throbbed in a way that made your eyes roll

The high pitched cry of surprise he let out at that moment was priceless

He really liked this initiative from you, but being the hyperactive boy that he is, he couldn't help but grab your hips and pound into you when he felt his orgasm coming. Resulting with you cumming on him, your wetness running down his thighs

"That was definetely something dattebayo !"

This is something you'll do often, the days he's tired or recovering from his injuries. But most of times, when it's time to go to bed, he asks you to lie on top of him while you cockwarm him while you fall asleep in each other's arms, feeling the warmth of the love between you

Kakashi :

You don't talk about sex much in everyday life. Yes he reads Icha Icha in public but he is still uncomfortable talking about it. Just look at his scarlet face when Shikamaru asked him to read what was written on a page of his book and he struggled so much just said "I love you very much"

So it was while you were doing it that you asked him between moans "Can I ughh go on top ?"

His eyes only went slighlty wide before he flipped you both over at lightning speed ( pun unintented ) so that you were on top of him. You moaned as you clit grazed his pubic bone, giving you an etheral friction. You then grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head

It was very exciting for him to finally reproduce one of the positions he had read in Icha Icha so many times well yes he reread it so many times

It became something you'd often do when he just got back from a mission and he's tired but still wants to get dirty with you

Don’t try to joke about him being secretly a sub because he is going to fuck you into the matress so hard you won’t even joke about that anymore… unless you’re into that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

But he does like to see you on top of him so much that sometimes he asks you to lie on top of him without moving while he reads his bed lying in your bed while beng all warm and snug inside of you

Don't worry he will reward you appropriately afterwards you will need help to walk though

Yamato :

You figured he was shy with it since you didn't really talk about sex and when it happened it was spontaneously depending on your moods

Not to mention the face he made when he looked in Kakashi's book one day

In reality you were right because the few times you mentioned something sexual he ended up red as a lipstick or a sports car…. well bright red

So you decided to give it a shot just as he was about to lay you down on the bed and climb on top of you

You teleported your naked form behind him and pushed him in order to settle between his legs

His face was as red as a robin as always

"W-what are you- mpff" you cut him off by impaling yourself on his cock and giving a vigorous thrust with your hips

The sight that was subjected to his eyes was divine

"Princess- ugh p-please slower I won't l-last if-" to late he came

He came faster than he would have liked after only a few more strokes at this pace

He apologized for 15 minutes straight despite you telling him it was ok ( you were still on top of him at the time )

It didn't take long for him to get hard inside you again

And there you go again for 2nd ride

It's a position that you use a lot for quickies as you're more in control of your pleasure and he's even weaker for you like this. So it goes pretty fast

But Yamato staying true to himself would still be 1000 % flustered like the it's the first time when you're on top of him, because you're just so hot

Iruka :

He's a teacher and he teaches sex education to his older students, so you thought it was safe enough to speak about it without getting him embarrassed

But it's Iruka we're talking about and well you were wrong because the moment the words "do it" reached his ears he froze in place when you said "Next time we do it could I be on top ?"

He had to summon up a lot of self control to answer you "Erm s-s-sure L-l-love" he was as red as the pen he used to correct his students' tests

And he was so flustered and bothered after that. Like if for example you could have done it that night well you wouldn't because of the state he was in

Iruka.exe has stopped working

You had to trick him to start having sex again. What you had asked him had turned him on so much that he overthought it a lot which had him have a brief block

So you made up a plan. You grabbed his clothes while he was in the shower and waited for him to come out wrapped in a towel to put the next step of you plan into action

Your plan was just to jump his bones 😂

"Hey at least your clothes are already off we're saving time" you joked as you pushed him onto the bed while he yelped

You wasted no time straddling him and impaling yourself on his cock. He let you experience what you wanted and never tried to take over

He's just as proud of you for asking him to try new things and himself for holding on cumming for so long - even though he usually lasts longer - but for his defense you looked so delicious in that position

There was a 2nd round after that... and you've never been fucked this hard by him all the other times you did it

Definitely go back to this position often. Besides, you now take an initiative that he craves, that is, when he has a lot of exams to correct in the evening, you just sit on his dick while he marks them. You try your best not to move but it's really hard when you start feeling him roll his hips into you like this... and before you even know it he isn't grading papers anymore

Hidan :

You've been with him for a long time and you know very well that he has no taboos. So you asked him in a straightforward way

He was very interested because he is just a horny bastard but he has a misplaced pride that made him say with a shit eating grin "Don't forget you're the one taking my cock, not the other way around Princess"

You tried to retort but he spanked you hard and you squeaked

But you really wanted to see him pinned underneath you, so during your last mission for the Akatsuki, while he was doing his ritual for Jashin you offered him to join you next time if he accepted the proposal you had made to him some time ago

Of course his perverted mind made a direct link with the fact that you wanted to ride him and he accepted, feeling that having you with him in his rituals would be the most wonderful thing

When the time came he let you ride him and after a few strokes of your hips he lifted you up and pounded inside of you to relieve pressure he was feeling, thinking that you were going too slow

By the time he let you go at your own pace again your legs were already trembling from the pleasure you were feeling. So he simply flipped you over before fucking you hard, as usual

Hidan doesn't play fair lmao. He never did and probably never will

Anyways, he liked it a lot, a little too much even. Because sometimes he put you on top of him and make you feel like he was ordering you to do it when all he wants is for you is to use his dick to like an object of pleasure

Sometimes even when you are on a mission, when he feels horny almost all the time he sits cross-legged somewhere and asks you to ride him

And frankly, in a country where there's little chance of you meeting anyone or even being recognized, who would you be to deny your boyfriend that, especially knowing the sinful whines that escape his mouth when you circle your hips this way he loves so much

Cut to someone pointing 2 Akatsuki members fucking behind a tree

A/n : First headcanon on Naruto characters. Now I shall go to sleep it's 1 am 😂 I hope you guys liked it ! 🍿🌭 Again my requests are open 🥗🧀

Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

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dduane · 1 year

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Hello! I was wondering if you’ve shared your ao3 account? Like, have you acknowledged “this account is mine,” or do you keep it personal? Totally respect if you keep it under wraps I just wanted to know if I’m missing something. Hope my wording of this makes sense!

No, it's OK, I get it. You're asking "Have you publicly ID'd a given AO3 account as yours?"

No, and I'm not going to. Because it contains fanfic I've written for pleasure—exactly as I started writing it in my teens—and I have no desire to have that publicly connected with me.

Leaving the usual legal concerns aside (and not being even slightly concerned that a judge would fail to find the fiction "transformational", if the truth came out in a court of law) a significant part of this effort is about answering the question: "What would happen if people read fiction of mine and they didn't know Diane Duane was responsible for it? What would their reaction be?" That urge to discover whether the fiction stands on its own, without the inevitable shadow cast by one’s reputational backstop, still comes up for me in some moods. So when the itch to write fanfic comes up, I scratch it. And all I can say is that, by and large, the results have been satisfying.

Frankly, it's a ton of fun. There's no one to satisfy (at the most immediate level) except me and the local embodiment of the Creative Urge. No one will ever accuse me of "just churning [this] out for more $$$$", because there is no $$$$. And there's room to stretch further and harder than I might normally do in my public work (because there's more forgiveness for failure: and in the arts, I think, failure is absolutely one of the most effective ways to grow). Whatever comes back to me in return for this work—and it is work, some of the hardest I've ever done—is in the form of raw appreciation. So, people, on behalf of my colleagues, let me just say: comment on AO3 fics, yeah? You don't have to be fulsome about it. A word or two will do. And bestow kudos where you may. It's all an AO3 fanfic writer asks.

...And of course some people will say: "Are you off your rocker? You're traditionally published for decades, you have awards, you've been on bestseller lists, how can you not be sure that what you're doing's any good?" ...But you know, no writer is sure all the time. All of us wake up in the middle of the night some time(s), thinking "I'm not sure I've still got it..." and squeezing our eyes shut in terror of future reviews containing the horrible conjecture that Maybe We Never Really Had It To Start With. When you've spent a significant portion of your lifetime making stuff (up) out of nothing, the horrible suspicion that maybe it really has been nothing all the time—I mean, nothing nothing—is unavoidable.

So sometimes some of us want to go out in disguise (and I don't mean paid pseudonymic work: that proves nothing in this particular arena) and see how we fare. I know other traditionally-published writers who've done this—names that would surprise you—and who, by and large, have done it for the same reasons. We are the dark figures, hooded and cloaked, sitting in the shadows of some of the more prominent fandoms that express themselves on AO3; eyes glinting in the firelight, enjoying the reactions to the stories we've got to tell.

It's not bad here, in the shadows. For one thing, you're in a better position to appreciate the figures moving in the light. There's a lot of extraordinary talent on AO3 (and elsewhere in the online fanfic world), sharing stuff with us out of their own hard work and from their own urge toward grace. It's a privilege to read them. (Some of them are better writers than I am. I appreciate them: and comment, and leave kudos, because that's how appreciation is concretely shown. And I take notes.)

Beyond that, there's nothing much to add except that I have no plans to stop. And also: that I think kindly every single day of the very small and exclusive group of people who know "who" I am on AO3, and have kindly kept that data to themselves. Your confidence honors me, friends. May the Work do you honor in return. :)

And now: I owe you all an update, so you'll have to excuse me while I get on with it. :)

#AO3 #fanfic #anonymous writing

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slavghoul · 1 year

Text

Interview from Rock Hard [FR] Magazine 5/2023

In which Tobias talks about Spillways, Phantomime, how he chooses what songs to cover, the state of the world, why he loves churches, and some touring technicalities.

Rock Hard: Let's go back to the version of "Spillways" that you recorded with Joe Elliott, the singer of Def Leppard. How did this collaboration come about?

Unfortunately, this story is less sexy than it would have been if I could have done exactly what I wanted. Before Impera was released, I regularly mentioned Def Leppard in interviews because some of the experimentation on that album was inspired by that band, their writing style. […] As I often mentioned Def Leppard, people around me eventually told me that Joe Elliott and Phil Collen regularly spoke highly of Ghost in interviews. Since I obviously thought it was cool, someone suggested a collaboration. A good collaboration shouldn't be forced, it should happen naturally. The best ones are often the ones that weren't supposed to happen. Two drunk musicians somewhere accidentally writing a good song... Crosby, Stills & Nash style. People who, by chance, find themselves together in a different context from the one they are used to and do something together, by accident. Something magical! That's how I would ideally have wanted it to happen. So I said I was ready to call Joe Elliott and see if we had a rapport. We started talking on the phone and texting a lot, me living in Sweden and him in Dublin. As we were both on the move almost all the time, and he was on tour, we couldn't meet. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he tells me that he has recorded some vocals for 'Spillways'! Quite frankly, I was surprised because I wasn't expecting it. I was anticipating a possible collaboration, but in a different way. To be honest, I thought we would create something new later on. But when I heard the result, I thought two things. Firstly, I found it very flattering. Secondly, I thought Joe brought something new and cool to "Spillways".

But you would have preferred to have the opportunity to write a new song with him.

Yes, that's the way I saw it, but I'm happy with the way it turned out. And then I said to Joe, "You know how we post those funny little episodes on our social media?" He replied "Yes, I think I saw that!" and kindly agreed to participate in one of them. Nowadays, many artists are over-solicited to record video clips for anything and everything in order to keep their channels updated: "Come and see us in concert in such and such a city!", etc. etc. The aim is obviously to keep the media space occupied.

By creating "content"!

Exactly! And that's exactly what I don't want to do. That's why, instead of all this crap, we started some time ago to create these little humorous episodes. One day, for example, I came up with the idea of an episode set in 1969 featuring a sort of "pre-Ghost" group. To do this, I obviously had to write a new song, which I did with this psychedelic track, 'Kiss The Go-Goat', which I thought was funny. When we recorded it, 'Mary On A Cross', another song of the same type, came along. So we ended up with two sides of a single that became 'Seven Inches Of Satanic Panic.’ Instead of just announcing the release on our networks, we chose to shoot a new video in which we featured Papa Nihil and explained the origins of this so-called 'pre-Ghost' band. I thought it was a much more clever and fun way of presenting the single. We do the same when it comes to announcing an album release or a future tour. Joe Elliott has a great sense of humour and is capable of self-mockery, so he kindly agreed to play this little game.

Ghost have made a habit of releasing an EP between their albums, mostly, if not entirely, made up of covers: If You Have Ghost (2013), Popestar (2016) and now Phantomime. How is it not just about “creating content”?

For me, it's a kind of exercise. I like analogies. Let's imagine that the place we are in is a theatre, and that this theatre, in order to be viable, has to host performances all year round. At least fifty weeks a year. Daytime rehearsals, evening performances... You are the director of the place and you know that the play that is currently being performed there will end at the end of the month. So you look for something else to program in order to make the most of the place and keep your staff busy. Maybe an old classic like Doctor Glass (Hjalmar Söderberg, 1905), an adaptation of John Steinbeck, or a rereading of Shakespeare's Hamlet that you could revisit by inviting this actor or that director, renting out your theatre for three extra months for the occasion. Working on this old material, even if it means not releasing it if it doesn't work. We do that to keep the team active, enthusiastic, focused. That's my way of working. I worked simultaneously on the Impera album and the demos of the covers that are on Phantomime. One day I could record 'Spillways' and two hours before leaving the studio to go home, I could look at any of the covers and decide which ones to keep. So, as soon as Impera was finished, I was able to concentrate on those covers that the album's producer wasn't interested in putting on the record. Which was fine with me. I spent some time sorting out the covers I had recorded as demos. There were ten in total, but I only kept five. Because with those five tracks I thought I could come up with a really strong rock EP. In my albums, there are highs, lows, really metal tracks, ballads, instrumentals, etc. So I thought it was a good idea to make a really strong rock EP. I felt it would be cool if this new EP was viscerally rock’n’roll. The opening track, "See No Evil" by Television, sounds like the Rolling Stones on methamphetamine! (laughs)

You like the songs you cover, that's a prerequisite. But their lyrics also play a very important role in your choice.

Yes, that's what makes me choose a song or not.

Is that the number one criterion?

Erm... (he thinks for a long time) If I hesitate between two songs, yes, absolutely! Let's go back to Leonard Cohen, for example. For the bonus tracks of Prequelle, I chose "Avalanche" because it seemed to me to have a biblical and existential significance. This was not the case with 'Take This Waltz', another Cohen song that I liked as much, if not more. The latter, with its Viennese waltz feel, would have metaphorically taken us to Austria, which would not have been very coherent, unfortunately.

Should these covers speak about God, the Devil, ask questions about religion?

They must speak about evil, about good. Be existential, biblical, philosophical, but seen from a certain perspective. Or at least tick one of those boxes, like 'Hanging Around' (The Stranglers) which is about Christ. Some of the other covers I've recorded are more specific, such as 'Phantom Of The Opera' (Iron Maiden), which is about horror. I also make my choice according to the humour of the songs I want to cover. It should be close to my own sense of humour.

You mentioned the first Phantomime cover, "See No Evil". It takes on a different resonance today because, on January 28, 2023, we sadly learned of the death of Tom Verlaine, the leader of Television.

When I recorded this cover in 2021, just after completing Impera, it was already a tribute. But obviously, with Tom's death, this song takes on another resonance, that of a final posthumous salute. I've been listening to Television for twenty years, and I love them and have always considered them a great band. In indie clubs they always play the same song, 'Marquee Moon', but Television had many other good songs, especially on their first two albums: Marquee Moon (1977) and Adventure (1978). I like those two best. It's a band that had a huge influence on one of my previous bands, Subvision. So much so that at the time, I thought several times of covering Television songs that I loved: "See No Evil", but also "Elevation" and "Foxhole".

The first single from Phantomime is Genesis' 'Jesus He Knows Me', a scathing critique of televangelist stars like Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Bakker and Robert Tilton. Ugly people who have made their fortune by 'promising salvation’ to naive believers for big bucks. Can we expect to see you wearing a wig in its video, as singer/drummer Phil Collins did in the original video for this song in 1991?

(Laughs) We've already shot the video for this cover version (editor’s note: the interview was conducted on 11 March 2023) and I'm not in it, but it's a direct nod to the original video. I've always liked this song - except for the reggae part, which I thought was horrible in the Genesis version and which I reworked - and it's funny to see how this 1991 text is still relevant today. Except, of course, for a few "old-time" words, like "phone book". The televangelists are still there on television promising things to people who take their word for it and shower them with money because they are assured of "salvation", they are promised heaven. I also rearranged Iron Maiden's 'Phantom of The Opera' after taking care to contact Steve Harris for his approval.

Indeed, in your retelling of this song, you are the Phantom and not its victim...

Yes, I wanted to be the Phantom. I submitted the idea to Steve, who gave me the green light. I only made some surgical changes. Similarly, I would have liked to have proposed the same thing to Phil Collins so that the text of "Jesus He Knows Me" would have been more in line with the times. Change, for example, "but she don't know about my girlfriend / or the man I met last night" to "or the dude I screwed last night". Alas, lack of time prevented me from doing so. And then, since this was a slippery slope, I thought: - What if Collins refuses? Or what if he gets pissed off? - We could have made these changes without asking anyone's permission - as long as the artists get their royalties, it's not a problem - but there was no way I was going to do it. Neither I nor my label wanted to alienate anyone, obviously.

In 1977, in "Hanging Around" by The Stranglers, which you also cover on Phantomime, the singer Hugh Cornwell sings about several things, but also about Christ "telling his mother not to worry because he's comfortable in the city where he's high above the ground". Is that why you chose it?

Actually, the key thing that made me choose this song from the band over any other is that I grew up listening to the album it's taken from, Rattus Norvegicus (1977), the Stranglers' first release. There are a lot of songs on that album that I would have loved to play because, as a musician, I really like to play those kinds of songs. ‘Hanging Around' was a good fit for us because of the lyrics, but also because it was more in keeping with our style. Ghost are obviously a metal and hard rock band, but also have a strong punk sensibility. Punk, but well played (smiles). For me, The Stranglers have always done "well played punk": this band knows how to play, how to arrange its music, unlike GBH and Discharge, to name but two. Mind you, I also like the latter, but not for the same reasons. A lot of punk bands from the late 70s/early 80s sounded "sloppy". It wasn't for lack of trying to play better. When The Clash and The Jam went into the studio, they tried to do their best and they sounded great! The same goes for The Adverts. Those guys were doing their best. Nowadays, some people think that being a punk is to play badly on purpose, to be messy. No, no, no ! But I digress...

What is the reason for the nod to Metallica's 'Fade To Black' in the solo on 'Hanging Around'?

Just for fun. When I'm working on a guitar solo, I throw things in here and there, like a messy painter. It's like stretching a canvas on a wall and making big brush strokes... But when I start to feel like I've got something cool, I dig in more surgically, a bit like a collage artist would. I interweave little elements, and when it comes time to insert a solo into a piece, I refine things by continuing to add new elements. Generally, a solo gives you a space of freedom in the middle of an otherwise totally structured song. That's when you can come up with different things in terms of melody. So that's the way I do it, even on the demos of the covers. I ask my sound engineer, Martin Eriksson Sandmark, to play me the draft of the solos I've been working on over and over again, and then I try out different things, whatever comes to mind. It's as if I'm drawing a mental map of what the solo will become. Sometimes, if I'm on a part sometimes, if I'm on a bluesy part, I'll let myself play a few notes of Gary Moore’s "Still Got The Blues", or, if I'm tapping, Van Halen's "Eruption". When I was working on the solo for 'Hanging Around', I felt like playing this part of Metallica's 'Fade To Black', just for fun. And it ended up on the demo. I'm a decent guitar player, but I'm not at the level I could have reached if I'd worked harder. I could just record these solos in the studio, where you can always slow things down when you play them and then speed them up and put them on the album, but Fredrik Akesson can play these parts without tricks and with much more finesse than I can. He recorded the solo for "Hanging Around" as I had presented it on the demo, with this nod to Metallica, and we thought it was so cool that we kept it.

Hugh Cornwell, the ex-singer of The Stranglers, said in an interview that, although he was not a believer, he loved visiting churches. Is this also true for you? Are you also attracted to churches?

Yes, passionately! I believe in them like I believe in Star Wars. I've always thought of churches as stage props. Walking into one of them is a bit like walking onto a film set of the original Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom. It's awe-inspiring, even though you know it's just cardboard. Churches have magical powers because they are centuries-old buildings and we know that a lot of things have happened within their walls. Not that I'm trying to throw up on these places of worship, but when I go into a church I don't hear God, but the whispers of time. I am not an atheist, although intellectually I can see that there are many reasons why I should be. I believe in a Force, in an Energy. I also believe that we don't know many things, but that there is a balance between these different energies. The white and the black.

Good and Evil...

Absolutely! Right now the world is in crisis, but we're going to get through it. It's a vicious circle. We do ourselves a disservice if we think that if the world were rid of people like Vladimir Putin, Alexander Lukashenko, Jair Bolsonaro and the ayatollahs of Iran and Iraq, we would be out of the woods. I think all this can happen - and I hope it will, in a way - but Good and Evil will always be there. That balance is necessary. But I am an optimist by nature. I believe that there is a future for Volodymyr Zelensky and the Eastern bloc. That there is perhaps a chance to put into practice what was tried there some thirty years ago. And I believe in a free Iran, in a possible return to what this country was in 1978. What a beautiful day that would be! But that doesn't mean there wouldn't be a new war somewhere else in the world. I'm an eternal optimist, but let's face it: history is always starting over. As I said, it's a question of balance, a permanent coming and going. Because I believe in this Force I was talking about earlier, I truly believe that the West can win, that the way we live and the way we have built our society is a step forward that shows progress and can make a large majority of people happy. Not all, but most. But even if we all lived in love and peace for five years, something else would come along to create chaos! An alien or something! (laughs) That's how it works. Our mistake is to believe in the status quo, in nirvana. It's not going to happen. It's always about balance. The Vatican and organised religion... All that crap is just to pick people's pockets, to control them, to take their energy and scare them into plundering them. The same goes for the GOP (editor’s note: the American "Grand Old Party", suspected of having Christian nationalist leanings), which only deceives people in order to take their money! That's all you need to know. It's simple, so simple to understand. All this does not mean that the energy that emanates from churches is not real. When you walk into one of them, you feel - or so I believe - the energy of all those who have gone before you, for decades, for centuries. Their fears, their hopes, etc. So much so, sometimes, that you can feel oppressed, even upset. So I can walk into a church and feel a sense of awe. I love visiting these places, especially from an aesthetic point of view.

On Phantomime, you also cover "We Don't Need Another Hero" by Tina Turner. Don't you think that, given the state of the world today, we do need "another hero"?

I think Zelensky has shown how much we like heroes, how important they are to us. I think back, for example, to how the world went wild when Andrés Iniesta scored the decisive goal in the 116th minute to help Spain win the 2010 World Cup against the Netherlands. I believe in human determination and how it can inspire the world to distinguish between what is important... and what is really important. What is important for our daily lives. Yes, it's cool to have a complete collection of Venom's work, but it doesn't matter if I’m missing the most important thing. In the last ten years especially, the western world has been focusing on tons of unimportant things trying to pit people against each other, cancel culture and all that stuff... It proves that we are spoiled children. Our mentality shows it when it comes to security. Seeing Zelensky defend himself as he does appeals to our most primal instincts: it's beautiful and very inspiring. Nothing else is more important than that. It is the only thing that matters... Otherwise we have to be prepared for a lot of people to live in misery.

Next August, you will tour in the USA with Amon Amarth. I noticed that they will not accompany you on the last date, in Los Angeles, on September 11, 2023. There is no opening act, you ask the audience not to use their phones, etc. That sounds like a live DVD!

Yes, we are indeed planning to film this show, but it won't be the end of the Impera era cycle, even if we will not have so many dates left after this concert. There will still be a few shows in South America and Australia.

Nothing in Japan? A country that one might think Ghost was made for.

At the moment, it's not very clear. We had a lot of discussions with the Japanese promoters, as there was talk of us appearing on the bill of a Japanese festival scheduled for this month. Unfortunately, the festival was postponed... and then rescheduled for March! I think they originally had a big headliner, but the headliner didn't show up. So they cancelled, and then considered a smaller edition with Pantera. With all the back and forth, we ended up dropping out because it was too risky for us to play one date there after six months of inactivity. Our team is currently taking a break, but we preferred to use this time to rehearse for our next shows. The first one will be in Rouen on May 21st. We learned a good lesson the last time we played Hellfest. It was so hot that day, the conditions were so extreme, that we almost had a storm. We really had to fight against the elements and it affected me (Editor's note: the last encore of the show was not played, as Tobias was suffering from vocal problems). It was a very tough show. What really pissed me off was not the fact that I lost my voice, but the fact that the festival-goers who were there were not treated to our entire production. It was indeed difficult to foresee these extreme conditions. This summer we have to play festivals again, so we have reworked our production, which will be better adapted to the complicated weather. On this tour we will play in Spain, Finland, Norway, Greece, all within a few days of each other. So we'll be touring with two identical stages, so we can do all these shows without too much downtime. It's not very ecological, I'm sorry to say, because sometimes we'll have to take a plane to get to these cities in time. Not great, but it's the only way...

Will you play any of the Phantomime covers live?

One thing is for sure: we will play 'Jesus He Knows Me' because it's the first single from the new EP. As for the rest, we'll see during the rehearsals how the set evolves - because it's going to evolve a bit from the 2022 set. We're thinking of playing some songs from Impera that we've left out so far.

#the band ghost #tobias forge #interview

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maniculum · 6 months

Text

Google Docs vs. Thomas Malory

I'm working on the Malory chapter of my dissertation, and at one point Google Docs' spellcheck red-underlined a word but failed to provide a suggestion.

I thought it was odd that Google Docs was unable to spot the fact that I'd dropped an R, and then I recalled hearing recently that Google had started using a machine-learning-powered spellcheck that was, frankly, terrible.

Incidentally, clicking "Why am I not seeing a suggestion?" takes you to a section of their Support page that reads as follows:

Words where spelling is not recognized are underlined in red to warn you of a possible misspelling. When you click on the word, you'll see a "Spelling" label. If there is no spelling suggestion available, you can choose to edit the word, add the word to your personal dictionary, or ignore the suggestion.

Note that this does not answer the question, which to me implies that the real answer is "because it's crap". (Quick aside: I'm not one who is generally inclined to trust spellcheck anyway, as I am in my 30s and remember when "blindly taking spellcheck's suggestions" was something one would get mocked for, but I am annoyed that it's actively getting worse.)

So I decided to play with Google Docs a bit and see what it had to say about all the words it was underlining in the Malory quotations. (This may be a bit unfair, since "modernize 15th-century spelling" is not a function spellcheck is meant to have, but I also think that ruining a perfectly adequate spellcheck system with machine learning isn't fair to its users, so they started it.

Some of my favorite results below the cut.

Okay, that's also not a Modern English word. It's still Middle English, just a different variant spelling. Google Docs, you are out of your lane here.

This is not in the OED, and Googling it reveals that it's a surname. Weird guess here, Google Docs. At least capitalize it if you want me to lump Mx. DeVellis in with the fiends.

Buddy (derogatory), I don't think that one's correct either.

I thought this was just nonsense guessing, but apparently there's a company called "Bonwyke" that sells window films. You know, I'm somehow not surprised that the machine knows the names of corporations.

Google Docs failed to even come up with a suggestion for about half the words it underlined, which is fair, but the ones that stumped it include the following off-by-one-letter spellings:

calle ("call")

mayden ("maiden")

nyght ("night")

It's also continuing with this malarkey:

Google Docs, worstie -- you have got to learn what an abbreviation is. This isn't even an uncommon one. Why do they confuse you every time? If you're really using machine learning, surely you should eventually figure out that periods are used for purposes other than ending a sentence.

Anyway, I'm only three pages into writing this chapter, so I may well come back with more of these, but in the meantime allow me to leave you with a spelling suggestion that I just think is funny.

The Strongest Wayne. And Percival did what to him?

#damnable machines #thomas malory #le morte d'arthur #medieval literature #academia

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plasticfangtastic · 5 months

Text

okay so i did say I was gonna be annoying here's my first little analysis of the trailer for the boys. this shit is messy but its 8 am over here and i just need to ramble... spoiler talk here...

i'm a little concerned about Ryan being so down to kill people this early on in his life, like he's straight up just killing or trying to kill a man in front of a small crowd that got a bunch of phones out, he's also with who i assume its Zoe Neuman and at first I thought it was butcher who was getting thrown againts a building bcuz the guys's colour scheme matched but frankly i don't know.

lowkey feel like the whole arc between Starlight and Homelander will be about him trying to prove to Starlight that she's in the wrong side of history, he just looks so fucking smug when the riot takes place and both his and starlight stans are beating each other up-- frankly both scenes do not seem to be in the same spot... but there's just something in his face that screams "I told you so" to me. its also really interesting how nobody sees him in the middle of the carnage like nobody its stopping their shit when he shows up compare to Gen V where the whole school froze.

likely to be a parody of the captain america musical scene from the Hawkeye's tv show if i had to take a guess but as some xmas production (as u can see the baby jesus scene in the back)

I already seen ppl throw cloning theories over these hairs that I bet are Madelyn's but its just his murder shrine which do include Black Noir so I guess Homelander cheated on Maeve with Noir, I would not be surprise if he has a whole wall of ex-gfs and we might see some Becca's stuff but my question is why its A-train in his house, is he stealing something/breaking in to spy or was he invited by Homelander? and where in the apartment is this? like is down mystery hall over here:

I wasn't sure who this guy its but I'm gonna say Webweaver as he looks like nobody I recognize and his hair its too logn to be Frenchie or Joe and he's according to Vought HQ meant to die by Homelander's hand (maybe he's fucking Anika and Homelander no longer accepts race traitors in his ranks)

I imagine Splinter over here its connected to Firecracker as he seems to be in the conspiracy theory convention and Firecracker its supposed to be yassified Alex Jones plus the con its called truthcon and her show its called truthbomb...

and here's the most spoilery thing and what tells me the Vought HQ spoilers are real... Kimiko will lose her arm to Zoey according to the spoilers and here's she is fighting kimiko and her powers seem to match the description.

I imagien that they finally decide to take a hit at Neuman and try to kidnap Zoe/Zoey and this is the end result...

#personal #the boys #the boys tv #kimiko #ryan butcher #starlight #homelander #my theories migth be wrong af #sorry for spelling

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aclowntiny · 4 months

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Hiiii!!! First I wanna say how much I really like your work! Also, I stumbled upon our Seventeen and Enhypen as Hogwarts students, but saw you didn’t have it for Stray Kids 😭 I know they’ve mentioned in 2019 what house they think they are, but you seem to have a much better understanding of the houses and I’m very curious to see what you would think their houses would be.

I was wondering if I could request a similar sort of headcannon for them 🥹 Thank you!

Heck yeah! Can't believe I didn't do this sooner tbh but I love this so here we are 😌 I agree, not necessarily that I'm the best at the job, lol, but that people just go for very generic ideas of the houses (Gryffindor is cool, Slytherin is evil, Hufflepuff is nice/silly, Ravenclaw is smart) rather than the true reflection of where they'd be hehe! Like Ravenclaw is actually also known for being artistic and eccentric, Slytherin for strong determination, Hufflepuff for acceptance and breaking tradition, Gryffindor for being the other self-sacrificing house. So sometimes people just say "I'm a Gryffindor because I'm a good guy!!!" anyway rant over here's the actual content we want🤣

🏰 Stray Kids as Hogwarts Students🔮

Bang Chan

☆ Some kids got sorted instantly, but with one Christopher Bang the Hat took longer. Muttered to itself a lot as it waffled between his qualities, dubbing him hardworking and courageous and ambitious and loving. He couldn't help but flush under the hat's words, almost not hearing when its voice finally bellowed "Gryffindor!”

☆ Being Pure-Blood was only ever a phrase on a family tree for Chris. Who one’s ancestors were, what they looked like, or how much money they had said nothing for their value- only their choices and character did that.

☆ It’s only a formal class for one year, but he adores Flying. The feeling of freedom and getting to have some time outside is heaven for him. Defense Against the Dark Arts is another favorite for the similar reason of being able to get active and challenge himself, even literally facing his fears.

☆ Astronomy is very cool to him, but he finds having to fill in the same charts week after week a bit repetitive and not the best use of his time, frankly.

☆ Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain! He plays Keeper, working with great patience and synergy with the rest of the team to keep the goals clear.

☆ Blessed is the only word Chris can think of when he realizes how many happy memories he can pull from- not everyone can say that. As the word comes to mind, his wand lights up, producing a shining silver wolf standing majestically, protectively, before him.

Lee Know

☆ "You're an interesting one," came the Hat's comment upon touching Minho's head, "you've certainly got your priorities...whatever those are. A unique mind for sure. Better be Ravenclaw!" Some of Minho's friends had teased him as a Slytherin, so he was a bit surprised. Not that he would let his house define him entirely.

☆ He hates the reputation and unnecessary pressure that comes with being a Pure-Blood. It’s stupid and not worth debating in Minho’s mind. The only benefit is just the resources and opportunities he might get, and it’s tempting to turn those down on principle. Money and status don’t matter to him at all and there’s a part of him that wants to ‘sully the bloodline’ just for the hell of it! Luckily his parents don’t care either.

☆ Potions whiz. One of the few who actually get it and enjoy the calm, precise art and its beautiful results and wants to go N.E.W.T. with it. He’s also great at Care of Magical Creatures, naturally focused on the well-being of animals and other living things over his own excitement or whims.

☆ Having a fear of heights, Flying is not it for him. No thanks. He passes, but barely, and in his mind it’s not a skill he plans to use.

☆ Naturally, Minho opts out of Quidditch signups, but instead joins the Gobstones club because he thinks spraying the losers with stone juice is funny. Also gets invited to the Slug Club for his Potions skills and influence.

☆ No one is surprised when Minho closes his eyes, focuses, and boom! Produces a little glowing cat bursting from his wand with a few swipes of its paw to groom its nonexistent striped fur.

Changbin

☆ "Quite a softie underneath it all, eh?" Beneath the weight of the tattered Hat, Changbin strikes a bit of a pose. "Got a lot of ambition, but you've also got a lot of...that. Hmmm..." The Hat muses for a few more moments. "At the end of the day, this one’s a Slytherin!” Pride flows through Changbin’s veins- he doesn’t care for the reputation of producing dark wizards, the potential snobbery. All he cares about is showing his ambition to be the best if he puts his mind to it.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards so his familiarity is much more with the Wizarding World. He wants to understand Muggles better to connect with them, too, as well as Muggleborns.

☆ Taking Muggle Studies helps with this and learning about another culture is quite fascinating to him- technology especially is amazing, like that’s what people do instead of magic? Wires of captured lightning? Sounds pretty magical to Changbin. He gets into tinkering with technology because of this. Another class he enjoys is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Changbin loves feeling ready to protect himself and others, so that’s the class he spends the most time practicing and taking notes in. He always thinks of his friends and his sister as he does so.

☆ History of Magic is boring, though, Changbin wants to cast some spells! At the end of the day, where certain spells come from don’t matter to him as long as he can use them. However, the idea of showing up in a ‘great wizards’ history highlight one day is appealing to him…

☆ His strength comes in handy serving as one of Slytherin’s two Beaters. The other teams are lowkey afraid of the Bludgers Changbin sends their way because they know how hard he hits!

☆ Bets are flying on what his Patronus animal would be, a pig or a rabbit. Pig is the most popular choice, mostly in jest, but shushing them all Changbin focuses all the great joy he’s expressing…and out leaps a rabbit! Not just any rabbit, though, but the massive, fluffy form of a Flemish giant rabbit that has everyone laughing and Changbin grinning, reaching out to it.

Hyunjin

☆ Nearly the second the Sorting Hat rests atop his head, it's shouting 'Ravenclaw!' Hyunjin himself can't be surprised, really, not when he's heard talk of the great artists in that house. In fact, pride glows in his chest as he joins his table that the Hat could see that in him.

☆ The Hwangs are an old wizarding family. Hyunjin has a lot of opportunities because of this, but fights against the idea that he could be any better than anyone else because of a name. Rather, he is often seen lifting up Muggleborn classmates and highlighting struggled of other magical people.

☆ Ancient Runes comes naturally to Hyunjin, something about his eye for detail, symbols, and decoding. Language is an area of interest for him so that class is like a beautiful puzzle. Astronomy grants Hyunjin so much art inspiration as well as time to relax and appreciate the gifts of nature and their inherent magic.

☆ There's no one class he hates, but like a lot of students Hyunjin has a harder time focusing on all the information getting dumped on him in History of Magic.

☆ Hyunjin’s extracurriculars include the Muggle Art club where he hones his painting skills and the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, where he plays as the team’s Seeker.

☆ Expectations fly as everyone wonders what the next Hwang’s Patronus will be. Will he get a stag, the majestic animal associated with famous wizards? An eagle, symbolizing his house? Not at all, in fact what Hyunjin summons is a beautiful, delicate silver dove that lights upon his shoulder.

Han

☆ “Don’t be so shy, kid, you’ve got heart.” “Really? Thanks bro.” “Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,” the Hat chuckles, “this one’s a Hufflepuff!” Jisung’s eyes go wide. He wasn’t expecting to get Hufflepuff, but if the hat says so, well, who is he to fight it? It’s nice getting the kindest house, too- maybe he’ll make a lot of friends.

☆ As a Half-Blood, the heavy weight of prejudice never really fell on Jisung. Half-Bloods tended to fall between the cracks as having already been sullied, just middle ground. As he witnesses bullying more and more, though, his passion grows to somehow help others and remind people that nobody can help who their ancestors married.

☆ Charms are quick, snappy, spur-of-the-moment but effective in a pinch, and Jisung likes that. It's fun and he can cast charms as quickly as he cracks a joke or comeback! Ancient Runes brings him a lot of inspiration from history and other languages that he loves to bring to his songwriting.

☆ Flying, thank goodness, isn't enforced every year! It scares him, frankly, and he'd much rather stay on the ground where he belongs.

☆ Because flying isn’t his favorite, no way in hell is he doing it with giant leather and metal things trying to smash him. Nope. However he’ll happily watch and commentate, hence him taking the mic and giving very entertaining descriptions of everything that happens. He’s also in the Frog Choir, always trying to get them to perform one of his compositions.

☆ Jokes around that he’s going to get a massive Patronus animal like a bear or a lion, but once he sees the embodiment of his joy skipping from his wand as a little quokka, he can’t even be embarrassed, just smile!

Felix

☆ "Well, you're just a delight, aren't you?" Felix couldn't tell if the Hat was being sarcastic, but still he chose to respond in kind. "I try!" At that, the Sorting Hat chuckled. "Yes, this one's a Hufflepuff for sure!" His sister had told him as much, but Felix couldn't complain- he liked the idea of being a Hufflepuff!

☆ Felix is a Muggleborn, so he takes in every step of starting school with wonder…though it is a bit overwhelming feeling like everyone’s speaking another language sometimes. But then again, magic candy! Brewing potions!

☆ Absolute wonder at Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology. Felix is so gentle and good with every living thing, they practically request he be the one to handle them and that makes his heart burst with joy and honor! He also loves Potions, thinking the idea is so classic and cool, plus despite what most students say it’s kind of relaxing to him.

☆ Transfiguration dropped lower on his list when they started using living subjects. Sure, the idea that anyone and anything can grow and change and exist in many forms is really inspiring, but those poor mice and birds!

☆ Slug Club inductee part two! Even though he’s a Muggleborn with no direct influence, Felix is such a good student and avid potioneer that he’s a shoo-in. He also plays Quidditch as Hufflepuff’s Seeker.

☆ Felix isn’t sure what animal he’ll get, but he certainly isn’t expecting multiple! The entire class is shocked when a whole brood of chicks tumbles forth from his wand, eliciting shock and charmed coos alike.

Seungmin

☆ "This one's a bit of a surprise now," the Hat commented upon being set atop Seungmin's head. Seungmin couldn't help wondering what that meant and if it was bad, how to prove the Hat wrong. "No, lad, all you just did was prove my point. Looks can be deceiving, after all. Slytherin!" He wasn't sure what he expected, but that might not have been it. Sort of made sense, though- he could have fun with that!

☆ He can’t help wondering if the Hat chose as it did because he’s a Pure-Blood, taking Salazar’s old favors into account. Then again, he did just throw a cheating Gryffindor under the bus in class…

☆ Thinking logically is no trouble for Seungmin, so Arithmancy isn’t a bad choice for him. Connecting relationships between numbers and their power just makes sense to him- eight is his lucky number, after all. He also frequents the Potions dungeon, but that’s mostly just to brew the photo solution that grants his personal art projects motion!

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is a fun and active class, but it's boisterous and people take the duels too far sometimes.

☆ Frankly, he didn’t have time to join the Quidditch team due to his other extracurriculars, being an avid Frog Choir singer and the Hogwarts paper’s photographer.

☆ Everyone is sure the student everyone sees as a puppy will get a dog for his Patronus. Imagine their surprise when he casts a tanuki! Cute and cunning, no one can deny it matches him perfectly in the end.

I.N

☆ He forgot the Hat could read his thoughts. “So you want a house where you can show your talents and look out for people, huh?” Flushing, Jeongin just nods with a faint, bashful smile. “Well, better be Gryffindor, then!” He’s surprised, thinking maybe he’d have gotten Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff- he isn’t particularly brave, is he? “Trust me, kid, you’ll find your way,” the Hat promises, and do its eyelike folds wink?

☆ As a Half-Blood, he has knowledge of the Wizarding World, but also life outside of magic. Having one Muggle parent means one person getting yanked into the world of wonder, after all! Jeongin is proud to understand both sides of his world and guide his friends on how Muggles really live.

☆ Details don’t escape Jeongin, so he loves drawing star charts for Astronomy. Transfiguration is another favorite of his for similar reasons: he enjoys the focus, the idea that he can reshape objects into something greater or something new. It feels symbolic, poetic.

☆ Potions stresses him out because it's so easy to burn things or measure wrong; even if little details usually fascinate him, he can be a bit clumsy with the required finesse.

☆ Joins the wizard chess club, art club, and plays Quidditch- what can’t our baby bread do? Jeongin becomes Gryffindor’s Seeker, one especially known for turning the tides of the game for his team completely!

☆ He can barely contain his excitement that day in Defense Against the Dark Arts when it comes time to cast Patronus charms! He wonders if his animal will look like him and he certainly gets his wish when a charming little desert fox pops forth.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n #hogwarts au #stray kids hogwarts au #ask #anon #requested

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gallusrostromegalus · 11 months

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I'm glad to hear that Kaname protected Momo from the worst of Aizen's manipulations. Does she ever find out about his efforts, or does that stay a secret?

Post-Aizen-Fight, Kaname is in the hospital recovering from General Befuckening, and needs Reiatsu transfers to finish purging The Curse from his system and it's Hitsugaya's turn.

*****

The boy doesn't actually say anything for a long time after Unohana finishes connecting the IVs. It's alright. He's still exhausted, and there really isn't that much to say about what happened that hasn't been gone over and over and over, in debriefings and staff meetings and the distant sound of tears Tousen can hear coming from Lieutenant Hinamori's room. Gradually though, Lieutenant Hitsugaya's silence grows cold and sharp and restless, a winter gale banging against a window that won't quite latch right.

"-Out with it." Kaname sighs, opening his eyes and not frowning at the ceiling. "If you keep sulking like this I'm going to get frostbite and Unohana-sama will have both our hides for it."

Toshiro startles, coughs a bit like he's about to deny it, but collects himself and states his problem with magnificent succinctness.

"Momo." he says, voice almost violent in it's neutrality.

"Ah." Kaname nods. "I did what I could, but I know that was far from enough. I am sorry."

Hitsugaya is quiet, considering his words. "...What did you DO, actually?" he eventually asks.

Kaname blinks in surprise. "Huh. I thought Hisagi-san would have noticed when he did the audit of all my paperwork. I was genuinely hopeful you were going to spot it before Aizen could make his move with how much Momo complained..." he muttered, slightly puzzled.

"Spotted what?" Toshiro grumbled.

"You have undoubtedly been subject to the ongoing saga of the Rice-Farm-Subsidy Fraud case that Lieutenant Hinamori has been investigating since her promotion to lieutenancy?" Kaname prompted.

"Yeah, yeah, the one that's got her haring off to some backwater district or getting lost in the stacks at the archives for days on end or-" Hitsugaya graoned, then stopped. "...the one that had her constantly traveling away from the division, or doing extended research without Aizen's help."

"He used to get terrible motion sickness from trains or portals, you know." Kaname smiled, sitting up a bit. "-and a wretched allergy to paper-dust. Part of the reason he made me do all his fucking lab work, I imagine. but it seemed a good way to keep Miss Hinamori outside his sphere of influence at least for a few weeks at a time. Do I still have water in my glass?"

"...you MADE IT UP?" Hitsugaya yelped.

"I did no such thing. There is an extensive conspiracy between the various provincial leaders and mid-district governors to defraud the Central Government of subsidies for rice farms that frankly, do not exist, while also hiding the existence of taxable villages, resulting in invisible granaries used to fund private armies and other villiany-" he explained, sitting up properly and groping for the end-table where his water theoretically was. "-I just made sure Miss Hinamori had enough information to know where to look for the evidence of said conspiracy, and occasionally... lightly interfered with granaries in the middle districts to make sure more visible evidence came to light for her to keep the investigation open and moving in a timely manner. Lieutenant, if I may ask for your help-"

There was a rustle of cloth as Hitsugaya shook himself, grabbing the pitcher and refilling Kaname's glass, handing it to the frail man.

"Thank you." Kaname took a drink, handing the glass back to Toshiro to set down. "-I imagine the investigation will go much faster and with fewer extended trips to the rukongai now that I'm not cursed and can freely discuss the taxation and census records Aizen had covered in his illusion to hide his experiments." he explained. "...But doing it the long way has allowed Miss Hinamori to build a very complete and entirely legitimate case. She's an exceptional forensic investigator."

"...HOW?" Hitsugaya gaped. "The curse- it's not like you could talk to her, or send her messages- and if you could, it'd mess with the legitimacy of the case to have an anonymous tipster?"

"I had to...sort of gently suggest the names and locations to her in such fashion that her subconscious would make the connection between those terms and the case. Fortunately, in addition to being a certifiable genius, Miss Hinamori is also a master of the Lingual Arts."

"...Sir, I don't think Hinamori is that kind of girl." Toshiro mumbled, and Kaname could almost hear his full-face blush.

"You're thinking of Zaraki-Taicho, who is an entirely different kind of cunning linguist." Momo announced from the door. "-but you don't know everything about me Toshiro." She teased, coming in the room and climbing onto the bed beside Kaname, unfolding and re-folding that week's newspaper. "Lieutenant Sasakibe took over the crossword in your absence, and I think he may still be a bit upset with you."

"Ah." Kaname winced.

"What?" Repeated Toshiro, thoroughly lost.

"You remember that Tousen-taicho is the Editor-In-Chief of the Seireitei Newsletter, right?" She asked Hitsugaya, who failed to respond in a fashion that suggested that he did not, in fact, know that. "-Anyway, sometimes he writes more or less for the paper depending on that week's news, but without fail, he also designs the crossword- the most fiendishly difficult one in any of the newspapers, Sir." She explained, taking out a pen and tapping the partially-finished lexical puzzle she'd been working on.

"I try." Kaname smiled, looking just a bit genuinely smug.

"You largely succeed. I didn't actually make the connection between your five downs and the rice subsidy investigation until i tried doing Sasakibe's substitute puzzle this morning. I think he may have made the same connection, because 5 down today is 11 letters, starts with "P" and the clue is 'Degenerate Justice'."

"...Prevaricate." Kaname hissed with imagined pain at the likely wrath of the Chief Lieutenant. "Oh dear. Do you think a written apology is in order?"

"It's Sasakibe-san, it's just as likely to be his idea of an apology." Momo shrugged, filling in the word.

"...for those of us that are better at Sudoku?" Hitsugaya glared.

"Tousen-Taicho was putting clues about where the next bit of evidence I needed for the Rice Subsidies case in the Crossword because he knew I did it every week." Momo explained. "The clue was always in the fifth column down, which is a structurally important one in crosswords- you little shit, I even got on your case last year about how you always used locations for your 5 Downs and I STILL didn't make the connection!" She realized, rolling up the paper and affectionately swatting him over the head.

"Entirely deserved, but you have my word that was as much as I could do to help you, and that you have my full resources available to you now." Kaname smiled.

"I have entirely too many words from you-" Momo sighed with exasperation before putting the paper down and laying down beside him, hugging his chest. "-But I believe you. There's- I've been finding all sorts of things- people I forgot, places I'd been before and couldn't remember- huge sections of my LIFE! that his Illusion just... vanished."

She hugged Kaname's chest. "-I can't imagine what you went through."

"I hope you never will." he sighed, returning her embrace and for a moment, Hitsugaya felt even more outside the conversation- this was a secret grief, but the burden lightened by finally being able to share it. "...Did Sasakibe Key any clues to 5 Down? He might have more to say." Kaname asked, letting go and Momo sat up, frowning at the paper.

"Key?" Asked Toshiro, pleased to be talking about anything else.

"Sometimes one word is a hint to some of the next words, usually the ones that originate from it, um- Yeah, three words. Four letters, second letter 'i', clue is "Astronomical Favor"; Three letters, middle letter 'a', clue is "German Opera, 1874" ; and the last one is four letters, Second letter 'e', clue is "Truth's Abode". Momo read off.

All three of them stared (or pointed their faces) blankly at each other for a moment.

"...Yeah I'm gonna stick to the Sudoku." Nodded Hitsugaya.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #kaname tousen #momo hinamori #Toshiro hitsugaya #Crosswords are fun i promise!#bonus points to whoever figures out Sasakibe's Secret Message!

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girlcrushart · 18 days

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Huge surprise to me that I've never posted Emma Stone before. I was sure I had. I def did on girlcrush 1.0, but never since the poster version. So this post is long overdue. Because I really like Emma Stone, and have for a long time. I find her incredibly beautiful and have always enjoyed her work as an actor. She's excellent! I mean, I guess that's why they gave her an Oscar. Normally I pay very little attention to these things because generally I don't really agree and think it's mainly useless, but I think they nailed it this year giving her an Oscar. I watched Poor Things last night upon the recommendation of my pal @love-drunk-sparks and oh my goodness what an incredible movie! Certainly one of the strangest movies I've ever seen, but just so perfectly made in every way! The art direction / style / lighting / sets / costumes.... visually it was just a masterpiece. Mesmerizingly beautiful movie. The soundtrack was just insane. So weird. So unexpected. So perfect for the movie. It was a bold choice among bold choices and it worked great. And then there was Emma's performance which was truly brilliant. Challenging, unusual, weird, and could have gone sideways in a million ways, but she somehow found a way to play the role absolutely perfectly. For a movie that was so absurd and took place in an imagined world that was fantastical and weird and frankly unbelievable in so many ways, her performance anchored it all in a believable, authentic realism that was simply mesmerizing. I enjoyed that movie very very much, and I'm an even bigger fan of hers as a result. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Emma Stone.

#emma stone #girlcrushart

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utilitycaster · 5 months

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Hi I’m a new critter and I love your account and both your meta and your takes on “drama” I genuinely want to know (if you don’t mind saying of course) what you consider to be the most egregious, bad faith cr take that you’ve ever seen. I just like reading your criticism because it’s both incredibly articulate and smart but also very satisfying

Hi anon,

Thank you! I do have to say this is a difficult question with a boring answer but I'll give you a tangential one as well to make up for it.

Obviously, the misogyny and death threats in C1 are the worst! Anything that rises to the combination of structural oppression and literal death threats is going to be the worst, even before you factor in how utterly tiny the stakes were here (and, frankly, you shouldn't factor that in; doesn't matter what the cause is, big or small! Do not send death threats!)

The reason I tend not to talk about that is because there's very little to say. It's misogynistic death threats. That's awful, inexcusable, and dangerous in any context. But if someone doesn't understand how terrible this is, I don't think I can say anything to add to that.

Anyway because that was true, but obvious and not terribly revealing, I have been thinking a lot about mean-spiritedness in the fandom and I'll talk about that here. It's something I try to be cognizant of, because here's the thing: I talk a lot of shit. I'm aware I talk a lot of shit. There's many reasons why I talk a lot of shit. But I do try very hard not to be mean-spirited. I think there is a very clear distinction between criticism, even harsh criticism, of things you don't like, whether it's in execution, concept, or they just aren't to your taste; and mean-spiritedness, which is much more based in a desire to do harm to others.

I think again the example I've mentioned recently of people harassing Liam until he took a song off a Caleb character playlist is the pinnacle. This doesn't have any real goal re: criticism - it doesn't address an issue with the character nor the narrative and the only personal preference it reveals is "I, a random fan, don't like that this song was used in this context" which is not really relevant and you can skip it. Harassment is never justified, and even behavior that skirted harassment really served only to be a dick to Liam. It didn't have a single result other than "Liam takes the song off and feels kind of bad for a while," which I suspect was in fact the goal for most people, and that's pretty abhorrent.

Harsh criticism is not necessarily constructive, but it is with the intent to reveal - either a personal preference, or what you believe to be a flaw (structural, thematic, etc) within the story. It might not have a goal - personal preference really is just "I don't like this guy" and that's fine. Mean-spiritedness, however, exists just to spew bile and do harm.

So the following (most of which are paraphrased, but all are things I've personally seen on Tumblr alone, and nearly all are from the last year or so) aren't per se the most egregious or bad-faith takes, but they are absolutely mean-spirited. They have all destroyed my estimation of the people saying them for the most part beyond repair, and in many cases, if they have not hurt my estimation of the ship or character they were intending to support, they have certainly increased my estimation of the things they were intending to oppose. (And it goes without saying: any harassment - any - is automatically mean-spirited).

"I hope Fjord and Jester have divorced [author's note: they were not married] and I hope it hurt."

"I hope Caleb and that floaty fuck have broken up by the solstice."

"I hate Ashton, and Campaign 3 wouldn't be any different if they weren't there."

"My wishlist for this episode is that Chetney hits on Fearne and Ashton cockblocks him"

"I hope Fearne makes that robot eat his stupid coin"

"I'm not surprised that Yasha missed, because Yasha is bad at everything."

"Funny how Vex goes against her husband but does everything that Keyleth says" [Author's note: later proved to be hilariously untrue]

"No one cares about Travis's characters."

"Oh, Liam meant that Essek's own guilt would still exist by 'It won't help the inside?' I thought he was just being a fucking twat."

I think some people go into fandom not because they want to talk about characters, but because they see it as an opportunity to hit someone. I think some people believe they are entitled to a "win" (not normal to want nor possible to achieve and often less about the story and more about the fandom agreeing with them) and will engage in any tactic no matter how underhanded if they don't think they're getting it. That's what mean-spiritedness is in the end. It's not a single opinion, and often it goes under the radar compared to more stupid but less clearly unpleasant takes - a lot of the above didn't result in a ton of discourse because most people see these and rightfully go "oh that person is a tar pit" and block them - but it's certainly, outside of bigotry (which is also frequently also mean-spirited) - the most bad-faith approach to fandom on the whole.

#answered #Anonymous #cr discourse #cr tag

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sinematically · 6 months

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Clark Kent and his Mystery Boyfriend

Audience: General Words: 2.5k Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, OC - Katie, Perry White. Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake make a lil appearance too Read it on AO3

Summary: Clark Kent had a long-time boyfriend that no one had ever met, so naturally they assumed that this "B" Clark spoke of didn't exist.

Clark Kent had a long-time boyfriend that no one had ever met, so naturally they assumed that this "B" Clark spoke of didn't exist. They’d been together for a long while, according to what Clark was saying. The timeline he hastily established almost made it look like Lois and he broke up because of this mysterious B.

But, knowing Lois, and knowing the boy scout Kent, the office just assumed Clark made up a fake boyfriend so people wouldn't ask about the breakup with Lois. They always looked at him with pity, patting his shoulder when he would share stories of their frankly unbelievable dates, maybe passing a comment or two, knowing he would never hear them.

Until maybe a year into the "relationship" there was a large bouquet on Clark's table with a note written in code. Clark seemed surprised when he spotted the roses. Clark smiled, neatly moving them onto a safer spot so he wouldn't accidentally knock them over and didn't address it. He didn't need to glance at the code more than once to read and decrypt what it meant. Lois, of course, did. She picked up the card and spent a good 4 hours decoding the message on it. When she finally got the last pieces of the puzzle she burst into laughter

"Holy shit, Smallville, your boyfriend is batshit crazy!" she said and dissolved into another fit of giggles.

The office got used to seeing random bouquets delivered to the office. Sometimes Lois got them too, but her bouquets were usually pink or white roses. Clark's were always deep red, long-stemmed roses nestled in a bunch of baby's-breath flowers.

Yet, the assumption that he didn't exist, or at least if he did -- he wasn't all that Clark made him out to be, didn't go away.

3 years into the relationship, Lois was fed up with all the office gossip.

Really, the tipping point was when Steve started a betting pool. His theory? Clark was dating Metropolis’s very own Lex Luthor. Understandably, Lois was pissed. So, during one of Clark's off-world missions sick leaves, she gathered everyone in one of the conference rooms and told them they were allowed one question each. She could choose not to answer them, which would result in the person getting another question.

"Who is he dating?"

"I'm not telling you that, Cat"

"Is he hot?"

"...Yes. He is"

When Clark was back at work, he noticed how there weren’t a lot of whispers, or nearly as many judgements being passed as he sat down. They even started asking questions. Clark knew Lois was behind this somehow but as long as they didn't know who Clark was dating, he was fine with the questions. He even answered them as honestly as he could.

This is how the Planet found out that Clark was dating a single father.

"Wait do they call you Pop?" Katie asked. She was new to the Planet and had only been at her job two weeks when Lois held the secret meeting. She was very intrigued by the whole thing.

Clark flushed a deep red, "Oh, no, oh god no, no... uh, yeah no. I mean, I've known the kids since... yeah, I've known them as long as he has but no... They're adopted so, you know, they don't even call B dad, they wouldn't, yeah, no"

Katie always asked the most questions. She was how the office found out that Clark spent a weekend in Paris, but she kept to herself that they went and watched a Broadway play the weekend after. She also clocked that Clark’s suit from the Christmas party was custom-tailored to fit him perfectly. She was very flustered when she realised Clark was packing a lot of muscle.

Katie was also the first (outside of Lois, Jimmy and Perry White) to put two and two together. All the expensive dates, impromptu vacations, a secret man from perhaps… Gotham? She got transferred to the investigative journalism team afterwards.

Her stories were smaller, and she picked up a lot of sports and celebrity life pieces, but she worked out of a little spot next to Jimmy’s table, across from Lois and Clark’s.

/|\^._.^/|\

It was nearing a decade into their relationship now, 7 years. Clark had been off-world, just re-entering the atmosphere when the explosion went off. He didn't hear Jason when he called out for him. It broke him.

Perry didn’t ask too many questions, just for an approximate time frame before approving Clark’s time off. When Clark, teary-eyed and at a loss for words, tried to explain himself Perry shook his head. “No father should have to go through that, both of you… go to Gotham, be with him” was all he said.

But, following the fate of many couples who lost their child, Clark and B broke up. Only Lois, Jimmy, White and Katie knew.

The office caught on once the flowers stopped. The rumour mill began churning again, and it wasn't long before Clark snapped. But of course, Clark Kent snapping didn't look like a regular person snapping.

Clark Kent snapping looked like a panic attack, running away from the bullpen and towards the roof of their building. Katie glared at the people near the water cooler who had been talking about how sad Clark looked. Lois and Jimmy had followed him up.

Clark had been given the rest of the day off, while Perry held a meeting with the staff reminding everyone of workplace conduct. Lois was seething with rage, shooting glares at various people in the room. Katie sat next to Lois, furiously typing into her laptop. Jimmy flashed an apologetic smile but didn’t say anything.

Clark came back to work the next day and did very little at his desk, he was later assigned a piece that required him to visit Central City for a few weeks. The gossiping had died down by the time he was back. Lois, Katie and Cat had taken it upon themselves to strike the fear of god into anyone caught gossiping, and the office had learnt their lesson.

Clark looked like a kicked puppy most of the day, till he slowly started feeling like himself again. Weeks passed, then months, before they had their usual Clark back. The office was starting to learn how much they missed their boy from Kansas.

Then the Daily Planet was brought by Wayne Enterprises. Clark Kent put down his papers the day the deal went through.

Most of the office was out, they’d been given a parent-company sponsored lunch as a welcome into Wayne Enterprises. Perry had stayed back to finalise some of the details over a call with Lucius Fox. Jimmy and Katie were sitting across from each other, franticly texting Lois who was on her way back from the airport.

"Kent! Don't you dare walk away from m- KENT!" Perry's booming voice practically rattled the windows as Clark walked away, calmly, from the editor-in-chief's office. Perry waited, threw his hands into the air and then slammed the door to his office shut. He was back on the call almost immediately, apologising to Lucius for stepping away so abruptly.

Clark calmly cleaned his desk out, while Jimmy leaned against the tall cabinets, chewing on his inner cheek. He was charged with stalling Clark, so Lois could talk him out of quitting. Katie was keeping a watchful eye, hoping she was subtle enough not to set Clark off again.

"Maybe you should just talk to him" Jimmy offered. Clark snorted, "Yeah, because I didn't try that, what... a thousand times?" "Well, maybe then you should… respond? He’s been reaching out, this is him reaching out right?” Jimmy said, crossing his arms.

"And what? Wait for an apology? Or worse, hear him say he wasn't sorry at all? That I should just go back, be ok? You don't know him like I do... I'm- I'm not putting myself through all this again. I tried, I tried to be there for him but I can't keep giving and giving and giving if he doesn't want to take it"

"He's trying too! Okay? This is him trying," Jimmy said, like a desolate child.

"He's not the only one who lost his kid, Jimmy" Clark said, loudly.

Jimmy didn’t think he could stop Clark as he walked towards the elevator. The doors shut silently.

Lois burst through the elevator doors forty seconds later, her heels clicked loudly as she marched towards the conference room. She had a phone jammed between her ear and shoulder, her left hand held her heels and her right hand her laptop. “You better have a good fucking reason to pull this shit” was the last thing Jimmy and Katie heard before the door slammed shut.

Clark was back at work a week later, with a significant pay hike and a new laptop waiting for him from Wayne Tech’s latest line, “Made to be Indestructible” was the tagline. Lois had 3 bouquets of roses at her desk, lunch from her favourite sandwich shop around the corner and a new coffee machine was being installed in the office cafeteria. “For Lois Lane” read the note slapped onto the new coffee machine.

No one knew what happened, they were just relieved there were flowers in the office again, and a new coffee machine.

It was this same year Wayne Enterprises sponsored a field trip for all Gotham Academy students to come visit the Daily Planet. One of the kids -- introduced himself to Lois and Clark as Tim -- had slipped a note into Clark’s pocket asking for a meeting. Tim had written that he had a message from the Gotham Bat. Clark, after reading the note, exhaled a slow deep breath. He asked the teenager to follow him into one of the conference rooms, and 25 minutes later the kid left the room smiling.

Clark was back in Perry’s office, requesting more time off, saying he needed to sort out some family issues. Perry looked at the kid who was hovering around Lois, then at Clark, and then back at the kid who had moved on tinkering with Jimmy’s camera.

“It’s Thursday now, and you’re not scheduled to come in on Saturday, are you?” Perry asked, but before Clark could reply, Perry continued “I’m giving you one day, and no pay. One day. If I don’t see you in your seat Monday morning, I don’t care who you’re with Kent, you’re out!”

Clark came back to work looking visibly less stressed. He had a bounce in his step and if Katie’s surprised yelp was anything to go by, he had a poorly concealed hickey on his collarbone.

Lois had yet again been sent a very nice lunch spread, and Katie’s table had a small bouquet of yellow roses. Jimmy was pouting, mumbling about how he had a lot to do with the change too. At lunch, Jimmy found a brand new camera and a new laptop from Wayne Tech at his workstation.

It was a day of celebration for the office when they finally saw a bouquet of deep red roses on Clark’s table.

Clark, as usual, set them aside so he wouldn’t knock them over.

/|\^._.^/|\

Many more years passed, and the office had gotten used to the stories. They also wanted, desperately, to meet Clark's B

Clark was spending the weekend at his mother's, and his boyfriend’s kids spent the weekend with him because B was caught up with work. Together, they’d baked enough pie for the whole office - Perry White was in a good mood for a whole afternoon after the cherry pie. Clark was telling Lois about how his last movie date ended with his boyfriend passing out on the couch, so Clark naturally carried him into their room and tucked him into bed, while they waited for Perry to assign their assignments in the morning.

Stories about Clark’s boyfriend were as normal as hearing Perry’s loud sigh of frustration, Lois’s heels clacking as she paced the bullpen floor, convincing a senator or governor to give her a name or a number. It was as routine at Cat Grant's gasp followed by whatever gossip was being announced to the pen. As common at Katie and Jimmy flirting, or as Kevin and Ben bickering, and Steve hitting on an intern. The flowers never stopped, and neither did the lunches.

Once in a while, on a special occasion, the whole office was treated to Clark’s boyfriend's generosity. When Clark has gotten his first Pulitzer nomination, or for Lois’s second win. When Katie finally got her first investigative piece bringing down a big Pharma company went viral, or when Lois got engaged.

Clark’s first and Lois’s third Pulitzer was for their piece on Cadmus’s illegal genetic cloning. It had been the biggest news story for months and got their paper a new set of eyes. As a congratulations, Perry had taken the whole team out of drinks.

It was that night when the office first saw someone from Clark’s home life.

A man in his mid-20s had snuck up on Clark in the middle of a conversation with Lois and loudly congratulated him. No one recognised the kid, so they didn’t pay too much attention.

All except for Cat Grant, who had the pleasure of meeting Richard Grayson on multiple occasions. Most recently at Bruce Wayne’s charity gala. She connected the dots, but sadly the wrong ones.

When Clark had gone to the bar to fetch Lois and Katie another drink, Cat went up to him. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you? Richard Grayson?” She asked.

Clark almost dropped the drinks, looking bewildered.

“Dickie? What? Cat, are you insane? Dick isn’t even…” Clark needed to take a second and let out a deep sigh “He was 13 when B and I got together. 13! And his name doesn’t start with B, for chrissake!” Clark shook his head, walking towards the booth where Dick, Katie, Jimmy and Lois were seated.

Cat, disheartened she guessed it wrong didn’t rearrange the puzzle pieces to make it fit. She just got herself another glass of wine and joined their table, sighing loudly when Dick introduced himself to her. Lois looked at Clark, who shook his head mouthing “Don’t ask”

A few moments later, Perry stood up and demanded Lois and Clark make a toast. Lois went first, while Clark tried to get out of it. He was in the process of being dragged onto his feet when the last guest for the night joined the party.

“Oh hey, B, you made it!” Dick said loudly, bringing attention to the man dressed in a black suit, taking off his coat dusted with snow. He was dressed very fancy for a bordering-on dingy bar in Metropolis. He nodded at the bartender who seemed to recognise him, but that wouldn’t be fair because who wouldn’t recognise Bruce Wayne?

The man’s face was plastered across a few magazines, many tabloids and a few billboards around the city. He was one of the richest men in the world, one of the most desirable bachelors in the country and he was smiling at Clark like he hung the moon in the sky.

“B…” Clark trailed off and moved to hug him

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, CLARK IS FUCKING BRUCE WAYNE” Cat Grant gasped

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

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#dc #batman #superman #superbat #superbat fic #superbat fanfiction #clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent x bruce wayne

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