#like I'd fucking love it and if only work until early afternoon most days but like.... Sundays and Mondays being my only days off for years

[milo-is-rambling]

I get happy and excited thinking about working at the library but the idea of having the same schedule every day every week for years is actually nerve wracking to me

#like I'd fucking love it and if only work until early afternoon most days but like.... Sundays and Mondays being my only days off for years #kind of terrifying in a i run from all of my problems and constantly change my life up when I get bored kind of way #like I'm only 18 I should be working a shitty job the idea of a salary paying job with the same schedule week by week is intimidating #but god I want it so bad #I want that life I want it bad

[grapejuicestyless]

Love Me Until My Breathing Stops?

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Angst to Fluff

DISCLAIMER!: There are some very serious topics in this. Depression, mentions of fucked up relationships. This is not romanticizing this at all.

Teaser: "Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night."

To be honest, I had no idea where it went so irreparably wrong. You never notice you're slipping until your feet are out from under you and your head hits the floor. Maybe that's how I never saw it coming.

My bed was my new home, my tears were my midnight snack and my eyes were probably permanently shut from the puffy skin that was blotchy and irritated beyond belief. My pillow was my sanctuary and the darkness was my friend. I miss my old friend sunshine. I miss the backyard barbeques and the reunions in the park. I miss the kids running from the bees and the smell of the wet grass in the mornings.

It had been a month, two weeks, three days, twenty one hours and thirteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. The shadow of the girl who used to find peace in the smiles from people passing by. The girl who threw welcome home parties and tended to her garden every afternoon. Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night.

I'd been so convinced that he was the one. Grew up these past few months believing I was all that he saw. Breathing him was slowly killing me. I thought so highly of the man I shared my in's and out's with. I'd wake up early just to see the even rise of his chest, dreaming of his curly hair and our future together. Now in my own suffering, I dreamt that he drowned.

But it wasn't his fault, no he'd asked if I would be okay. I promised I'd be okay. There was no okay, how could he believe me? How can someone simply be okay after wrecking the only thing I'd been sure of in my entire life? No, there wasn't okay. There was simply bad and worse.

Today, was bad.

On days like this, I would talk myself up to a shower. Rid myself of the stench of rock bottom. Ridding myself of the killer that drove him away. How could he be so forgiving to me not being enough? How could he brush off my wasted potential and blame it on himself. Guilt till consumed me whole, even if he'd underlined it in red that it was him, not me. His unfaithfulness that had torn a sweet love story to ashes. Tell me, how could the attentive wife to be miss the smirk hiding beneath his winning smile, his lessons really just weapons targeted at my deepest hurts. Every comforting explanation was twisted way back to what I feared most.

Soon, I'd find myself in the kitchen, raiding the empty cabinets and the ransacked fridge. There was only crumbs and lemon juice in the entire house by now. The appetite I'd worked up gone at just the flashbacks of the slow dances in the crack of the refrigerator light. His hand over mine and his empty promises soothing in my ear. Did he want me or did he want me not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another.

I felt rage boiling, the slam of the door rattling the plates in the sink and the pan on the stove. Ripping my hair from my head was the only reliever of the pain, tearing apart my body hoping that eventually it could be put back together into a beautiful bloody mess. Wearing my hurt on my sleeve and praying to god that, that someone could love me just as much for that.

I was thinner now, shedding the pounds like I had anymore to spare. The only clothes that still fit was a white ruffled dress that fell just below my knees. The straps hanging loosely and my feet slipped into black Mary Janes and red socks. I wonder how ghostly I looked stepping into the sun. Skin greyed from the lack of light.

I counted my breathing, noted the cracks on the pavement and counted the daffodils on the walk into town. All to cease the tears pushing behind my eyes.

It was nice out, the air was crisp and warming with the middle of spring having sprung. Vines were growing and the world was getting loud again. It was peaceful, I wanted a piece of that inner silence for myself. Maybe it would bring me a sort of closure, pushing me towards a more okay future.

I listened to the bell rattle with the push of the door, hands hanging loose at my sides. I waved towards the girl working the counter in the flower store. She smiled, recognizing the unrecognizable shadow that waltzed into the humid room. I pasted on the fake togetherness I'd mastered from unexpected visits from family and friends. Trying to imitate the girl who had lost her way long ago.

"Do you have any tulips?" My eyes remained glued to the flower beds as I searched the store for any bright pink clusters.

"A few in the back row, though you might need to hurry, they're quite popular today." I nodded, scurrying to the back in hopes to finally get what I wanted.

There, I saw the empty basket, the last bouquet of bright pink tulips being held up to a tall man. He was maybe six feet tall, but his posture made him seem a little shorter. His hair was chocolatey brown with free falling curls and waves pushed behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. He wore a teal cardigan over a white graphic tee that read something in blue I couldn't quite make out from the angle. His legs fit into lose jeans with rips at the knees and blue and white checkered vans. His laces were ripped slightly, probably from stepping on them, and he smelled like sweet vanilla.

He looked like happiness, a ray of modern day sunshine and fair love, his nose still buried between two flowers, eyes fluttered shut.

Some white carnations lined with a hot pink sat near the tulips, they looked just as beautiful as the fresh flowers that I'd missed by a second too late.

I let myself sigh after taking in the clean smell from the center of them, the crinkling of the paper distracting me from the hurt I felt inside.

"You planning a wedding?" His English accent wasn't horribly noticeable, but still able to be picked up on. I cracked a smile, trying to be polite. Trying to be the girl I missed.

"Something like that, yeah." He laughed, we made eye contact.

I could see his dark green eyes now, sparkling with interest. I can only imagine the lack thereof that I returned to him.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand, smiling so much so there were crinkles by his eyes.

"I'm y/n." I met his palms. They were soft yet rough around the edges. His fingers had been picked at and he had guitar string scars across his hands.

There was a silence. It was comfortable, relaxed but still, I itched to back away.

"It was nice to meet you." I stepped back, walking away faster than I came to pay for the carnations clenched between my shaking hands.

"Hey wait!" His footsteps were heavy, hammering into the asphalt. I turned, but continued to move backwards, a faint smile played on his lips. Chasing after the beautiful fool who secretly adored the interest the random flower shop boy took in her.

"Missed me already?" I turned back to walk forwards once I felt his arm bump mine.

"Can't help it, you're just so missable!" He joked, flowers facing down at the ground, hitting each other as we walked close together. We left a petal trail as we walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Only the runaway brides dressed up like Dorothy on her way to Oz." I covered my smile in my hand, brushing the blush off.

"I'm flattered." We shared a look, walking in silence as we looked at each others eyes.

"So tell me about yourself, Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" He pointed to my shoes, I scoffed.

"Okay..." I thought on it, counting the cracks again.

I knew I was barely together. Barely able to keep up with the work that seemed to just pile itself onto my back. I knew that my finger still stung from when I ripped off the engagement ring and told him to go to hell. I knew I was a fucked in the head, a childish girl who only wanted to be loved like she loved others. I knew at one point I would've said all these things to Harry, a man I'd met only a few minutes ago. Trusted him easily and let him in without an inch of doubt. But I also knew that wasn't fully me anymore.

"I haven't met the new me yet." I smiled at him, chewing at my cheek at the curious eyebrow lift and the breathy laugh.

'What about you, Harry? Who are you?" I looked to my feet.

"I'll let you decide." He looked to my face, my eyes finding it almost impossible to meet his warm gaze.

"Someone who reads too many love stories."

"Says the one dressed as Wendy from Peter Pan." I laughed, meeting his stare finally.

"Am I Wendy or Dorothy?"

"Why not both?" He was unbelievably easy to talk to, even in my mess and hurt, it soothed the panging in my chest with every breath he took.

"Let me walk you home, y/n?" I smiled.

"Okay." We fell into a silence again, out of teasing and jokes to share for the five minute walk remaining. I went back to counting the daffodils and he went back to sniffing his flowers. I went back to silently pulling myself together, picking up any shards of myself that had fallen and focused on my breathing.

"This is mine." I looked towards the dark home, the garden still neat despite the overgrown plants and the few dead plants. I looked back at Harry, then to his feet where his tulip petals continued to fall. They looked bare, hurt and dying now. I met his eyes again.

"Take good care of those tulips for me?" He froze, confused about the sudden request after my silence towards him and his polite offer.

"Yeah, of course." I nodded, turning myself slowly towards my front steps. I took in the pale blue of my paint, the new white shutters beautiful and perfectly matched with the white wrap around porch that hugged the west corner of the home snuggly and the short, white picket fence. You would've never expected such a fuck up to live in such a nice looking home.

"Bye, Harry." Waving, I made my way up the driveway, passing the fence and the the garden. All while he stood there, done with the chase, done with my mood swings. My politeness and my silence. My trust and my question. He stayed outside of my lawn, feet stuck to the sidewalk like gum.

Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since the man who hung the moon for me in my eyes confessed his infidelities and left me to throw a pity party for myself. Almost six months since the next best thing had entered my life. My best friend, Harry.

Unlike my ex-fiancé, Harry came back. He came back and picked up the shards that I'd let crack and bleed under my feet and glued me back together. He'd come by once a week at first, checking up after noticing the vacant look in my eyes when we first parted ways. How I'd slipped into the darkest house he'd ever seen. Cold, tired, worked to the bone. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into four and four turned into almost everyday. His knock at my door my favorite sound. Yet, what he knew of me, wasn't fully me.

Even with Harry and his flowers decorating my home. Even with his laugh and his trusting demeanor, part of that girl I was was forever lost. That engagement ring hadn't only taken skin, it had taken the foolish woman who slept next to a liar and swallowed her pride. It had taken my ability to let people in so easily. And I wish he hadn't taken that from me, because as stupidly blind she was, she was some of the best parts of me.

"The Notebook or Ten Things I Hate About You?" Harry hoped over the back of my couch, his arm falling limp around my shoulders, each hand holding a movie for me to chose.

"Is that even a question?" I snatched the disc with Heath Ledger on the cover and waved it around Harry's face. He smiled, ruffling up my hair before getting up to pop the disc in.

"I need to stop asking you these things, Dorothy. I was hoping for the notebook." I stuck my tongue out, my heart flooding with a familiar warmth only Harry could pull from me.

I bit my cheek until it bled, my shoulder squished between his chest and the bend of his elbow. Silently, I mouthed the lines to the movie, my lips brushing against the soft cotton of Harry's white t-shirt.

"That tickles, my love." He laughed, craning his head down while mine stretched up. Crinkles folded by my eyes, smile lines permanently tattooed on my skin from just the past few months. What was a curse for others, was a permanent reminder of the adoration I had gained for Harry and his ability to fix what was irreparably shattered.

"What?" His whole body shook with a silent giggle, eyes reflecting the movie and an emotion I couldn't pin. I remained silent, eyes flicking down to his lips, his eyes following mine. I felt his touch tighten around my back and his body heat up.

Closer and closer, longer and longer. I panicked the closer I got to wrecking this beautiful relationship we'd built over a silly crush I'd obtained.

Sure, he was nice. He was handsome and possibly the best thing that had ever walked into my life, but stacking every single one of those reasons and more couldn't make me risk everything. I couldn't deal with someone else I loved walking out of my life.

I inched away, scared. I watched his face freeze, eyes relaxed and breath hot on my lips.

"Harry." I whimpered.

"Y/n."

"What if we fuck this up? What if after tonight you change your mind? I can't do that again Harry. I can't pick myself up again." I quietly rambled, tense, scared of the idea that I would face the hatred for my own reflection for weeks and weeks again.

"Y/n." He repeated, softer.

My mouth stopped, eyes flicking to observe his expression over and over. Trying to fight back the tears that built and built.

"I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. If you trust me, let me in just this once, I wont leave until you're kicking me out." He searched my face now, an internal fight going on in my head. He made it so hard to think being so close him.

"Love me until my breathing stops?" I asked, tears springing from under my eyes and gathering at my waterline now. Scared, just as I was all those months ago. no longer a vacant stare, but one of fear and uncertainty.

"I'll love you until my breathing stops." He wiped under my eyes, fingers quick to land on my cheeks. He waited, patiently for any sign that it would be okay to continue.

I nodded, swallowing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiled, shoulders slumping like a weight had been lifted and he was at ease.

"Okay." I returned the feeling, lips brushing his. They were soft and plump. They tasted of buttery popcorn and chocolate. His nose bumped into mine, skin brushing skin and limbs tangling the longer we tried to hold onto the moment.

When we pulled away, it was breathless, and suddenly I realized the man who'd hurt me seven months, one week, seven hours and three minutes ago hadn't stolen the best parts of me, he only scared her into hiding.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

[francesminos-tt]

Do you think you can do one like the movie pride and prejudice? With Daeron being Mr. Darcy and Joff being Lizzie? I'd love you forever and ever if you could! If you want that's fine too! ABO!

I made a small summary of some things if you want something more explained, but I love your ideas so you can and should write whatever you want, the things I wrote are not a requirement.

Viserys is not king, but is considered an important Lord in Westeros society. Rhaenyra marries Harwin Strong, a man far below Nyra's social standing and this is outrageous and shameful for Alicent. Viserys dies (and you know, at that time women had no right to any inheritance) and obviously all his riches would go to Aegon (if it weren't for the fact that Aegon is running away at the exact moment he receives the news, he doesn't want to be Lord but to party and fuck as much as he can) Now all the properties are being looked after and maintained by Aemond. So as expected, Aemond urgently needs to marry some rich and well-educated noblewoman. Alicent has her favorite options - baratheon girls -, but Aemond denies. Aemond insists on leaving Kings Landing to try and find his wife and Alicent sends Daeron with him on this mission because she knows her third son has some shared thoughts with her.

Rhaenyra discovers that her brothers are in town and like the intelligent woman she is, sends her three oldest children to the grand ball that will feature all the single Omegas and Betas. Rhaenyra OBVIOUSLY doesn't regret marrying Harwin but she wants her children to have a good future, wants them to have a good life.

Jace is the oldest, most responsible and most mature. Rhaenyra considers Jace to be the ideal choice for this marriage.

Luke is sweet, smart and kind but Rhaenyra still remembers when Aemond lost his eye and looked at the boy with nothing but hatred.

Joffrey is a smart and cheeky omega and wants to have a broader life than just dedicating himself to marriage. He hates Aemond, but he hates snobbish Daeron even more.

To be honest, Joffrey is more Lydia to me than Lizzie, but I managed to adapt the plot according to their dynamics. Here is the result. I tried to write their first meeting. Daeron may seem snobbish, but in fact he’s just trying to flirt with Joff (and failed epically). I think Joff hates him more and more until Daeron goes to propose to him, which sends Joff into total shock and he refuses Daeron. You can imagine the rest🤣

“I think I should burn a hole in my dress, so that mother cannot force me to go to the ball with my boobs exposed.” Joffrey said, sprawling on the bed in his underclothes. The room was pleasantly warm, even in the early spring chill, as the lazy afternoon sun shone through the window. Joffrey would rather spend his day hiking in the sun, than preparing his outfit for the stupid ball.

“Stop using words so vulgar.” Jacaerys scolded, but only half-heartedly, “Where did you learn it from anyway?”

“The lads in the market.” Joffrey replied, flipping over to lie on his stomach and watching his brothers ironing their respective dress, a simple light green one with embroidered bodice for Jace, and a sea blue one lined with intricate lace for Luke. The dresses were not extravagant, but beautiful and well-maintained, a gift from their mother to celebrate their presentation.

“You are an omega now, Joff.” Jace said, sounding very much like their father Harwin, “You shouldn't spend too much time with them.”

“Why not?” Joffrey scoffed, blowing a strand of curls from his face, “I am still me. My omega status doesn't change anything.”

“Joff.” Jace sighed, looking up from his work, “You know what I mean. Mother will not be pleased to learn you hang out with lads from the market. You have duties to fulfill-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to sell myself to some rich alpha like a whore, right? Being myself only destroys my price.” Joffrey mocked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Do you really think mother will sell you like a piece of meat on the marriage market?” Lucerys chimed in before Jace could scold their younger brother more, “Answer me, Joff. Do you not trust mother to want the best for us?”

Joffrey bit his lower lip. He loved his mother. Rhaenyra might not be considered a conventional good mother, running away with her lover and cutting off all the ties to her family, but she was the best mother Joffrey could ever wish for. She cared for her children. That was part of the reason why she remarried Daemon after Harwin had sadly passed away, because with her husband’s inheritance snatched away by her brother-in-law, Rhaenyra had no means to support her three sons on her own. She had suffered so much just trying to give her children a decent life. It was no surprise that she wanted to secure the best marriage deal for her three omega sons. Joffrey knew for a fact that Rhaenyra would never force him to marry. She was merely providing the brothers a chance to broaden their views so that they could make wiser choices in the future.

“Sorry, Luke,” Joffrey sagged, his thick brows turning downwards like a sad puppy, “and Jace. I shouldn't have let my frustration out on you and mother. I know you only mean good for me.”

“It’s ok, Joff.” Jace put down his dress and came to sit on the bed, “Come here.”

Joffrey placed his head on Jace’s lap as if he was still a little boy, innocent, young, and ignorant of the cruelty the world had to offer. Jace brushed Joffrey’s wild curls with his fingers, gently untangling the knots one by one. Joffrey’s hair was just like him, wild and unruly, but could be tamed with patience.

“I don't want you to change, omega or not.” Jace told him, “You are charming just as you are. If you decide to marry, your future husband should love and respect who you really are, not some obedient omega you pretend to be.”

“I don't think anyone will love an omega who says boobs all the time.” Joffrey joked, “But hey, no worries! I don't want to marry anyway. I can be an old maid and look after you and Luke’s children.”

“You never know until you meet someone.” Lucerys joined them too, squeezing himself on the bed and giving Joffrey’s butt a playful slap, “I wouldn't say no to a cute ass like that.”

“Luke!” Jace sighed heavily, “Stop encouraging him! Did you learn the words from the market lads as well?”

“I don't know.” Lucerys laughed, flipping his lush hair sassily, “Maybe it’s Joff’s bad influence.”

“God help me.” Jace murmured, but his voice was drowned out by the hysterical laughter of his two younger brothers.

The ball was boring. It was no surprise, for Joffrey never had the interest or the patience to exchange pleasantries and gossips with other omegas. Balls were boring. Boring Balls. It actually rhymed, which made Joffrey chuckle to himself as he settled down on an armchair and watched his brothers dancing. Jace and Luke looked ravishing with their respective dresses, each piece bringing out the best of their features. Jace’s long legs and slender figure, Luke’s beautiful eyes and plump body, like two shining stars among the sea of dancers.

Joffrey saw himself as undesirable compared to his brothers. He was too tall for an omega, his skin too tanned, his brows too thick, and he always made sure to hide his plump chest under the humble clothes he chose to wear. Today, he was wearing one of his mother’s old dresses, a black one with golden embroideries on the collar and waist. The dress had a low cut originally, aimed to showing off one’s cleavage, but Joffrey had it altered, putting some sheer black laces on the chest area to hide the only charm point of his body, his full breast.

A song ended, and the dancers all retired from the floor to catch their breaths and have a little drink. Lucerys glided gracefully to Joffrey, smiling at everyone who waved their hands at him but never stopping for anyone.

“Where is Jace?” Lucerys asked, taking a glass of wine from Joffrey.

“Too busy flirting with Mr. Stark.” Joffrey tilted his chin to the corner of the ball room, where Jace was having an animated chat with a man in soldier uniform almost a header taller than him.

“I danced with him for a song.” Lucerys said, looking in the direction of Joffrey’s faze, “Mr. Stark is very pleasant.”

“I doubt it.” Joffrey was skeptical about all alphas’ characters, “He’s an army man. It is a miracle that he actually knows how to dance.”

“Papa Harwin was an army man, too.” Lucerys chuckled. He knew Joffrey didn’t really mean it. His little brother was just very protective of Jace.

Joffrey shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. This was his third glass, the alcohol making his cheeks pink and his head pleasantly buzzed.

“I am sure Jace is having a good time with Mr. Stark, but I can’t say the same about you, Joff.” Lucerys changed the subject of the conversation, “You haven’t danced tonight. No one takes your fancy?”

“You know I don’t like alphas, especially the snobbish ones.” Joffrey scrunched his nose in disgust, “They think we are all gold diggers who want their fortune. I can’t stand someone treating me like some kind of a prize.”

“You are not going to find a partner if you keep drinking wine alone.” Lucerys shook his head, reaching out to wipe off a drop of sweat on Joffrey’s nose, “I am not forcing you to socialize, but sometimes you cannot judge one’s true nature only by their looks.”

Just when Joffrey was about to retort, the room went silent as two newcomers joined the crowd. Joffrey could hear some omegas, even betas, gasping at the two alphas who had just entered the room. At first look, Joffrey had to admit that those alphas were indeed eye-catching. They were both tall, clad in the finest clothes Joffrey had ever seen, the silky fabric of their clothes and the gems on their rings and belts showing off their fortune. Joffrey could tell that they must be related, because they both had silver hair and purple eyes, one of them with long, smooth hair that pulled back into a low ponytail, while the other kept his curls short and fluffy. Normally, Joffrey was a hard man to impress, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes off the newcomers now. His alcohol-infused mind had a hard time processing the fact that his two uncles from that side of the family showed up at the same ball that he and his brothers attended.

“Luke,” Joffrey turned to Lucerys abruptly, “let’s go.”

Joffrey’s first instinct was to take Lucerys as far away as possible from uncle Aemond. It was a logical reaction, for Lucerys and Aemond had a strained history, to put it lightly. Aemond had drawn the most attention from the crowd since his arrival, partly because he was rich, tall, mysterious and handsome, but another reason was undoubtedly, his eye-patch. A leather eye patch covered Aemond’s left eye, but unable to hide the twisted scar underneath completely. The eye-patch gave Aemond a somewhat dangerous vibe, but Joffrey knew the danger was real.

“Go where?” Lucerys said a bit nervously, wiping his hand on his dress, “We can’t flee, Joff.”

“Why not? Let’s get out of here before they see us.” Joffrey grabbed Lucerys’s wrist and tried to drag his brother away, but his back hit a warm body before he could take a step.

“I am afraid it’s too late, nephew.” A soft voice came from behind as a warm hand placed on Joffrey’s waist to keep the omega from stumbling, “We have already seen you, haven’t we, brother?”

Daeron smiled at his one-eyed brother, but Aemond didn’t reply, keeping his gaze on Lucerys the entire time. Lucerys swallowed, but held Aemond’s intense gaze bravely.

“Uncles, what a coincidence.” Lucerys said, his voice quivering a little.

“Nephew.” Aemond’s lips curled up dangerously, “It is a pleasure seeing you here. Will you honor me to a dance?”

Unlike Lucerys, Aemond didn’t address them both, choosing to address Lucerys alone instead. He bowed slightly and offered his hand to Lucerys. Joffrey could taste the jealousy in the air, the sweet scent of surrounding omegas turning pungent. It baffled Joffrey that why would Aemond invite the boy who had taken his eye to a dance, but to his surprise, Lucerys actually said yes.

“Of course, uncle.” Lucerys took a big inhale to steady himself before placing his hand in Aemond’s inviting palm. They headed to the floor and began to dance to the upbeat rhythm. Joffrey knew Lucerys was a good dancer, but he had never expected Aemond to be one, too. Aemond’s moves were graceful and precise. He swung Lucerys in his arms with incredible ease, not even a single strand hair out of place.

“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?” Daeron’s voice almost jolted Joffrey out of his skin. The omega had completely forgotten about his other uncle. Daeron had come so close at some point that Joffrey could feel the heat from the alpha’s body. A unique scent of incense invaded Joffrey’s personal space, causing Joffrey’s head to spin.

“They are no couple.” Joffrey bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from being carried away by Daeron’s alluring scent, “Why do you say that? Lucerys is just being polite.”

“Is he? Well, my brother certainly isn’t.” Daeron replied as he offered Joffrey a fresh glass of wine, “Wine? I see you have already finished yours.”

“No, thank you. I can get my own wine.” Joffrey said defensively.

“I just want to have a chat with you, nephew.” Daeron raised an eyebrow, his hand still reaching out, “I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. No need to be so offended.”

Joffrey knew he might have acted too defensively, so he took the glass from Daeron and murmured a quiet thank you to the alpha.

“We haven’t met for so long, nephew.” Daeron said, sipping his own drink, “Last time we met was like, almost ten years ago. I never expect you to present as an omega.”

“What do you mean, uncle?” Joffrey frowned, but he didn’t lash out, “I apologize if I am not coy enough to be an omega.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I am sure you are a very pleasant omega. I just need some time to process this wonderful surprise.” Daeron smiled, seemingly unaffected by Joffrey’s sarcastic words, “You were so…wild, as a boy. I always thought you would present as an alpha, or at least, a beta.”

Joffrey didn’t like Daeron’s attitude, at all. The way Daeron talked about his omega status made his skin prickle with frustration and anger. Daeron seemed to have no respect for omegas, as if they were somewhat inferior creatures. It was a common thought shared by most alphas, seeing omegas as weak, emotional, and had to depend on alphas to live. That was why Joffrey hated to interact with alphas. He might be an omega, but he was a person at first. He had his own thoughts and aspirations. He didn’t need an alpha to tell him what to do.

“I am satisfied with my status, uncle.” Joffrey said coldly.

“Really? Are you here today to socialize with other alphas? Have you found anyone to your liking so far?” Daeron looked around the room, “Is that Jacaerys? Who is the soldier he’s talking to? Are they engaged?”

Joffrey wanted to say none of your business, but that would be too rude. He didn’t mind to be rude, but he didn’t want Daeron to look down upon him more than the alpha already had.

“No. Mr. Stark is just a good friend.” So far, Joffrey added silently.

“Oh, I’ve known the Starks. They are from the North.” Daeron said dismissingly, “I imagine he will be blown by the social scene here in King’s Landing. I’ve heard that winters in the North are so harsh that people cannot stay outside for more than a few minutes. I presume there aren’t many social events to be held in that weather.”

“They can find a way to enjoy themselves, I am sure.” Joffrey said, taking a sip from wine Daeron had handed him before. He wasn’t planning to drink more, but Daeron’s attitude just antagonized him so much that he needed alcohol to hold himself together.

“The Starks don’t have much of a fortune. I’ve heard that their estate only provides a small income each year.” Daeron continued, “I think Jacaerys can do better.”

“If my brother gets married, he’s marrying for love and mutual respect, not yearly income.” Joffrey put the wine glass down on the small table next to him with a loud bang, “You seem to think a large fortune is the only thing that attracts omegas, but let me tell you that you are wrong.”

“Did I say something that offends you, Joff?” Daeron sounded genuinely surprised, the bastard, “If I did, I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“You’ve said enough, uncle.” Joffrey said with gritted teeth, “You and your family have already taken what should belong to my mother. I suggest you find someone else who is actually interested in your stolen fortune, because I definitely am not.”

Joffrey turned to leave. He was so furious that if he didn’t leave now, he would punch Daeron in the face. He didn’t even have time to look for his brothers before he stepped into the bitter cold of the night.

Joffrey hated alphas, and he hated Daeron the most.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #my asks #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #lucemond #abo dynamics #aemond x lucerys #jacegan

[mariana-oconnor]

The Red-Headed League Pt 2

until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.

Professional people being professional. Mmhm. You'd think a doctor would be better at keeping a straight face, I'm pretty sure humans have been sticking inappropriate things in inappropriate places since time immemorial. But these two are giggling like school boys. A lovely image, but I'd be a bit mad if they did it to me. I can't blame Mr Wilson for being mad at them.

Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him.

Surprising no one at all. I said it in my comments about the first part, but I love how this whole scam has been echoed in heist shows/films right up to modern day. Acquire offices under false pretences, create hype around fake business, use office to make business look legit, pack up shop and leave an empty office behind and no one with any clue what the mark is talking about.

"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post.

I mean, honestly, for someone who is supposedly unassociated with the league in question, that's more than he should be able to say. A more normal response would be 'That's fucking weird, boss. I think it might be a scam.' But clearly Victor is entirely trustworthy, so I shouldn't question him. Totally trustworthy.

On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some 30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A.

I expect that pub quizzes weren't around in 1890, but if they were, Mr Wilson would be an excellent addition to your team.

The internet tells me pub quizzes only date back to the 70s. Which seems late, as I swear my Mum's dad and brothers used to go religiously to their local league when she was young, but maybe I got the timeline on that wrong.

Further investigation has found me to be correct as the very league my family used to frequent is apparently referenced in an article from the early 60s. In fact it quotes someone who absolutely must have known my grandad and might even be in the picture of the quiz team on top of our bookcase.

This tangent has been brought to you by my love of trivia... Pun intended.

Back to the 1890s

"Why did you pick him?"

"Because he was handy and would come cheap."

"At half-wages, in fact."

"Yes."

A lesson that stands to this day: if something seems impossibly good value, it probably is. And if someone is willing to work for less than they're worth, one of you is the bad guy.

"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter."

This reads like a contradiction, but I'm pretty sure it's true. It's the weird things that make crimes stand out and lead to the people committing them. The crimes that are completely run of the mill, like house burglaries, are one of a thousand almost identical crimes. But if a juggling clown robbed a shoe shop and rode off on a unicycle, that would cut down the suspects drastically.

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes."

Infamous line is infamous. All problems may be measured by how many pipes it takes to solve them. The standard SI unit of mysteriousness, I believe.

"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?"

"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing."

Let's hope no one has stuck a candlestick anywhere unmentionable... But seriously, you can just ditch your patients for the day? And I complain about waiting times for the NHS!

Watson is just: 'My bff asked me to play hooky. Lol. Byeee!' and these people are paying him.

"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in my judgment. the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him before."

Holmes, the man is a terrible con artist. He's the most suspicious and he was so obvious it was embarrassing. And you're putting him right behind you in the list? (I assume Mycroft is number 1)

I guess that being intelligent doesn't mean you have to be good at conning people, but really, he's terrible at it. He couldn't have been more obviously involved if he had a sandwich board on saying 'The red-headed league is a con. Ask me how!'

I know Mr Wilson didn't work it out, but literally everyone else did. I bet that 14 year old child labour maid Mr Wilson hires knows he's a con man and just doesn't care because she's not paid enough to.

"Not him."

"What then?"

"The knees of his trousers."

I have been on this website too long, because my mind absolutely went into the gutter here. Which, incidentally, was also one of the places I thought of his knees being.

"Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it."

Is it a bank? Please be a bank. I honestly can't remember. But I want it to be a bank. Just for that good, old-fashioned bank robbery shenanigans. Although I will accept jewellery shop.

"There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot."

Oh yeah. Got to love a bank robbery. Classic.

This has been copied so many times in media it's difficult to tell whether contemporary audiences would have been as able to work it out as modern readers. But it's a classic for a reason.

Also worth noticing that there's a Vegetarian restaurant in London in 1890. You'd have been hard pressed to find a vegetarian restaurant in most parts of England in 1990, so that's ahead of its time.

My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive.

Watson's crush is showing again. 😆

This description keeps going in a further totally heterosexual way. Look, I'm not saying straight guys can't appreciate their bff's 'languid, dreamy eyes', but when directly compared to his descriptions of other characters... This is exceptionally effusive is all I'm saying.

And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.

Must. Not. Make. Joke.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Red-Headed League #long post

[softlyfiercely]

FOR THoSE FOLLOWING THE #EASTERBASKETS SAGA

I can happily report that while it was still a bit of a clusterfuck, it was a clusterfuck in predictable and unavoidable ways, for which I was prepared for, and

I TOTALLY PULLED IT OFF.

So, initially, I'd decided to make the "Easter Gift Making" event begin at 1:00 in the afternoon on Holy Saturday. I chose this time because it would have been a major hassle to include lunch in the program but it needed to be early enough in the day to allow time for drivers to deliver them but also not require people to wake up early on a Saturday, so can't be "after breakfast before lunch."

(Church programming for children and families almost always includes food, so I either needed to meet that expectation or explicitly buck it)

HOWEVER

All the schools in this area happen to be on spring break THIS WEEK, so like 90% of the most engaged, involved children & families were like "sorry we won't be there for any Holy Week stuff"

(this has caused some Consternation re: children's involvement in Maundy Thursday and Palm Sunday and Good Friday stuff, so, it's just been part of the larger situation surrounding The Easter Baskets)

so, I'd only heard from two families that they were coming, and it's two kids who are friends, so then one family said they actually had a conflict at 1:00 but could come at 11:00, I was like you know what, sure. we'll be there at 11:00.

But of course there still has to be something for kids who arrive at 1:00 to do, because that WAS the initially set time for the event, and we don't technically require RSVPs, it's just that things are so shoestring right now that it comes down to stuff like this.

so I tell the other family "hey, if your kid comes at 1:00, they might be the only one there, but their friend will be there at 11:00" and they were like ok cool we can actually change our plans

so then at 11:00 I just set up with two kids and we got going.

unfortunately if you remember from chapter one of this saga i am inexplicably sharing on tumblr, the whole activity of "making the easter gifts" was designed to be something where a bunch of kids (6-12 is the average attendance at these things) can have a good time making them. so it was just very different Vibes. and we set up in the kitchen where one kid's mom was setting up for tomorrow's Easter Brunch instead of the usual children's programming space, and we just got to it

the two kids had a great time, they got to be very involved and hands-on. and the Easter gifts got made and they were lovely - I wish I could have taken a photo for y'all but there would be no way to show them to you without being somehow identifying.

we cut and tied ribbons around the jars. they filled the jars with water and arranged the flowers in the jars. then they put these watercolor flower stickers on some pastel colored gift bags I'd gotten.

then they colored in cards that i had made, which had a FUCKING TASTEFUL AND CUTE, NOT BANANAS "Happy Easter" line drawing with crosses and bunnies that the kids could color in, and then on the inside it said "my name is" "i am years old" "my Easter prayer for you is" and the kids, in their adorable little kid handwriting and spelling, wrote their names, their ages, and their Easter prayers which were things like "we are thikig of you" and "haav a joyful easter"

and then they helped me make sure one of each thing that i had prepared earlier (chocolate bar, Easter bulletin, "scriptural item," and card signed by priest) was in each bag.

as a bonus, because we only had two kids, and one of the kids belonged to the parent who was there prepping tomorrow's brunch, she just kind of fed us lunch from the leftovers of what she was making, so the food thing actually totally worked out

then, of course I had to wait until 1:00, and sure enough, a family showed up with their two kids, and by then the other two kids had left for their other engagements, so it was awkward in that way of "yay...you're the only ones here..." but I was prepared for that as much as I could be, and so we set up with the cards and they made some more cards, and we added them to the bags.

and i got some quality one-on-one time with the kids, who haven't been around as much so I don't know them as well, and we had some good bonding, and the cards they made were really sweet (they were a bit older than the other kids, the children's program is all ages 5-11 which is a wide developmental range)

and THEN, THE DELIVERIES which were an absolute fucking NIGHTMARE last year, but they went so smoothly.

There was one address that was pretty far out and I was worried about finding a driver for that, but then a friend of that guy's just emailed me like "hey I'll take his basket" (THEY'RE NOT BASKETS) so that was a problem solved. and then i lined up some volunteers for deliveries, but one of them dropped out last minute which would have sucked EXCEPT that the family that came late/on time was like oh we wanted to deliver some, so i got to be like oh sure yes definitely! here is a formational participation opportunity just for you!!!

and one of the other delivery volunteers sent me an email afetrwards thanking me for organizing this and saying she'd had a great time delivering them and wished she'd signed up for more!

augh - i'm just, i'm good at my job, y'all. i figured out how to make this a positive, formational, community building experience for all involved despite some pretty major challenges!

now...on to the sunrise vigil! at which i will be performing a poem! that i wrote! just now! aaahhh!

[shamelesshussythoughts]

I am so tired.

I'm so tired of trying.

I asked CD when to know when it's time to just throw your hands up and quit. His well thought out and intentioned advice was when you've tried everything and nothing has worked. Problem is, I am SO FUCKING TIRED of trying. I also, don't ever know when to quit.

I'm just so exhausted from it all.

Is it too much to ask to be loved or cared for by someone?

I'm watching all my friends who have been through the shits and they're getting married, dating, having kids with their new partners, they're all SO FUCKING HAPPY. They all are finally coming out the other side and I'm still lost in the middle without a flashlight.

I'm happy for everyone. JL is having a spooky little Halloween baby with her boyfriend, CD met someone, other people on my feeds are getting married and engaged, they're going places and taking pictures with these genuinely happy faces, arms linked, kissing, laughing, having the time of their lives with someone who cares. I know what I see isn't the whole story. But what I see is what I want, even if there are squabbles and obstacles behind the scenes, at least they all like each other.

I am just so tired of trying.

Twice in less than a month I have ended up with migraines so bad I've been nauseous. The first was a week or two ago. I had to leave work early and it was the most terrifying drive of my life. Every time I moved my eyes I wanted to vomit, every time I blinked I was afraid my body would decide it was time to nap and I'd doze off. I didn't know what was wrong at first, I've never had a migraine that bad. I picked up headache medicine and tums on my break and they didn't help. I was dry heaving off and on the rest of the afternoon until I finally was able to leave.

Yesterday I felt the tension headache coming on but I made it through the day somehow. By the time I got home I was nauseous, feverish, and in so much pain. Some time after 5:00 when I had dry heaved as much as I could I was able to finally drift off until about 7:00 when I finally felt a little more human.

The stress of this marriage is affecting my physical health now. I cannot and will not live like that. I have to protect myself and my health. I still have a tight neck and lingering head pain. It felt like I was being kicked in the forehead yesterday. Today it's more an occasional rap on the top of my skull.

I'm so tired of the half assed, apologetic lies I get. All the bullshit that is supposed to be said gets said. I mention his drinking is out of control, he says he'll stop next week. Of course, my bitter self scoffed at that. How many weeks ago did he first say next week? It's always next week and never today. I'm tired of waiting for next week, whenever that happens to be. I'm tired of the fighting, I'm tired of the bullshit, I'm tired of the meaningless truce that gets made each time. I'm tired of pretending I've not just been through an emotional paper shredder that is starting to leave more and more frayed nerves behind. I'm tired of crying.

I'm tired of feeling like the only way to make it stop is to hurt myself. I did it a couple weeks ago, I did it again yesterday. If, by some strange chance, anyone sees it, I guess I'll give whatever answer fits best. It hurt so much I had to hurt myself to make what I felt inside quiet down. I kept having these terrible thoughts of slashing my arms to ribbons but I'm not trying to die. I just want the pain to stop. No one knows about this. I can't tell anyone, they'll ask too many questions and maybe attempt to intervene in some way. I don't need a damn intervention. I need someone to hold me while I cry and tell me it's going to be okay until I stop. I need a fucking sincere hug from someone who actually cares.

My hand hurts from punching the wall last night. I think I jammed my middle finger.

What the hell am I going to do tonight?

#marriage #mental health #stress #migraine #relationships

[flamingo-writes]

It's Better When The Sun Goes Down — Nanami x Reader

This is a piece for the Anilysium Server NSFW Collab! Make sure to check the masterlist to see other writer's works! This month's prompt was: "I can't hold back anymore"

I'd like to dedicate this fanfic to one of my dearest and closest friends. I'm not a Nanami simp myself, but they are. And I have fun writing for Nanami, and also I love writing angsty things and flawed characters. Reg, I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoy my more casual writing.

(it's pink bcs youre Chancho)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: Mentions of breakup and heartbreak, alcohol and drug consuption, public sex, ghosting, lots and lots of angst. This does not have a happy ending. This is also non proof read bcs I kinda left it to the last minute I'm sorry, I'll go back and edit it when I am not in a rush dcj nd

Summary: Nanami’s return to the Sorcerer life wasn’t so bad. It could be better if Gojo wasn’t determined to get him back with his ex. As Nanami tries to get on good terms with them, things get out of control, only to end up where it all began.

I made this playlist while writing, in case you wanna listen to it while reading. Preferably listen to it without the shuffle, but you can hear it on shuffle, no biggie.

Nanami had forgotten how painfully unbearable Gojo could be. His return as a Sorcerer had been nothing out of the ordinary for a Sorcerer's standards. Missions here and there, or watching over some of Gojo's students. But God, he had surely stepped out of the line this time.

He couldn't even begin to explain how much he hated his current situation. Fighting by your side for the first time in years felt like rubbing hot oil on an open wound. The uncomfortable ignoring the elephant in the room between you two, as you two tracked and fought what felt like a million Curses.

When the adrenaline was at its peak, it felt almost nostalgic; though he'd then remembered everything else and immediately made his own reality bitter and awkward. Overshadowed by the advantage of years of experience ahead of him made him resent you even more. He knew it was childish and pointless to keep remembering everything that happened between you two, but that bittersweet memory would most likely keep him at bay.

You were still strong, witty, fearless, reckless and quick to act and defend yourself. The way you moved looked more swiftly and coordinated than you did back in your student days. Almost as if you were a professional dancer. He hated every bit of it. He couldn’t stop looking at you, thinking about you, and the possibilities of what you two would have become.

After the mission was over, no words were exchanged between you two. Aside from the: "Are you alright?" He told you as you simply gave him a thumbs up as you caught your breath drenched in sweat. An entire ride in an uncomfortable silence, until he reached the school and you got out of the car.

"Thanks. You did a great job. Keep it up" You said. Cold, and straight to the point. Closing his car door before he could reply. And soon, you were gone.

As Nanami tried to get his mind off the mission, Gojo made it difficult. He called him to ask for the details of the mission. He seemed amused and intrigued, as clearly you hadn't told him shit. And honestly, he could understand why. Gojo was meddling on things that weren’t his business, and things that had died a long time ago.

"Why are you interrogating me, Gojo?" He asked as he pressed hisnfingers on the bridge of his nose. "Ask your underling…"

"Because that jerk left for the bar as soon as they arrived" He explained. "And I know better than to annoy a drunk [Name], It took me a while but...I finally learned my lesson" He chuckled. “I knew they could hit hard, but damn, I had a big ass bruise…” Nanami could almost hear his stupid grin.

"You make it sound like it's a recurrent event" Nanami pointed out, slightly surprised as he didn't know you were a drinker.

"Oh, Nanami-kun, you really know nothing huh?" Gojo said, smiling widely as he had managed to manipulate Nanami into asking.

"Know what?" Nanami hissed as he now swore he could hear Nanami creepily grinning at his phone.

"No, nothing!” Gojo said as if it were nothing; trying and succeeding at peeking at Nanami’s curiosity “I'm not gonna talk over depressing things on the phone. Gotta go, bye! Kith kith, Kento-kun" Gojo sang and hung up, as he smirked, proud of his little mischief. He sighed deeply as he stretched in his bed. "Soon, those two will be back together" he smirked to himself.

Nanami hissed a curse under his breath as he locked his phone and threw it on his bed and went to the kitchen. If he had understood well, Gojo had just hinted at a possible drinking problem. He tried shaking his mind off of it. You couldn't, could you? You weren’t a drinker...You weren’t the last time he saw you. You were able to party and have fun without having to intoxicate yourself.

You were wild, cheerful, unpredictable. Everything he was not. And that’s what had made him fall in love with you back in your school days. You were so laid back, he could feel it permeating into him when you two hung out. The few times he’d broken rules was because you’d been the bad influence, however, you somehow managed to get away with it, and leave him with some distant memory in which he felt actually glad to be alive. He usually felt like he was walking on a cloud stuck in time, being present and enjoying the little things that made his everyday memories.

He’d really screwed up after breaking up with you...if he could call that a breakup... His life took a dramatic turn. And then, he turned his back to this world, and got immersed in the gray life the average man in Japan had. Away from what he's familiar with, away from his friends, away from you.

And now, apparently, you had a drinking habit. He wondered if he had caused it, or if he was one of the reasons behind it. The guilt started creeping in. The same guilt and regret he felt after ghosting on you. Not being able to bring himself to properly end things with you.

The guilt he’d managed to swipe under the rug for so many years creeped back out, and followed him around as the afternoon went by. After having a shower, changing into more comfortable clothes and in a lame attempt to cook dinner, he decided to test his luck. He put on a dark button down shirt and decided to go to the bar closest to the School. He felt the naive hope to find you there. However, if you had an actual problem, then his chances to see you there were higher.

Such was his surprise to find you there, trying to get rid of some insistent guy who kept talking to you despite your very obvious lack of interest. Before you could spot him, he watched you aggressively turn to the guy and talk to him in a rather rude tone. Sounding almost like a moody sailor as the guy’s face soon was washed with horror and disgust and walked away. As you turned your face back to your drink, your eyes scanned the bar, finally spotting him.

“Oh god” You whined as you pulled the glass to your lips. “It’s too early to be this drunk…” You hissed.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked, pointing at the chair in front of you.

“Tell Gojo to go fuck himself…” You snapped at him as you stood up and stumbled your way to the bar asking for a refill. Nanami looked at you, feeling slightly sorry for your tipsy state, as he’d never seen you like that. And he knew being mad and drunk was never a good combination. As you turned around with your glass and made your way back to your table, you gave him a slightly repulsed smile. “You’re still here…”

“Gojo didn’t send me here, if that’s what you’re thinking” He replied.

“He might as well have manipulated you into doing so, has that crossed your mind?” You said with a sassy tone as you sat back down. “Why are you still standin’?”

Nanami took that as an invitation as he ignored your last comment, trying to refuse the idea that Gojo had manipulated him.

“Rough day, huh?” He said as you nodded and stared at your drink.

“Look, Kento. I’m glad that you’re back. I really am. You’re strong, and you’re smart…” You began. “But I’m gonna cut the chase, I’m kinda annoyed too. Ever since you got back, Gojo has been sticking his snobby nose into my business” You explained. “Many of the missions he sends you in, I’m supposed to be there as well, but manage to get busy by then and not go”

“So you’re actively avoiding me?”

“Yes” You replied bluntly. “Mostly because Gojo is trying very hard to bring us back together. But no, I learned my lesson the first time” You said taking a sip to your scotch, feeling it smoothly sliding down your throat, no longer feeling the burn from the alcohol.

“I haven’t apologized for that…” Nanami began.

“Don’t” You interrupted him. “It’s better this way”

“Are you sure? Because you still seem to have an issue with it…” Nanami said, managing to read you like an open book like he always did. He still had that ability.

You glared at him, angrily as you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but your mind was foggy and a big portion of your brain was focused on the little details surrounding him. His black shirt, the first buttons undone. His thick wrists, one of them hiding underneath a fancy looking watch, his blond hair pushed back, his sharp features...And god, his smell. The smell of his cologne luring you in like a fly to honey. Since any words made it to your mouth, your next step was to take another sip.

“You’re drinking too fast” He pointed out.

“None of your business” You said standing up and taking your wallet out and leaving a few bills on the tale. “I’m out” You said coldly and walked out of the bar.

Nanami sighed, frustrated that he hadn’t managed to get anything out of interaction. Aside from the pretty clear fact that you disliked him. However, he didn’t think of the possibility of you resenting him so much because you still had feelings for him.

As you walked out of the bar, the chilly wind hit the back of your neck, making you shiver. You cursed, knowing it was going to make you feel drunker faster. You made your way to the school with long steps, trying to make it to your dorm before your last drink made it to your head. Despite the cold wind, the hot tears in your eyes in a way kept your face warm. As you tried to keep yourself from crying, you heard steps behind you.

“Wait” You heard Nanami’s voice calling behind you as you stopped on command, against your own will. You swallowed the lump on your throat and managed to keep the tears still in your eyes, as you refused to look at

him. “At least let me walk you home. You can’t walk on your own like this…”

“Oh, so now you care?” You said turning around and looking at him, giving him a smug smile. “You’ve changed” You scoffed bitterly.

“Please” He said, knowing better than trying to argue with you.

Your stare on him softened, as something within you urged you to say yes. To have more time with Nanami and maybe cling to the bittersweet memories you were constantly reliving since his return.

“Fine” You said, very much to his surprise. He smiled and walked closer to you with the gentle smile that had been haunting your dreams as of lately.

“C’mon. My car is not far from here…”

You stopped coldly as he mentioned a car. Taking a second look at him, you wondered how much he’d changed. He’d become an adult through and through, hadn’t he? While you were still a mess...Or so you thought. To Nanami’s eyes, you were a far better sorcerer and warrior than him. And he envied you for it.

“Are you actually going to take me to the school?” You asked, suddenly growing suspicious of him, as you’d had plenty of experiences with strangers on the street and knew better than going into someone’s car in a drunken state.

Not that you didn’t trust Nanami. You didn’t trust yourself drunk.

“I was actually thinking of taking you somewhere for dinner and then to the school” He said.

“Not hungry”

“No, but you’re drunk. It’ll sober you up, and tomorrow morning you’ll thank me when you wake up without a hangover” He said as he walked towards his car.

“I don’t have any more money on me” You lied, looking for an excuse to avoid spending any more than necessary with him.

“I didn’t ask you if you have money” He said boldly as he managed to make you smirk for the first time since his return.

“Smooth, Nanami. You’ve grown” You said as you followed him.

The walk to his car felt like your chest burnt far more than the alcohol ever did. It felt bitter, it hurt and was nauseating. Was it really it, or was it the alcohol finally catching up with you? Like flashes of instant memories being erased from your memory, the drive to a restaurant felt like a poorly edited foreign film. The car felt like some intense themed park ride as you felt dizzy with the alcohol whispering everything you missed about him. It was gross and it was sickening.

The Ramen sign on the outside on itself managed to sober you up a little by taking your mind off Nanami. As you followed him, clumsily standing on your feet, you sat on one of the tables and tried to make sense of the dancing letters in the menu. More flashes of memories were taken off your head, as you wondered what was happening and how drunk were you for you to start blacking out.

“Not good…” you muttered under your breath.

“Did you say something?” Nanami asked.

“No. Nothing”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m not”

“You’ll feel better in a bit. Don’t worry…” He said softly as he sipped from a soda you didn’t know he had. When had he ordered it? You looked in front of you to the nice surprise that you had one too despite not knowing how or when. “I ordered some ramen for you. Something spicy...It’ll sober you up faster”

You chuckled as you looked at him.

“And how do you know that?” You asked with a cheeky tone as he smiled softly.

“Went drinking a lot with friends from work” He said. “I learned a few things here and there”

More brief black outs kept lazily painting a rather miserable painting in your memory. As you ate your ramen, you found yourself relaxing more and more. Was it the hot spicy broth? In the beginning, the balck outs weren’t getting any less frequent, however, as the night went by, you found yourself sobering up like he said. Soon, the black outs were gone, however you were still somehow locked in a haze. Although it made sense. The amount of booze as well as the short time, it was going to take a lot more than just one hot bowl of spicy ramen to get you back to a sober state.

The conversation kept flowing comfortably as both of you ate. It was reminiscent of the old days, nostalgic and somehow morbid. As the both of you tried to grasp at the old days when your worries were limited to school work. Catching up like old friends who hadn't seen each other, as if you didn’t have hard feelings for each other.

After having finished your food, Nanami paid for both of your meals and went back out into the cold night. The sky black, stars hidden by the streetlights as you made it to his car and finally noticed the silver color in it.

As he drove back to the school, you noticed he took a small detour, instantly setting alarms in your head.

“Where are we going?” You asked, your voice considerably serious as he noticed the change in tone from the pleasant talk they were having in the restaurant.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to go…” He said as he briefly looked at you and gave you a tender smile.

That smile made your heart uncomfortably skip a beat as you hated the effect he still had on you. You didn’t dare to ask any further as you slowly recognized the route he was taking. As he slowly took one of the roads towards the edge of the city close to the coast line. He stopped in a rather deserted place, as he got off the road and stopped the car.

Despite the lack of light, aside from the few streetlights, you knew exactly where you were. A whole in your chest opened dramatically as you felt your eyes tear up and happy memories attached to the location flooded your mind.

“Kento…” You said chuckling bitterly.

“When I said I wanted to apologize, I meant it…” He said as you clenched your jaw and looked out your window, avoiding his stare.

“And I told you I didn’t want to talk about it…”

“You’re still upset about it, I get it. And I don’t blame you” He began as he felt his heart beating hard in his chest. “Look at me, please”

You wanted to say something to him. But you knew you would break down crying as soon as you opened your mouth. You took a deep breath and without saying anything you looked at him. His dark brown eyes gazing into yours, as he was looking at you with a rather pained stare.

“You remember this place, don’t you?” He asked.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you clicked your seatbelt, getting it off.

“I’m done” You said dryly as you opened the door and got out of the car.

“No, [Name]. Please, wait” He said as he mirrored your movements and excited the car walking around it.

“Of fuckign course I know where I am, Kento” You barked as you walked away approaching the door. “I know where I lost my fucking virginity, okay?” You barked as you stopped coldly and looked at him, tears finally streaming off your face. “Look, I’ll make us a favour and summarize this conversation. Yes, you’re a fucking asshole for just taking off one day and completely disappearing. Yes, I’m still mad about it. No, I won’t take your apology. No, I don’t care about whatever shitty excuse you have for me to listen to you. You bringing me here out of all places isn’t going to change shit…” You spat all in one breath as you stopped and took a deep breath.

“I loved you, Kento. I really did. And it hurt to have you just dissipate like you were a hallucination or something...You were my first kiss, my first love, my first everything! And one day I lost all of that. You ruined sex for me!” You yelled angrily. “I could never hold, kiss or sleep with anyone, because at some point I’d see your stupid face, and then be incredibly underwhelmed because I would not enjoy sex. I can’t feel anything anymore, Kento...The only way I can actually enjoy those things is by getting drunk or high” You admitted. “I can’t walk into bookstores, nor eat sandwiches or diet coke, nor drink tea because all those things remind me of you. And yes, it’s lame that all these years later I still care about those things. And this is why I can’t forgive you” You cried, as your voice shook.

Nanami’s heart broke little by little at each one of your words. He knew he’d screwed up and had hurt you deeply. But he wasn’t aware of the actual impact. He clenched his jaw as he felt his chest tight and a lump on his throat. Now the drinking problem made sense. Gojo had painted it like you were an alcoholic, but it wasn’t exactly the case. So you’d gone to the bar to get it off with some stranger, probably pretending it was him.

The dizzying pain and weight of his mistakes blinded him for a second as he walked towards you as you kept bitterly complaining. As you tried to walk away, you made a very poor effort as he caught up with you and cupped your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him and shutting you up by pressing his lips against you.

The sudden surprise made your heart stop. Your mind turning numb and blank at once as you struggled to bring yourself to push him away. However, truth be told, you didn't want to push him away. The poor attempt to push him away was more than obvious. The strong fighter you were, barely making any physical effort. Nanami's hands wrapped around your back and pulled you close, squeezing you against him as he sighed into the kiss.

Finally kissing him back, you locked your lips against his desperately, eager to taste the lips you've been dreading in your dreams. Clinging to him like he was going to disappear again, a soft whimper escaped your mouth. Your chest pressing against him as he felt his own world getting blurry.

He broke the kiss pulling away as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how much I missed you” He whispered as you clung to him.

“I-I…” You stuttered, the words tasting bitter before they even made it to your mouth. “Fuck, I want you, Kento” You growled as he pulled you in, kissing you hungrily again.

His hands posessively clinging to you as he slowly guided you back to the car. One step at the time as you both melted in a hungry sour kiss. As you ran out of breath, you pulled away, gasping for air as you gripped his collar in your hands.

“I can’t hold back anymore” You said as you pulled away and grabbed his hand, walking back to his car.

Your words unleashed a shiver down his spine as his heart skipped a beat and raced like crazy, as his pants started feeling tighter on his crotch. He chuckled softly as he realized his own judgement seemed to have disappeared with that first kiss. And before you could even make it to his car, he gripped your hips and spun you around as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“I can’t either” He admitted as he guided you to the car’s hood and pulled you over it. Ass you sat on the warm hood, he got between your legs and you wasted no time wrapping them around his waist. He grunted softly feeling your crotch against his as you pulled him closer to seal your lips together.

As you soon were absorbed by the dizziness of your rising heat, his hand went to your bare thighs as he slowly caressed your skin, going up and lifting your skirt up in the process. A soft moan slid into his mouth as he gripped your ass softly and squeezed it. The way your skin got covered in goosebumps and how you jerked your hips made him moan in response.

It felt good, and intoxicating. The driving desire burning his insides. The feeling of desiring to taste you all over and have you shaking underneath him. God, he’d missed that particular rush of adrenaline. His body reacting to the deeply buried memories now loose. He felt like he was in the best high he’d experienced. Lightheadedness and presence in the moment, he hadn’t felt this alive in so long.

Your hands were slowly undoing his buttoned shirt and were quick to explore his warm skin. He pulled away from the kiss, gasping as he looked at you. Your devilish smile matching your hungry stare. You leaned forward kissing his neck, nibbling on his skin every now and then. His hand gripped your hair tightly, pulling it lightly, making you look up at him as he stared at you.

He leaned forward, kissing you once more, this time a lot more slow and a lot more tender. It was sweet and it was slow and it took you by surprise. You felt his sweet kiss begging you, still holding on to the feelings you both decided to drown unsuccessfully. It almost hurt. It was the kind of kiss that told you how much you missed and needed each other. How much you regretted the mistakes you’ve done.

As you melted against his lips, his hands slowly slid your panties off. You helped him lifting your hips a little but as you giggled against his lips.

“Eager?” You said with a playful smirk.

“You have no idea” He replied as he took off your panties and shoved them in his back pocket.

His hand made it back to your thigh, slowly going up until he palmed your hot sex. Stealing a gasp out of your mouth, he teasingly ran one of his fingers through your dripping slit, making him smile satisfied.

“I’m not the only one, huh?” He said as you looked at him with lustful eyes.

You took his glasses off and set them aside. You were about to go back to kissing his neck when he slid one finger inside of you effortlessly. A rather loud moan escaped your lips as you shut your eyes closed feeling your entire body tingle in a way you hadn’t felt in years. You smiled satisfied as you continued kissing his neck. Slowly, he got another finger inside. The delicious stretch of his second finger prompting you to bite his neck softly making him growl your name softly. His fingers explored the whole he knew so well, as he found your sweet spot almost by muscle memory. More moans came out of your throat sounding like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Kento” You hissed as you took off your top, not caring that you were outdoors and by the road. Up to this point, you were so pent up, you simply craved him like you’d never craved anything before.

Nanami wasted no time and kissed your neck, going down to your neck, gently biting your skin every now and then. Sucking delicately on your skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t last long. He pulle dhis fingers out of you, clinging to your body desperately. As you laid on the car’s hood, you devoured him with your lustful eyes, begging him to get on top of you. Wearing just your skirt by this point, Nanami groaned at the plain sight of you.

He undid his belt and his pants. Your hands playfully teasing your own body in an attempt to drive him crazier and crazier. He cursed under his breath as he couldn’t take it any longer. He pulled his painfully hard erection out of his pants. You watched hi, intrigued, stretching your hands towards him, gently gripping his dick. His breath hitched and you smiled proudly.

Nanami leaned over the car hood, slowly getting on top of you, his shaft resting on your belly as he looked at how much deep could he go inside of you. His tip almost reaching you belly button, as the idea alone made a shiver run down his spine.

"Please, Kento" you gasped, need dripping from your voice as you caressed his dick

He growled softly as he pulled away softly, aligning against your entrance and slowly going in. You gasped, pushing your head back and pressing your hips against his making him go deeper.

Hissing your name, he jerked his hips, his tip.kissing your cervix as sudden rush of pain jolted through your body, followed by pleasure. You dug your nails in his shoulders as he thrusted back and forth, hitting all the right spots. The sound of his gasps and grunts hypnotizing as you got wetter by the second. His length coated in your juices, echoing in lewd wet noises.

He was rough. He usually was. Back in student days, he was particularly rough. As quiet and collected as he seemed, he sure got his stress out if his body through wild sex.

Relentlessly pushing against you, stretching you in such a delicious way only he knew how. Strong and aggressive movements as your walls swallowed him whole every time, breathless moans escaping your lips with every push. The cool wind kissing your skin, only enhancing his warmth.

As you felt your orgasm progressively approaching, the realization of how addicted you were to him hit you. He was everything you desired. And it was wrong. Before the feeling of uneasiness started to sink in, a sudden electric rush ran through your body. Painfully and soothing, as you tightly clenched around himbsoon numbed your mind.

As you came around him, your walls sucked him in tightly, as he was right over the brink, your velvet flesh pushed him off the edge. He didn't have time to pull out. And honestly, he didn't want to pull out. The way your walls milked him felt delicious. As he rode you through your orgasm, filling you up as his head felt dizzy and the world was spinning faster than usual. His hot seed coating your insides, as you shut your eyes closed, feeling the very last of your orgasm fading away.

He pressed his forehead against yours. Loud pants echoing.

However, the world didn't quite return to its regular focus.

The rest of the night went by in a fuzzy hot mess of events. You returned to his apartment and kept feasting on each other, making up for the lost time. Both of you incredibly starved and needy, you desperately went at it over and over again. It was a rather long night. As you feared, no one made you feel as he did. All of him was addicting. His smell, his voice, his warmth, his skin...It didn’t matter how many strangers you fucked, or how drunk or high you were, he felt just right. He made you cum so easily, it seemed ridiculous everyone else couldn’t.

But you knew it was far more than that.

You were still deeply in love with him. No wonder why he had that effect on you. Just hearing his breathlessly gasp was enough to have you soaking wet and under his mercy. Between sweet kisses, fake promises and sweaty sex, he quite literally fucked you to oblivion. Until either of you could take it any longer and you two fell asleep in each other’s arms. It had been a long tiring night, as you knew many of your muscles were gonna be sore the next day. Your chest painted in red and blue bruises.

It was possibly one of the best night sleeps he’d had. In such a long time. The uncomfortable hole in his chest didn’t feel so wide now. Just like you, he didn’t know how much he actually needed you until now. His regrets, his guilt, the thoughts haunting him on how much of a jerk he’d been when he simply took off...All those feelings went away for a night. As he tasted the wonders of the universe under your skin. Feeling ecstatic and euphoric for the first time in years. However, nothing could’ve prepared Nanami for what he was about to experience when he woke up.

~

“What the hell is this?” Gojo asked as he waved around the folder you’d left a few hours earlier in the Headmaster’s office.

“Why the fuck do you care?” You said as you grabbed it, ripping it off his hands.

“You’re seriously leaving for Kyoto?” He whined.

“So my transfer was accepted? Great!” You said sarcastically as you opened the folder and saw the Headmaster’s seal at the bottom.

“What about Nanami-kun?” Gojo replied as the very last string of your patience snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Gojo! You tried to force us back together, but it’s not going to happen” You snapped. “I’m done. I’m done with him, and I’m done with you sticking your nose in my business”

“Do you really think that running away will solve anything? You’ll still be depressed as hell”

“The less I know about him, the better” You said as you turned around, hot tears blurring your sight as you headed with long steps towards your room. “I don’t trust myself around him…” You whispered. “He’s my weakness Gojo, I can’t let that happen…” You said coldly.

You’d left that morning very early, before Nanami woke up. And you left leaving no trace of you ever being there. Unintentionally doing the same he did. It was unintentional because you hadn’t done it out of spite. Your thought process had been simply. You preferred to not have that conversation and simply leave without him noticing. You had had the exact same thought process Nanami had had all those years ago.

You didn’t waste time and soon started packing your things to leave for Kyoto right away.

#jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #nanami kento #nanami x you #nanami kento imagines #nanami x reader #nanami angst #server collab

[spencers-renaissance]

Fic Rec Bingo!!

So instead of Fic Rec Thursday, I thought I'd do something a little different this week and recommend 25 fics based on this bingo card (although it turned into 26, oops). I kept most of these as CM because that's my blog's focus, but due to the nature of the prompts, there are 5 Marvel (Irondad) ones & 1 Sherlock towards the end!

from @lightveils on twitter, but found posted on tumblr by @cywscross <3

1. A fic with a premise that shouldn't work but does

I never would've thought I'd enjoy a fic with Spencer as a little rebellious shit because it seems so ooc, but I loved this one!

las vegas kid by trashcanbarbie - 1.9k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Gambling, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Young Spencer Reid, Teenage Rebellion, Protective Aaron hotchner, Pre-Canon, Father-Son Relationship, Teenage Spencer Reid

JJ raises her eyebrows, “so, you're trying to say counting cards isn't cheating?” “No,” he grins, boyish and charming, “it is.”

2. A fic you've reread several times

Discipline Changes by fullofcrazyness - 1.2k, 1ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Comforting Hotch

Jack stopped and looked at his dad, finally seeing that his dad wasn’t actually angry. Concerned and relieved, but not angry. He was about to say something when he saw someone in the doorway, white as a sheet. “Papa?”

3. A comfort fic

i'm always tired, but never of you by @iamrenstark - 2.2k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Derek, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Derek Morgan Needs a Hug, Men Crying, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury

When Spencer figured it out, he was stepping out of the elevator on the bottom floor of Quantico, and he went to tell Derek he loved him like he did every day, but he froze up, because he was afraid he wouldn't hear it back. (Or, Spencer thinks his boyfriend is falling out of love with him.)

4. A cathartic fic

Every Little Transgression by @58thacademic - 1.6k, 1ch, Gen, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Spencer Reid, Protective David Ross, Protective Derek Morgan, Mentioned Suicide Attempt, Spencer's Backstory, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Episode: s03e16 Elephant's Memory

Ok so. Elephants memory was really good because we got Reid backstory. But I'm still annoyed that he didn't defend himself against Hotch. So this was born.

5. A fic you'd print and put on your bookshelf

One Call Away by GhostInTheBAU - 204k, 32ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Dubious Consent, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Domestic Violence, Rape Recovery, Referenced Past Drug Use, PTSD, Hurt Spencer Reid, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Flashbacks, Healing, Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Eventual Smut

When Reid's boyfriend attacks him, leaving him broken and bleeding, he calls the first person he thinks of for help. He calls the only person he really wants to see. He calls Hotch.

6. A fic you associate with a song

I associate this fic with The First Thing You See by Bruno Major. I think if you listen to the song, you'll easily see why <3

You Make Waking Up Worth It by @guccifloralsuits - 2.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Fluff, Minor Angst, Established Relationship, Morning Routines, Hurt/Comfort, Good Things Happen Bingo

“Morning sweetheart,” Derek says, pausing briefly to ruffle his hand gently through Spencer’s hair. The genius nuzzles into the touch but doesn’t reply. It’s too early for conversation, Morgan knows. Pretty boy may get up earlier than he does, but it takes the younger a lot longer to really wake up.

7. A fic that inspires you

This fic could have been in so many categories because I adore it, but I wouldn't have started writing Rain is a Chance to be Touched without this fic so it definitely belongs here.

Forgive Me For All I Could Not Become by @degrassi-fanatic - 105k, 20ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Angst, Case Fic, Confessions, Complicated Relationships, Near Death Experiences, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Miscommunication

In which Reid has always been good at hiding things. He hid his father's departure and his mother's illness from social services. He hid his addiction from his team. He hid his sexuality from the world. He hid his inappropriate feelings from his boss. That is until he's bleeding out in Hotch's arms, in an abandoned church, in Oklahoma. From there on out, Hotch and Reid learn to make a complete mess out of each other.

8. A fic that brought you on board a new ship

Even though it's unrequited, this was the first fic that really had me going !!! at Penemily <3

Another Wide-Eyed Girl by mallfacee - 2k, 1ch, Gen/Derek Morgan & Penelope Garcia, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss (Unrequited), Coming Out, Internalised Homophobia, Derek Morgan is a Good Friend, Friendship, Gunshot Wounds, Episode: s03e08 Lucky

Derek Morgan is handsome and calls her “baby girl” and smiles at her like she’s the only girl in the room. Penelope Garcia knows she should be swooning and all she can think is that there must be something wrong with her not to react to a man like that giving her all this attention. Two years later she meets Emily Prentiss and understands.

9. A fic you wish could be a movie

Listen, I adore the soulmate trope, and an angsty moreid soulmate movie? Fucking sign me up right now

i need you now but i don't know you yet by @iamrenstark - 3.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt Derek Morgan, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Buford Mention, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Season 5

It goes like this; Spencer hasn't spoken to his soulmate since he was ten, didn't know their gender or their name or a single thing about them. Spencer's soulmate doesn't want him, and that's okay.

10. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

I'm doing two because fuck you that's why

This was one of the first fics I read of Adam's and I immediately fell in love with his writing! And I'm pretty sure that we ended up becoming friends after I rec'd it!!

Plum Sauce by @goldencatchflies - 1.5k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Jealousy, Platonic Morcia, Episode: s07e13 Snake Eyes

Garcia tells Spencer about what she thinks happened between her and Derek. He doesn’t seem too happy about it...

I read this from Syd and absolutely loved it, and like with Adam, we became friends from there! (I mean technically husband and wife, but, y'know. Semantics.)

You Belong With Me by @spencerspecifics - 11.4k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Song Fic, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Fluff

A fluffy Moreid fic based on You Belong With Me by: Taylor Swift

11. A fic you associate with a place

This reminds me of a chilled Sunday afternoon on my old sofa in my living room, with the fire on in the background. I read it all in one sitting and loved every word <3

Metanoia by @makaylajadewrites - 39k, 16ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Canon Typical Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Established Relationship, Near Death Experiences, Frostbite, Rape Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Spencer Reid, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending

Oh, Derek… He couldn’t stand the thought of him bursting in with SWAT in tow, gun at the ready, only to descend those creaky stairs and find his naked, bleeding body, vacated of life, crumbled on a red-stained mattress. The realization that he was going to die at the end of this was catching up to him, but maybe it would be better that way.

In which an unfortunate resemblance to an unsub's victims puts Reid right on his radar.

12. A fic that made you gasp out loud

Gasp out loud might be a *bit* of an overreaction, but this one took me on a rollercoaster and I loved every second of it (all of bau-gremlin's fics will do that to you tbh)

The End by @bau-gremlin - 3.1k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Graphic Violence, Stabbing, Blood and Injury, Temporary Character Death, Hurt Spencer Reid, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Spencer Reid

The famous interview with Chester Hardwick ... except Hotch and Reid get separated and Reid is left alone with Hardwick and a prison-made shiv.

13. A fic you found at the right time

You're Going to be Okay by fullofcrazyness - 2.6k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Dark, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Sad Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Depression, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Spencer was no stranger to depression. His father leaving him, his mother’s episodes, being twelve years old in a Las Vegas high school. All of those things made him very familiar with the illness. “I… I think I need some help.”

14. A fic that you would read a fic of

Chain Reaction by EloquentDossier - 42k, 16ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Alternate Universe, Texting, Dialogue-Only, Text Fic, Self-Esteem Issues, Fluff, Angst, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Use, Canon Divergence, Pining, Oblivious Aaron Hotchner, Happy Ending

A dialogue-only AU in which Hotch texts what he thinks is Rossi's new number but is actually the slightly eccentric stranger whom Hotch knows only as "Spencer." What follows is something neither man could have ever quite expected.

15. A fic that made you laugh out loud

The Bet by @degrassi-fanatic - 1.6k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Bets & Wagers, Humour, Fluff, Canon Divergence

“Fifty bucks says Hotch writes you up and sends you to sexual harassment sensitivity training.” she declares as she stares him down. Without looking away from her, Reid takes out his own wallet and flips it open to pull out a fifty dollar before placing it down right next to Prentiss’s own money. “Fifty bucks says Hotch will go out with me.”

16. A fic that gave you butterflies

The healing and dynamics in this one is just.... off the charts :')

Who Spencer Reid Loves by @blueberriesandbubbles - 36k, 11ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, Abuse, Hurt Spencer Reid, Mutual Pining, Rape Recovery, Healing, Fluff

Derek Morgan has been in love with the resident genius as long as he's known him. When Spencer enters a relationship with a mystery man, Derek is unhappy. He is even more unhappy when he meets this man. Spencer starts acting different and Derek knows something is wrong and he has a feeling its connected to the man Reid is dating.

17. A fic that embodies something you value in life

The utter and total love and devotion in this fic just punches me right in the gut every time I reread it

A Little Fall of Rain by jack_hunter - 4.3k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Spencer Reid Whump, Autistic Spencer Reid, Major Character Injury, Secret Relationship, Team as Family, Dad Rossi

Morgan crept up behind the doctor and snatched the headphones off of his head, earning a yelp of a protest as he slipped them over his own ears. “Les Mis?” Morgan asked with a quizzical look, “didn’t peg you as the musical type, Pretty Boy.” Spencer snatched the headphones back. “I’ve always loved the theatre and I went to see Les Misérables with-... a friend last Friday.”

18. A favourite AU

The Curious Case of Dr. Reid by severaance - 37k, 10ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Transgender Character, Fluff, Trans Spencer Reid, Light Angst, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Smut, Insecurity, Happy Ending (Warning for Homophobic & Transphobic Slurs)

"And your names for the order, please?" The barista asked, eyes flickering expectantly between the two before her. "Spencer," she answered, although she was not talking to the barista. "I'm Spencer." The man before her had the same idea. "Derek."

19. A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading

I stayed up one night and read pretty much all the marvel fics this author has written, but this was the last one that I simply could not resist. The next day wasn't pretty :/

The more you say, the less I know by forthenightisdarkandfullofterror - 13.9k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Amnesia, Protective Pepper Potts, Not Endgame Compliant, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Blood and Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump

Tony wakes up from snapping with amnesia and for the life of him can't remember the kid hanging around, claiming to be 'just an intern'. Feelings get hurt.

20. A fic that made you feel seen

heavy in my bones by hopeless_hope - 4.4k, 1ch, Gen/Irondad, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump, Father-Son Relationship, Dad Tony, Worried Tony Stark, Angst, Chronic Illness, 5+1 Things

Five times Peter lied to someone about his chronic pain, and one time he told the truth and got the help he needed.

21. A fic you love without knowing the source material

(I mean this is literally all marvel fics but I'll rec this one because I loved it so much)

the locker room by searchingforstars - 15.5k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Miscommunication, Crying, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rape Recovery

Peter's falling apart and he doesn't know how things will ever go back to normal again after Ryder.

22. A fic you've gushed about IRL

Genuinely, this fic is better than most published fiction I've read...

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle - 220k, 37ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Alternate Universe, Hurt Peter Parker, Foster Care, Identity Reveal, Slow Build, Disordered Eating, Homelessness

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves. Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

23. A fic you still remember many years later

The Transport Series by ancientreader - 135k, 2 works, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Backstory, Canon Drug Use, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Physical Disability, AU, Important Character Death, First Time, Developing Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Humour, Fluff

How to become a consulting detective. // Jim's lessons are hard to unlearn.

24. A fic with a line or two that you've memorised by heart

"He has held up buildings and nuclear bombs and whole entire countries on his back. Peter’s body is the heaviest thing he’s ever held."

when my body won't hold me anymore (where will I go) by @madasthesea - 4.4k, 2ch, Gen/Irondad, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Crying, Forehead Kisses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Hugs, Platonic Cuddling

But he knows. He knows. He can feel it. Peter’s dead. Peter Parker watches as Tony carefully arranges his limbs on a cot. “Mr. Stark,” he tries for the dozenth time. No one hears him.

25. Free Space

And to round it off, we have to celebrate the fic that really and truly welcomed me into the CM fanfic world...

Chanel by @4x24 - 24k, 7ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Getting Together, Spencer Wears Makeup, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical VIolence, Humour, Fluffy Ending, Pining, Smut Heavy

Penelope mentions offhandedly one night that she thinks Spencer might look good in makeup. Spencer takes the suggestion to heart. Derek likes the new look - and Spencer - more than he probably should. (Season 4)

#fic rec bingo #fic rec friday #criminal minds #sherlock #irondad #cm #johnlock #moreid #irondad and spiderson #hotchreid #penemily #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #sherlock holmes #john watson #tony stark #peter parker #irondad fic rec #moreid fic rec #hotchreid fic rec #penemily fic rec #criminal minds fic rec #criminal minds fanfiction #moreid fanfiction #hotchreid fanfiction #penemily fanfiction #irondad fanfiction

[bookwyrminspiration]

Do you have any tips for nanowrimo?

I'm not sure how useful I'll be as everyone has a different approach, but I can share what's personally most useful for an enjoyable and productive month! This is my fifth year doing it, and there's definitely a lot more I could say about it, but these are the main tips I would give. I hope this helps!!

Space out your writing.

For me, the most critical aspect is to spread out your writing. All those rushes clumped together at the end of the day are so stressful and just make me dread the month as a whole, so try to avoid having big chunks of time right next to each other. Instead, I have several smaller times planned throughout the day so I can slowly make my way to that daily goal. I might have a 15 minute writing session at 9, half an hour at 12, etc. I know I have an unorthodox school schedule and more freedom to schedule things, but the same principal applies to time after school. Take it in small chunks!

Start early.

I know it's super easy to put off NaNoWrimo to the end of your day after everything is done, but the sooner you get started the easier it will be to finish. Because this opens up the chance to say fuck it and come back to it later. When you get stumped, it's a lot less stressful to step away for an hour to think about it when it's 2 in the afternoon than at 8pm. The more of the day you can use, the better. I personally like to get started as early as possible (with school that means around 10 on the weekdays, 7-8 on the weekends). But that's because I'm more productive in the mornings, so that won't be as effective for everyone.

Treats!

I don't know about you, but my brain loves rewards. If you have the discipline, set up a little reward system--it doesn't have to be consistent. Maybe you'll grab a cookie after writing 500 words, and another something at 1000, etc. This can be as low or as high as you want it to be! And the reward doesn't have the be candy; it can be things like watching a video you like, listening to a song you like, etc. Anything that's rewarding! Note: rewards are not things like basic necessities such as meals, hygiene, water, sleep, etc. They're extra little fun things, so please don't punish yourself to get through your writing.

Neat numbers.

This one is more to get just a few more words each session, and it'll only work if you're more predisposed to this kind of thing. I personally love to update my wordcount with satisfying numbers, so use whatever that means to you! If i'm 27 words away from the next hundred, I might as well just write the 27 right now and enter a 500 word update instead of a 473 one. It's so close! Just a little more effort and it'll be so much more satisying. This could be making your update a fun number, making the total word count of your doc/chapter a fun number, etc. I personally go for the hundreds with this one, but there have been times where I go for all the same number--like a 777 update. Those little details get me to write just a little bit more before stopping, and every word now is a word I don't need to write later and is progress.

Move past being behind.

This one is specifically if you get behind: it's okay. You don't have to make up all those words the very next day--you can, but that's also a big task to take on, doubling your word goal! it can feel like a continuous failure when three days ago you missed a day and fell behind, but just keep approaching it the same as you always did. If you get the 1667 the day after you wrote zero words, you've still met that days goal, that's just yesterday still bugging you. Make it up slowly. Depending on how many days you have left, add a small number of words to the 1667 total until you've made it up. Could be 200, 300, etc. There's no rush! One of the years I had a 10 day period where I was under the path to success, but I'd written all 1667 words each day since I'd missed and that's still good!

Don't look at other's word count.

This is only if you tend to compare yourself to other writers. But if looking at those other word counts makes you judge yourself, stop! you don't need to know where others are. I stopped looking at my buddies' (my partner is my only buddy on the website atm but I would do the same if I had others!) word count last year until I could stop comparing myself. Seeing people have a higher word count than me just makes me unhappy and judgmental of myself for no reason when I know I should be happy for their progress, so until I could better control that I tend to avoid it for the most part! You're not required to look or know, so put yourself first!

Break the rules.

i know that there's technically a traditional way to do NaNoWriMo, but if that doesn't suit you, ignore the rules! The point of this challenge is to get you writing, so find that motivation however you can and use it how you want. Want to start the fifth draft of a novel you've started? Go for it! Want to write a collection of short stories that instead add up to the word count? Do it! Want to restart half way through and still add the words from your other project? I've done that too!! Want to just apply this new word count goal to a project you were already working on? No one's stopping you!

I hope your month goes well and that you enjoy your project!! Writing is definitely not easy and a challenge doesn't make it any easier!

#there are more traditional ways to do it #but at its core nanowrimo is about writing #so write! #however works for you #this is just what's better for me #and I'm sure I'll discover other things that work even better in the future #but this is what i'm doing for now #nanowrimo 2021 #nanowrimo tips #writing tips #quil's queries #nonsie

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

#chris evans #cevans #Details Magazine #2012 #interview

[twopoppies]

hi!! i looked in your fic rec MP and i didn't see it, so i thought I'd ask. i read In Vogue recently and LOVED it and then I've been binging project runway episodes (bc why not) and now I'm craving good fashion fics. maybe even a project runway one. have you read any good ones? and could you maybe rec some?

Hi sweetheart. Ohhh, I love that fic. And yes, I’ve got a few that have to do with fashion.

In Vogue by otpwhatever / @thecelineharry (M, 121K) This one is just….so much. The intensity of the characters, the crazy hot smut (oh god, the window scene), the FASHION, the angst (I had to take a walk around the block after reading it), the epic love story between two men who could rule the world if they could just figure their shit out. The fic has been deleted, but the link is to a download.

These Constant Stars by stylinsoncity (M, 31K) This author has written so many great fics and this one is really lovely. I also always like when one of the boys is not what he seems to be on first glance. There’s also a second part, told from Harry’s POV.

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews (M, 20K) the characterizations and set up for this fic are sharp and funny, making this a really fun read. Plus there’s a lot of talk of Louis worshipping Harry’s thighs. LOL!

Fading by tothemoonmydear (M, 202K) Let me start by asking you to please read the tags on this one. It’s a very well-written fic, but it deals very graphically with Louis’ character’s eating disorder. At the time it was written some people felt it did not portray ED recovery accurately, so if the subject is at all triggering for you, please don’t read this one. Of that’s not an issue for you, make sure you have tissues ready because I ugly cried through almost all of this. I read it years ago and loved it at the time, but it’s not one I could handle reading twice.

sweet, where you lay by @infinitelymint (E, 27K) I read this ages ago and my notes only say that it was “sweet and sexy”, which is not terribly helpful. But this author is a good one, in general, so I feel safe including it here.

The rest of these were suggested by @cuethetommo who generally likes the same sort of fics I do. I either haven’t read these, or don’t remember enough about them to have an opinion! 😆 But I trust her.

Put It All On Me by LoadedGunn (M, 15K)

"Yeah, yeah, give it to me, that's it, spread your legs a bit, there you go."

The camera follows Louis as he does. Maybe if the modelling thing doesn't work out, he could try the porn industry. Then again, he's a bit too stocky to be twinky and a bit too twinky to be anything else. He likes that about himself, though. Well, directors and photographers like that about him. He could pull off pretty and edgy, could do GQ in the morning and a perfume commercial in the afternoon. Right now he thinks he could pull off anything, because it's Harry fucking Styles directing him.

Or, a Top Model AU where Louis is accidentally there to make friends, not become Britain's Next Top Model. (Also Zayn is the supermodel host.)

you pull me in by yoursongonmyheart (NR, 7K)

“Did you really wear silk jammies to meet him?” Fizzy is almost in tears.

He’s going to kill them.

He’s really going to kill them.

Ernie throws his backpack on the floor before telling Fizzy, quite loudly, “Mr. Styles looked at Achoo like this” and making an exaggerated jaw dropped face.

“That is not what happened!” Louis protests.

“And Achoo looked at Mr. Styles like that, too!” Doris pulls the same face before laughing.

------

//or the one where Louis is a model, Harry teaches Doris and Ernie at primary and now might be a good time to fall in love.

This Road Leads Where Your Heart Is by LittleLostPieces (E, 15K)

Alright, so Louis has a bit of a type is the thing. And as fit as his supermodel flatmate (Harry) may be, he isn't what Louis is looking for in a potential partner. That’s all. He’s not Louis’ type, with his miles of lanky limbs and his bright, boyish eyes. His impossibly tight, little body and infectious laughter are not what Louis wants. They're not. Really.

swimming in a champagne sea by delsicle (E, 17K)

Louis is a supermodel. Harry is a celebrity photographer known for capturing the brightest up and comers in their most candid moments. They meet at London’s most exclusive New Year’s Eve party.

An alpha/alpha fic filled with confusion, banter, Ubers, and glitter

Life at Shutter Speed by zarah5 (E, 20K)

AU. Having landed a job modelling for an outdoor clothing catalogue, Harry certainly wouldn’t mind doing some extracurricular work for photographer Louis Tomlinson. Say, a private photo session? Yes, please? Good thing that Harry has ten days and three beautiful locations -- Morocco, Indonesia and the Swiss Alps -- to make Louis see just how good they could be.

Special Topping by LoadedGunn (E, 20K)

'Who would even want so many pizzas so late at night?' Harry wonders before the door opens.

Oh. Apparently short guys with shaggy brown hair and a scruff and bright blue eyes and heart-stopping smiles. That's who.

Harry's not even ashamed of how he nearly drops all the pizzas. This guy is gorgeous and Harry hasn't noticed anyone like that in ages, let alone provided services to them. If he opened his mouth right now the only thing that would come out is, "By special topping did you mean my dick?"

Or, the AU where Harry delivers pizza and Louis really just wants Tim Gunn to spank him.

everywhere (i want to be with you) by itiswhatisbutterfly (E, 42K)

Harry and Louis meet because they have terrible friends, they fall in love because something feels right in a world of uncertainty and shifting grounds. Louis is an actor and Harry is a model at the top of his game, the best things in life are the most unexpected ones and the things that hit you when you are least expecting it.

Featuring winter in London, nights in Paris, early mornings in New York, burning heat in Monte Carlo and an enduring love spent transcending four corners of the globe.

Young Gods by sincewewereeighteen (E, 77K)

“Why don’t you stay?” Harry looked down at him and snorted. “What?”

“You’re not my type, Louis”, the boy rolled his eyes sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“Says the man you just had sex with”, Louis pointed feeling smart, but Harry was one step ahead of him, with the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“You see, if you were my type, I wouldn’t have”, Harry winked, cheeky as hell. “I would’ve gotten to know you first.”

“Bullshit”, he accused the boy not letting it show how intrigued he was. “How can you know I’m not your type if you don’t know me?”

“How about I list five things about you to prove I’m right and if any of them are false I’ll lie down again.”

“Ok. Go.”

[Or: the one in which Louis is a model and Harry's supposed to be a normal guy... Until he isn't.]

#fashion fics #my fic rec #Larry fic rec

[slyttherins]

Quidditch camp (part 2) | Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: You and Fred attend quidditch camp like every summer, but, this year, there’s been a mistake in the cabin and rooming situations. In other words, they’re short of bed and you and Fred will have to share.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word count: 1800

-

You hadn't talked to - or even looked at - Fred since the kiss.

Once you pulled away from the kiss, you had made a beeline for the bathroom, no longer caring that there was no hot water. A cold shower would do you good - and it was apparently very beneficial for the skin.

Anything to not be in the same room as him.

At supper, you sat with Angelina and Katie. You talked about the afternoon training session, which will cause your legs to ache in the morning and the latest gossip going around in the girls' cabin. Apparently, a girl had snuck into Cedric Diggory's cabin last night - according to Angelina the suspect was Cho Chang - and Madam Hooch was furious.

Most importantly, you didn't tell them what happened at the cabin.

Unconsciously, as Katie was telling you about a new broomstick trick she learned this afternoon, your eyes drifted to the redhead Beater - and the kiss you had shared. The same kiss that had left you wanting more.

Although Fred was three tables away from you, you could still feel his hands on you, strong and firm but not too rough, smell his woody soap and hear the soft sounds of appreciation leaving both your mouths as his warm tongue slipped past your lips and easily found yours. You couldn't believe you had let it escalate to that. At least no clothes had been removed - Fred was just in his shorts, but it still counted.

.

After supper, you left and went to your cabin, faking a headache. You'd usually follow the girls to their cabin and hang out until curfew, but not tonight. You needed time to think and, most importantly, get your mind off of Fred Weasley. Perhaps reading a book would help?

That didn't work for long because the twins walked in the cabin less than twenty minutes later, laughing about some prank they had pulled on one of the younger campers.

''It was brilliant, Freddie! Who knew Chambers could scream that high pitched,'' George said, talking about the prank.

''That image is forever engraved in my mind. Spiders! Spiders! They're gonna get in my pants!'' Fred mocked, imitating Chambers. ''It was hilarious.''

''How did you find so many spiders?''

''There's a whole colony behind Ron's cabin. I lured them into a cup and-'' Fred stopped himself when seeing you on the bed, his mood dropping and changing.

''Hey, Y/N,'' George greeted with a smile, going to his side of the cabin. ''You're here early.''

''I wasn't feeling good. I think it's the heat,'' you explained. If you were consistent with your lie and told everyone the same thing, no one would suspect it was a lie.

''Well, get some rest. Tomorrow's game day. We play against the Phoenixes.'' George fished for his toiletries and slung his towel on his shoulder. ''I'm gonna shower.'' He looked between you and Fred. ''Try to not kill each other while I'm in there, alright?''

Fred sat on his brother's bed and waited until the shower was running to speak. ''So...are we going to talk about it?''

''Talk about what?'' you asked, faking ignorance.

Fred gave you a stern look. ''Don't play that game, Y/L/N.''

You sighed. Forgetting it happened would've been so much simpler.

It's not like the kiss meant anything. It was just that, a kiss. There was no need to make a fuss about it.

''There's nothing to talk about.'' You closed your book and stood, slipping on your shoes and headed outside for a walk.

''Where are you going? I thought you had a headache.''

''I do, but hearing your voice makes it worse.''

.

The match against the Phoenixes was not going well.

McLaggen was sick, therefore he was sitting out this one, which left his keeper position to one of the younger - and less skilled, campers. Much to their bad luck, the young boy had let in five goals in a row. Five! He was probably nervous for his first time on the field, but five goals was a lot of points.

You were scheming the field, trying to spot the snitch, but, much to your luck, the only thing in your vision field was Fred's abs - which was distracting. To your defense, it was Fred's fault for bringing the bottom of his quidditch jersey up to his face to wipe away sweat. The little fucker also purposely flexed his abs a little every time he did it. You tried to look away, but those abs were difficult to look away from. Damn you, Fred Weasley!

Fred's exibitionist manners caused you to miss the snitch and, by the time you had snapped out of your staring, Cho had caught the snitch.

.

''Maybe McLaggen is right. Maybe we should fuck,'' Fred declared after the match, removing his protective gear.

You almost sputtered your water all over yourself. ''Excuse me?'' you asked, hoping you had heard wrong.

''You and me. We should fuck.''

A laugh left your lips. ''Did a bludger hit your head?''

''You were looking at me, weren't you? That's why you didn't see the snitch.'' A smug smile curled on his face. ''Do you have a crush on me, Y/L/N?''

''Wow, that bludger must've hit your head really hard, uh?''

''I'm not going to tell the team...if you accept to have sex with me.''

What?! You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

''Are you blackmailing me into having sex with you? You know that's sextortion, right?''

Fred shook his head. ''No. I'm saying, it's been proven that sex raises endorphins and other hormones that boost mood. Perhaps if we release those good hormones we won't be at each other's throat and picking fights during games...or staring at the other. It would be for the team's sake.''

You scoffed. ''The team's or your dick's sake?''

''I'm being serious, Y/N. Think about it.''

.

The time had been set. Friday, during the campfire, while everyone's attention would be occupied, you and Fred would slip to your shared cabin and...do it.

You didn't want to let it get to your mind, but it was all you could think about throughout the day. While the plan could work and ease the tension between you two, there was a possibility that the sex would go wrong - or be bad - and make things worse inside the team. You were also worried that it would be awkward afterward or that Fred would tell everyone.

During seeker training, you weren't flying your best. Madam Hooch had noticed that your mind was elsewhere and questioned you about it. You lied about not getting enough sleep the night prior and vowed to not stress yourself over tonight.

It was only a big deal if you made it one, right? To prove yourself, you didn't dress special - other than matching your underwear to your bra. It was just Fred, you didn't need to impress him. You didn't even put on lipgloss!

You started with kisses, slowly getting comfortable with each other, but quickly wanting more. His ginger hair smelled of smoke from the campfire and his lips tasted something sweet - roasted marshmallows. You hummed, slipping your hands under his shirt, feeling the curves of his abs and back. Merlin, you loved those.

''Did you lock the door?'' you asked, not wanting to be walked in on by any of your cabin buddies.

Fred hesitated and you sighed, going to lock it yourself.

When you returned to Fred, he had discarded his shirt, leaving him shirtless and you had to hold yourself back from biting your lip. Damn, that body.

Seeing as it was unfair that he was the only one who had taken off clothes, Fred helped you take off your top. You should've felt exposed, but it wasn't the first time he saw you in a bra and it wasn't much different than bikini tops, right? But, this bra was a little sexier than the sports bra you usually wore and, by the look Fred was giving you and your body, he didn't hate it.

''Ohh, I didn't know you owned other things than sports bras, Y/L/N,'' he teased, gliding the pad of his finger on the edge of the black lace.

You swatted him and he laughed.

His lips found their way back to yours, hands exploring each other's bodies. You felt the backs of your legs hit his bed and fell back onto it due to a not-so-gentle shove from Fred. You narrowed your eyes, but Fred joined you, crawling on top of you.

Small moans left your lips as he kissed the side of your neck and your hands went to his hair, keeping him there. He was probably going to give you a bruise and it could be a bitch to cover up, but you'll worry about that later.

No. No more kisses. You were running tight on time.

You snapped out of your bubble and pulled Fred off of your neck. If you wanted to be finished before anyone realized you two had vanished from the campfire, you needed to get straight to business and not fool around too much.

Sparing you both some time, you arched your back off of the mattress and unclasped your bra, throwing it somewhere in the room. You took a mental note to pick it up later to not give Oliver another reason to complain about sharing his cabin with a girl.

As you laid there, topless under Fred, the boy couldn't help but stare at your breasts, hunger in his eyes. He bit his lip and covered them both with his large hands, thumb brushing against one of your nipples, watching it harden.

''Weasley! Less ogling, more fucking. We don't have all night.''

.

''If you talk to anyone about this-'' you warned, pulling on your denim shorts and buttoning the button.

Fred emerged from the bathroom, having discarded the proof of your sexual intercouse at the bottom of the trash to cover your tracks. You couldn't let any of the boys see the used condom.

He scoffed. ''Don't flatter yourself, this was nice, but I'd rather no one knows.''

Was he embarrassed of having slept with you? It couldn't be. It was his idea - technically it was McLaggen's - to have sex.

''Because, you know, we'd get in trouble if Madam Hooch found out,'' he continued explaining, slipping on his shirt and running his hand through his hair to fix them.

Yeah, sure. That was the reason.

Everyone knew having sex on campsite was strictly forbidden and had great consequences - aka, sitting out matches - if Madam Hooch found out, but that didn't stop campers from sneaking around and doing it.

''I mean, it was fun, but you're not worth sitting out matches for.''

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #quidditch camp #harry potter #harry potter prompts #this one is a bit shorter but there WILL be a part 3

[bangtanreadingcorner]

rumor has it [1/2] • jung hoseok

plot — your best kept secret comes out and it becomes a hot topic around your university. it also brings you and hoseok closer.

words — 3.5K

You are going to lose it.

Seriously. The next person who asks you if the rumor is true, Lord help them, you are going to go bat-shit crazy on them.

You also swore off drinking indefinitely because if you hadn't been so inebriated, you would have taken another shot instead of telling the truth. Well, maybe not because it was because of drinking shots that you ended up in this mess in the first place.

So, yeah, drinking was out of the picture for the moment.

In all honesty, you weren't embarrassed about it. About still being a virgin. You made your choice a long time ago, and you choose to stick by it. You didn't want a perfect first time, or to wait until marriage, but you want to be comfortable with the person and you want it to feel right. You've never felt that with anyone before.

And if that made you a prude in the eyes of society, well then they can go fuck themselves for all you care. You'll wait until the time is right.

You looked up, to see where your feet had taken you and was it was in the Quad. It was just a large patch of grass with picnic tables place in it. For either eating or studying or just taking a break.

You sat down at a table, and barely twenty seconds after you sat down, three guys approached you. The one in the middle opened his mouth, "Hey! Y/N, is it true?"

You sincerely hoped it wasn't what you think it was, so you decided to give the idiot the benefit of the doubt. "Is what true?"

"That you're a virgin. I wanted to know if it's true, that's all." He said with a dirty smirk, making no secret of the fact that he was trying to check you out - the picnic table hid most of your body so it didn't work as well as he hoped.

"Yes, it's true." You snapped, voice harsh as the last of your patience swiftly ran out. "Rumor also has it you're an insensitive moron. So glad we could both confirm the running gossip. Now fuck off."

The guy scoffed, "Now wonder you're still a virgin. No one likes an uptight bitch."

"Now wonder you're still single. No one likes an stupid dick." You smirked up at him, watching in amusement as he stalked off with his two friends that looked a little embarrassed.

Ah, how you love using people's own words against them. Nothing makes a person angrier than that. It's really amusing too.

There was two more incidents - two girls that were curious, and one guy who offered his experience to you. Ugh.

Your stomach dropped when you saw the next person who approached you because you actually like this guy.

"Oh, not you, too, Hoseok." You groaned when you saw him, dropping your head down on your books.

"What?" Hoseok asked, bewildered, as he slid into the seat opposite you.

You peaked at him, cheek laying on your books, "Aren't you here to find out if the rumor is true and then mock me and judge me?"

"What rumor?" He asked, a little confused, as you sat upright. You just gave him a flat look and waited. You saw the dots connect in his mind. "Right. That rumor."

"Yeah." You gave him a humorless smile.

Hoseok shook his head, expression gentle as he looked at you. "Well, no. I'm not. One, it's none of my business. And two, it'd be hypocritical if I judged you."

"Why would it-" You cut yourself off as realisation set in, your eyes widened in disbelief as you inhaled sharply. "No way."

Hoseok laughed, his face lighting up and dimples on display, "It's true."

"I don't believe it." You laughed in disbelief. Hoseok had to be pulling your leg.

"Believe it." He nodded.

"You? Seriously?" You couldn't wrap your head around it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned at you.

"I don't mean anything by it, it's just . . ." You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts and then settled with your default setting: brutal honesty. "Well, to be perfectly honest, you're like a wet dream come to life and it's a little hard to believe."

Hoseok's cheeks flushed and a satisfied warmth stirred in your belly, "I, uh, I've never wanted to. I mean, I've had girlfriends before but never enough to want to take them to bed."

"Now that, I understand. I've had two boyfriends and both of them I dropped when they kept pressuring me for more and I didn't want too." You told Hoseok who nodded along with what you said.

"Yeah, I know right. I mean, one of my ex-girlfriends accused me of not loving her." Hoseok actually pouted a bit as he spoke. You giggled at the sight, endeared by him. "She was right thought, I didn't love her. I liked her a lot, but it wasn't love. I don't think I've ever been in love. Not really." He looked at you. "Have you ever been in love?"

"I don't know." You admitted. "I mean, how do you know when you love someone? It's not like you can measure it."

"That's a fair question. I mean, I guess it's something you just know. Like, when you listen to a song and you know you love it after listening to it once. Maybe it's like that." Hoseok said and then suddenly he looked down, seeming embarrassed. "Sorry, you probably think that's dumb."

"No, no, not at all. I think it kind of fits." You said hastily, not wanting him draw the wrong conclusions. "I actually understand what you said more than when someone tries to tells me about how sometimes love is fate or destiny or written in the stars." You pulled a face.

Hoseok laughs and it makes you laugh back.

"Did you want something?" You asked him, when you both calmed down, still smiling.

"Huh?" He asked, clearly a little confused. You thought he looks adorable.

"You came over here," You reminded him. "I assume it was to ask or tell me something."

"Oh yeah." Hoseok's cheeks flushed again as realisation lit in his eyes. "I just wanted you to know that Jae is adjusting nicely to the classes."

A smile automatically spread on your lips at the mention of your nine year old sister. She recently started hip-hop classes and that was actually how you met Hoseok, he's her teacher. One afternoon your mother asked you to pick her up after practice and you and Hoseok talked a bit, and you found out that you go to the same university but just different major's. His is dance and yours is business.

"I'm glad." You smiled wider at him. "You didn't have to come all the way over here to tell me that though."

Hoseok let out a nervous laugh, rubbing at the nape of his neck as he looked at you shyly. "I also wanted to know if I can buy you a coffee sometime, maybe? I wanted to ask you out the day we met, I didn't think it would be appropriate, 'cause I was at work and all."

Now it was your turn to blush, pleasantly surprised by his offer. You had found yourself liking your sister's dance teacher, too, but you didn't know if he would say yes. And he wasn't some random guy could ask out and just forget if he says no.

You smiled, cheeks on fire as you looked at him. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"How does Saturday sound?" Hoseok asked excitedly and your stomach dropped.

"I can't, sorry." You told him, watching as his face fell. "Not because I don't want too. It's just, I promised my mom I'd spend the whole Saturday with her and my sister because according to her she doesn't see me enough." You hurried to explain.

Hoseok smiled again and your heart lifted, "Okay, how about Sunday afternoon?"

You don't think you've ever nodded so fast in your life. "Yes, that's perfect."

***

That Saturday when you went home, your mom squinted at you as you hopped on the kitchen counter as she made breakfast. "What is going on with you?"

"Nothing." You smiled innocently at your mother. She's been giving you looks since you arrived.

"Am I suppose to believe that all this smiling and the happy sparkle in your eyes is from nothing?" She asked, raising a brow. You decided to tell her because you and your mom have always been close. And you've been wanting to tell someone who won't tease you about Hoseok. Your best friends Minji and Jamie does that enough. You also wanted to tell her before she finds out by herself. You would never live it down.

"I'll tell you, but I don't want you to make a big deal out of this, okay, mom?" You said, grinning excitedly.

Her curiousity effectively peaked, your mom nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, I won't. Promise."

"Okay, so, there's this guy I really, really like and we're going out tomorrow." You gushed, barely holding in a squeal as your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

Your mother gasped, a smile of joy spreading on his lips. "Oh, oh! This is wonderful news. Who is this young man that's managed to capture your attention? Is he nice? I hope he's not a troublemaker like your second boyfriend. Why, I heard the other day that he got arrested from breaking into someone's home. Can you believe that?"

You winced at the reminder of your second boyfriend. Not one of your proudest moments but you had a lot of fun with him. Right up until he wanted to get into your pants. The relationship went downhill pretty quick after you said no.

"I can't say I'm surprised." You admitted, because he always liked to skirt at the edge of the law, it was only a matter of time before he broke it. Luckily you got away before it went that far.

"Enough about him, though. Tell me about this boy of yours." Your mom pushed with glittering eyes.

You cheeks flushed, "Well, he's not mine yet, mom. And it's just a coffee date."

"Tell me his name then." She prodded hopefully.

You gave her a sheepish smile, "I can't, sorry."

"Why not?" She frowned.

"Because you know him." Now you smirked at her, knowing she'll drive herself crazy, trying to figure out who he is.

***

You couldn't remember the last time you were this nervous.

Oh, no, wait. You could. It was right before you went to get your final results for high school. You didn't sleep that night and you barely slept Saturday night. Falling asleep early Sunday morning and sleeping until finally your alarm woke you up at 11:00AM.

You immediately started getting ready. You took a shower, used a hairdyer for the first time this year (air-drying is much easier and more fun) before taking a hair straightner to your unruly mop of curls. You picked a nice outfit but decided to forego make-up. That would be too over the top for you.

Your phone buzzed with a text a little after 03:00PM.

You smiled widely when you saw who it was. You and Hoseok had exchanged numbers after he asked you out and kept in touch over the last week.

Hoseok

See you in a bit.

You

Can't wait!

You walked to the cafe you two agreed to meet at, nervous but also excited. You entered the cafe and heard your name being called by a familiar voice.

A smile automatically spread on your lips as you walked to the table where Hoseok was waving from. You couldn't even find it in yourself to care about the people staring at you. He stands up when you arrive at the table and goes to pull out your chair but you wave him off with a smile.

"Hey, I'm not late, right?" You asked with a nervous smile.

Hoseok shakes his head, beaming at you. "Nope, I'm early."

You looked at the time on your phone and smiled. 03:24PM. You're both early then. Sure, only six minutes, but it's a good sign, right?

"How've you been?" You ask as you pushed your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

"Good. I actually caught up on some overdue work, yesterday. You?"

"I'm fine. It was nice spending time with my mom and my sister."

The waitress comes up to your table with a notebook. "Are you ready to order?"

Hoseok's sunny grin dims a bit. "I forgot to give her the menu."

"It's okay." You laughed brightly. "I come here often, so I know what I want." You assured him, then looked at the waitress. "I'd like a bubblegum milkshake and a big chocolate muffin."

"Okay," The waitress nods, repeating your order as she writes and you confirm it. She turns at Hoseok, "And for you?"

"I'd like a hazelnut latte and a waffle with peppermint and chocolate ice cream." He orders. You both wait until the waitress leaves before resuming your conversation.

"Interesting choice. The hot with the cold." You grin at him.

"Mmn, I didn't take you for having a sweet tooth."

You froze for a bit because normally you don't have a sweet tooth, not really, but it's not like you could tell him you're having pre-period cravings.

"Depends on my mood." You said instead, and it was the truth. You ate whatever you were in the mood for in general, not just when you are on your period. But you also like salty food more than sweet, but whenever you crave something sweet, it's usually because of your monthly gift from Eve.

Hoseok nods, accepting the answer. He tilts his head at you, "How's your mom and sister?"

"Well, my sister is an adorable little pain in the ass like always and my mom is starting a list of all the guys she knows, but overall they're good." You told him, laughing a bit as you spoke.

"Do I want to know?" He looked at you, equal parts curious and wary.

"I don't know, do you?" You asked teasingly, smiling at him, wiggling your eyes brows.

He thought for a moment, "Yeah, I do."

"It's nothing bad. I just told my mom about our date, and when she asked for your name, I told her that I can't tell her because she knows you."

Hoseok frowned ever so slightly, "Why didn't you want to tell her?"

"Because I don't want her to bombard you with personal questions until we figure out where we want this to go." You explained, gesturing between the two of you with your index finger.

Hoseok's eyes twinkled with mischief and laughter as he asked, "Ah, so she can ask me the personal questions after we start dating then?"

"Oh, yeah," You nodded, liking the idea of dating Hoseok all too much. "You'll have to prepare yourself to answer anything from what your first word was, to what brand and colour underwear you wear."

Hoseok burst out laughing and you smiled as you watch him. You like the way he laughs, unrestrained and so fully. It makes you feel warm inside.

You talk about this and that until your order arrives. Technically it was dessert, rather than food but eh, neither of you minded. And this was supposed to be a coffee date. It was already better than you two planned.

"Jung Hoseok." You called him seriously, after you finished eating your muffin, fiddling with the straw of your milkshake.

He sobered up, looking a little startled, "Yeah?"

"I adore you." You said, giving him a soft, slow smile.

His cheeks flushed and you realised you like making him blush.

Hoseok looked at you, eyes serious despite his red cheeks. "I really like you, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks and your heart picked up its pace. You looked down, sipping on your melting milkshake. When both of you were done eating and finished drinking, you ordered another milkshake and Hoseok ordered another latte.

Neither of you were ready to go home yet.

"So, why dance?" You asked him somewhere after your third milkshake, curious.

"I've always found it easier to express myself with my body rather than words." He shrugged, looking a little shy. "It's my greatest passion. When I'm dancing, I'm free."

"I'd like to watch you dance sometime. If you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure. I don't mind." Hoseok shook his head. "Why business?" He asked in return.

"Promise you won't laugh?" You asked first, looking at him seriously.

"I promise."

"And you can't tell anyone and I'll know if you have because I haven't told anyone. Not even my mom, but I think she suspects."

"I won't." Hoseok swore, sitting a little straighter.

"I want to start my own shoe store. Originally I wanted to study something in a fashion direction, I like designing shoes, but the industry is tough to get into. So, I figured I'll start smaller and work my way up." You looked down at the table, fiddling with a serviette.

"Wow. That's like . . .your whole future planned out." Hoseok said, looking at you with wide eyes.

You snorted, "Not really. It's just a dream. It's going to take hard work to make it into a reality."

"You can do it. I believe in you." He said, so sincere that you had no choice but to believe him.

When you finally went home, it was dark and Hoseok walked you back to your dorm room. Halfway there, he brushed his hand against yours and when he slid his palm against yours, you happily entwined you'd fingers.

You opened your door and turned to him, ready to say something but he beat you to it.

"I had a really great time today." He said with that ever present sunny smile that made your heart sing when he directed it at you.

"Me too. It was much better than I expected." You said, only realising after his smile dropped how that might have sounded to him. "Not that I expected it to be bad, just a little awkward because you make me nervous. Really nervous. But it wasn't awkward at all. I was comfortable from the beginning."

"Oh." Hoseok breathed softly, and you could heard the relief in that one syllable. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Maybe we could do it again, sometime?"

"Oh, we better." You told him seriously.

"Well, I should get going. We have class tomorrow." He took a step back from you, clearly intent on leaving. You looked at him with raised brows.

"You're really not going to try for a goodnight kiss?" You laughed.

Hoseok let out an indignant huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hey, don't laugh at me. I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

You positively melted from his words, heart speeding up. You gave him a look full of adoration. "Hoseok, you are always a gentleman and I appreciate it," Your gaze turned a bit mischievous. "But you should know that I've been wondering what it would be like to kiss you since the day we met."

His eyebrows rose, jaw going slack as he looked at you in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really." You nodded, amused. "So, whenever you're feeling like being ungentlemanly, just know I wouldn't be opposed to it."

"Okay." He nodded dumbly and you laughed.

"Good night, Hoseok." You told him fondly.

"Night." Hoseok echoed, taking another step back and then turning away from you. You waited until he reached the stair case before you closed your door, letting out a squeal of happiness.

You took of your shoes, haphazardly kicking them into the shoe rack, pulling off your baby pink sweater as you padded to your room, humming with a gigantic grin on your face.

It wasn't five minutes since you arrived home when a knock sounded on your door. You threw your sweater on the bed, heading to the door.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You called, and the incessant knocking ceased. Probably Minji or Jamie that wants to borrow a book or some paper to print a project. You opened the door, frowning slight when you saw who was on the other side, "Hoseok? Is everything okay?"

"I'm not feeling very gentlemanly right now." He declared before stepping closer, grabbing you by the neck and kissing you until you were breathless, your socked covered toes curling.

"Good night." He said when he pulled away, then added on, "For real this time."

You laughed a little, feeling so ridiculously happy. You wondered if you could combust from it.

"Text me when you get home." You blurted, still catching your breath.

"Promise." He nodded, licking his lips. You leaned forward to peck them one last time. For now.

You laughed again, practically vibrating with giddiness as you closed the door for a second and final time.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: !!this is not the end!! *pouts* Tumblr told me that I filled all of my 250 boxes, so I have to split it. It's like my fic duet all over again. *le sigh* Idek how people write 12K fics and still fit it in.

part two

#bangtan #bangtan fanfic #bts fic #jung hoseok #hoseok #btsjhope #bts hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x oc #jung hoseok x you #hoseok x you #hoseok x oc #hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine

[acommonloon]

TL;DR

What a delicious memorable night!

Except, I returned to the scene of a crime and got a last call beer and I'm a little disturbed I can't remember what it was. Let me think.

Oh that's right. I remember now.

____________________________________________________________

I remember hours before, going in The Raven, circling the bar before walking back out, not a single beer worth the time to drink it.

I remember darting across two busy lanes of traffic to see what The Ainsley was all about. It was the second venue to inhabit my much loved and missed Blue Grass Brewing Company, where I bought countless beers in past years. I never went in The Sullivan, it first followed BBC but, The Ainsley laudes itself as an upscale sports bar.

I nearly didn't go in. The building outside blinded me with unadorned white walls and...they took all the fucking windows out! Still, I had just braved rush hour on Frankfort Ave in 90deg heat so I pushed on. I was back outside in less than 5 seconds.

The inside was...where old white people go to die and maybe a few patrons at the bar had succumbed. The place reeked like a basement couch leaking generations of old man farts and the barely moving white heads scattered along the bar looked like moths fluttering their last against a hot window sill. I ran back across Frankfort.

Briefly I considered bailing. I could be home in under an hour where I've got beer worth drinking for days, weeks even. I'm no quitter though. I was parked in front of Street Grub and Hops, a bizarrely named venue I'd been in a few times since The Mellow Mushroom failed to survive in Louisville's over crowded pizza market.

I remembered they had 30+ taps behind their large U-shaped bar and I could see the whole side of the building was open to the sidewalk. Inside a band was setting up to play so I was assured in this place I wouldn't need mothballs to dispel the odour of human demise.

If my sense of failing mortality seemed unaccountably morbid on a bright Friday afternoon, in my defense, a new place next to Street Grub caught my eye. NSD Bar it said on the sign. What's that? Never Say Die Bar <shakes head>

I was met at the bar by a lively young man with a lush black beard and handlebar mustache. Thirsty? he asked. You've no idea.

He gesture towards the wall of taps and said let me know if you see something that piques your interest.

I chuckled and said that's a tall order. I spend too much time beer hunting.

He laughed then and said to which spelling are you referring?

My brain stuttered then I got the clever play on words he'd heard in my "tall order" reply, accidental for sure.

Which did you mean I countered, then I spelled peak or pique? The second one he smiled as he walked off.

<sigh> it was 5:10 already and I didn't know it but I'd just experienced the high point of my visit to Street Grub. In spite of their large list, only one beer piqued my interest and Austin, of the peaky facial hair, apologized when he discovered it was no longer on. My second choice, in spite of being a Stone Brewing offering, had no more character than the Miller Lite branded glass they brought it in. Worst of all, the fried pickles sucked. I should have remembered that because I'd had them there before.

I got back in my car with no particular plan. Then remembered a friend had mentioned the bar I had visited on Saturday had a Speakeasy room in the basement. <shrug>The Speakeasy theme has never interested me but such places often do high quality drinks and my recent visit to Gerties upstairs bore that out. They made me a Penicillin or two actually and they were terrific. I could do with another or two.

As soon as I walked in, the bartender greeted me with, "You're back!" I grinned back at him and said, "I heard you've a room in the basement." We do and he pointed around the bar to a door and said tell the bartender downstairs his Penicillin isn't as good as mine.

Recently, the guy that runs a nearby wine bar told me I was memorable. He said, "You make an impression." I wasn't sure he was complimenting me but I do appreciate it when the bartender remembers what drinks I like. I headed downstairs into the dark. It was really dark and I was worried I might trip as I shuffled toward the dimly lit bar. The bartender shouted a hearty welcome and then he said knowingly, "I bet you want a Penicillin!" WTF

I replied, "What, the guy upstairs rang down? No he shook his head. I was at a loss until he took pity on me. He said, "I was upstairs the other day when you asked for a classic Penicillin. I make up all the drinks here so I noticed. Oh right, I said but actually, you look very familiar. Where have you worked before. When he said Red Herring it sounded right but I couldn't remember where that was. As soon as he told me it was next to the Silver Dollar the memories flooded back and we fondly reminisced about the drinks and food there.

Soon I had a classic Penicillin in front of me and we began to talk drinks. We included the only other guy at the bar in our conversation. He was rail thing, wore a scarf on his head, and had a robust but not too pornish mustache. I suspected he was staff there at Gerties. He was clearly interested but not so experienced. For the next two hours I enjoyed the back and forth and drinks.

Chad is a professional bartender who loves his job. He loves making drinks and he loves talking to people. While we chatted, more than twenty people, in pairs and sometimes larger groups came downstairs, got drinks and eventually left. At one point I was sure Matt Gaetz sat down at a two top. I did a double-take to be sure the woman with him wasn't Marjorie Taylor Greene in a wig. It was hard for me not to stare but I kept stealing glances. Eventually I concluded this guy was what Gaetz would look like if he wasn't befouled by evil. A very good looking guy!

When he left, I asked if I was the only one who thought that? No one had noticed but, by that time, Terrence, a large black man who'd come down with two white friends was standing next to me. He'd been ordering drinks when the bar conversation turned to German food and he joined our conversation eagerly. After delivering drinks to his friends, he returned to talk. When I suggested the guy who'd just left looked like the American traitor Matt Gaetz, he said no way! He went on to say Gaetz was a POS and if it had been him there might have been trouble. Lol, now that would have been memorable.

Terrence left wishing Chad and myself a good day, remembering both our names. It turned out the guy with the scarf on his head was a sous chef at nearby Bar Vetti. OMG, I'd meaning to go there but I worried D wouldn't like it. I asked him if they would make her a pepperoni pizza. He said they had one but it had calabrian and peppadew peppers on it. Yeah, can you take those off. Um yeah?

I said I'd just go check it out myself for dinner after I finished the Negroni riff Chad had excitedly made up on the spot using a special dry vermouth and something that wasn't Campari. He referred to it as a white Negroni. It was delicious!

Bar Vetti was only about a hundred feet down the sidewalk from Gerties. I enjoyed the early evening as I walked, it was comfortably warm with a gentle breeze and for the first time in a long time, Nulu felt normal. People were sitting outside the Taj and the Mayan Cafe, the evening was alive with conversation, color, and movement. When I looked in the windows of the new swanky Marriott Hotel it was the same inside and there might not be room for me at the bar.

I walked past the unattended hostess stand into a storm of blaring conversation. I stopped in front of an empty seat but there was a drink there so I turned around to the other side. I asked a man in a suit if the empty seat next to him was taken. It's yours he answered without looking away from his companion. I sat and picked up the wine list.

On my left were three young men, obviously of southwest Asian heritage. Within seconds I understood they were native English speakers and they were having a good time. The youngest one was next to me and he seemed barely old enough to shave. He was rather louder than the others and seemed to be mildly complaining about something. The bartender came over to them and appeared to pick up a conversation she must have started before I got there. It was really more of a lecture and she was telling them that she couldn't spend all of her time in front of them as she and another bartender had a full bar.

I felt myself tense a little, wondering if there was going to be an altercation. I didn't look at the young men but watched the bartender closely. While her words were stern, her body language seemed relaxed. I heard the man furthest away from me say, "That's fair." The bartender didn't acknowledge his words. She poured me a water and I asked for a glass of wine. Then I turned to the men.

"Are you guys from here or visiting?" I could see them tense up the young guy on guard most of all. I went on as if I hadn't noticed and said, I overheard you say this was your kind of place a minute ago. This is my first visit here and it's a bit fancy for me. They relaxed. I felt sure they were expecting to be challenged and I might look just like the kind of old white asshole who would do that.

We're from California the young guy said but we live here and work at Rabbit Hole. Do you know it?

Of course I said, it's something the city can really be proud of. I've been over there in the bar many times and the facility is gorgeous. Cameron seemed near to burst with happiness. He said, "We're just about to have a drink, will you join us? I said, sure what are we drinking. Rabbit Hole he said, "We got to represent!"

From that moment on, I had a dinner companion who was overjoyed to talk to someone who knows about the Kentucky whiskey business. When I said, the marketing for Rabbit Hole is genius, Cameron threw his hand up and pointed at the man farthest from me. Justin is our marketing!

Justin said well, to be honest I've only been there for 3 years and Cameron replied, "He's being too modest. We've only been open for 4 years. I asked Cameron, are you a distiller? I was when I first started he said. My uncle is the founder and I've got a business degree so now I work the financials. Wow, I replied.

He said, you have to come over and ask for us! We'll give you an insider tour. I waived that off a bit and said, I'll be sure to come back over but your beautiful column still is out where I can see it when I go to the bar on the roof. Sometimes I just stand at the end of the hall by the elevators and admire it. He said, "OMG we never get to talk to anyone like you!"

We had a drink of their Heigold and I didn't have to pretend it was good. I said, "I'd drank their sourced whiskey before but this was the first time I'd had something they'd distilled themselves other than their gin. It tasted more mature than I'd expected and I said I'd likely pick up a bottle now that I'd had it. I will.

Soon, Cameron's girlfriend came in and sat next to Justin. Cameron pretended to be annoyed and she seemed maybe a little suspicious of me. Soon she was sitting next to Cameron and was telling me all his faults. It was bar buddies in the best form. I asked for the whiskey list and suggested I buy us all a drink. I was disappointed by the selection TBH. The owner is a well-known whiskey aficionado and his BBQ joint just a block away has a much bigger selection of whiskey. I noticed an Old Forester Single Barrel Rye on the list and suggested it.

I specified it be served in rocks glasses instead of glencairns and we clinked our glasses when everyone had their drink. It was candy in a glass and far too sweet to be anything I'd recognize as rye whiskey but my bar buddies claimed to like it so no harm done.

When their food came, I settled my check and Cameron again expressed his pleasure at our talk. He renewed his invite to come to the distillery and I walked back out into the night.

When I got back to my car I looked up and saw Akasha Brewing was still open with people sitting at tables outside. The street at this end was quiet and peaceful. I remembered my last visit to Akasha hadn't gone well at all. The server there had refused to give me a taste of a beer. I was shocked. I'd already bought and paid for one beer when I asked for a taste. I said I was trying to decide which of two others I'd take home in a growler.

She said it was their policy not to give out tastes because people sometimes asked for lots of tastes and didn't buy a beer. WTF I had already bought a beer! I was so annoyed I'd decided not to drink at Akasha until they changed their stupid policy. If they were going to treat me like their worst customer, I wasn't going to spend my money there. Still, one more beer would be nice. Then I saw what I wanted.

That's it. A strong Belgian golden ale is what I had there!

#I remember #louisville #friday night

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Ro

Ali: One of your kids is here??? Ro: Oh no! Ro: I double checked everyone was aware of the cancellations and everything Ali: You know what people are like, probably received but didn't actually read/listen to the message, like Ali: I'll quickly get in before ma can be her charming self any harder Ro: Thank you Ali: [allow time for that] Ali: Done Ali: Why'd you have to cancel anyway? Ro: Sadly I have yet to master being able to be in two places at once, especially when one of those places is so ridiculously far away Ro: What's more surprising though is that you've remained at home for long enough shepherd my pupil in and out for me without assumedly cursing Tess Ali: Ugh, I feel that Ali: until we're blessed with time-turners, we'll all have to muddle through Ali: and I've been there enough myself to guess where you are, so I won't pout about any potential adventures you could've been on Ali: everyone is DOA and MIA today, plus if I let her shout at me for long enough she might not ground me forever 🤞 Ro: Indeed Ro: Well, I can't deny that would be very much appreciated as I've been subjected to plenty of pouting already as things stand Ro: You can let her know that I'll be making my grand return soon enough which will at the very least give her another target should she desire one Ali: You can probably ignore him, he's just feeling the ill-effects of a 3-day bender, like Ali: some hydration and vitamin c and he'll be over it Ali: can't say the same of mother but my sins definitely outweigh yours Ali: though the offer is appreciated 💚 Ro: He's very much fine in that regard I'd been assured prior to my arrival and of course did my part to truly make it so by making him a late lunch or early dinner once I got there Ro: Regrettably, that offer was taken very much not in the manner it was intended Ro: The tally of my sins therefore apparently exceed the number of yours, in Drew's eyes at any rate Ali: Sounds like Drew Ali: you spoil him Ali: Caleb's mum made him work today, as he was too sick for school Ro: All I've spoilt is his afternoon seemingly Ro: Yet again, I'm a waste of time Ali: Hey Ali: don't take on his bad mood just 'cos he's mad he didn't get what he wanted Ali: you know it's bullshit Ro: None of his grievances are unfounded Ro: I shouldn't break promises Ro: Even if I did make them for less than ideal reasons Ali: No, but you know Ali: you have those reasons regardless Ro: And he has his own reasons to be upset Ali: Which you're clearly giving a fuck about Ali: so he owes you the same in return, yeah Ro: Of course, but his anger is fuelled by how much he does care, obviously Ro: It's because he likes me so much that he wants to take things further than they are Ali: Partly Ali: but I don't think anyone can say that that's all it is Ali: not to discredit how he feels in any way Ali: if anything, it takes into consideration all aspects Ro: He is the only one who can address that with any degree of clarity but its a conversation we're unlikely to have for a while Ali: I'm sure it won't be anything like that long Ro: That almost sounds as if you are in fact discrediting how he feels but I have no desire to get into a disagreement with you about the one I just had with him Ali: No, I'm saying he's nothing if not persistent Ali: trust me, he'll get over it if he has any sense Ro: It's less about the sense he possesses and more about the degree to which my own has abandoned me Ali: Do you regret the fact you didn't or regret the fact you were considering it? Ro: Both regrets somehow exist side by side and I have no idea how that can be Ro: Or which of the many internal voices vocalising my many mistakes I should begin to listen to Ali: Sounds about right Ali: are you in love with him? Ro: Yes Ali: Yeah Ali: it's Ali: the worst kind of headfuck Ali: amongst many other things Ro: What would you do in my place? Ali: About what Ali: specifically Ro: My next move Ro: He says I won't lose him but I know it's more likely than not Ro: Especially now that Carly has her own caravan to host in Ali: You shouldn't do it if that's the only reason why Ali: doing it because you're fearful of any outcome is just a bad idea Ali: it should always be primarily that you want to Ro: I do want to but I also don't want to Ro: It's complicated Ali: It is Ali: it might stop being complicated Ali: or you might do it before it does Ali: either of those is fine and valid Ro: What if it doesn't and I can't? Ali: You will Ali: if you want to, then you will Ali: I said it was the most important factor but definitely not the only, not even close Ali: it's complex but you know, like most things, stressing upon it will never make it less so Ro: I suppose Ali: It's like all this stuff isn't it Ali: thinking you'll never get your period and then it just happens Ali: we've all got our own pace for all of it Ro: And my pace is several steps behind always Ro: Maybe next time I should just go to the party Ali: Well his is coming up so Ali: you will be at that one Ro: Oh my god, don't remind me I haven't even begun brainstorming gifts yet Ali: 😂 Ali: you do have time Ali: but it might distract you from this worry so have at it Ro: You're so fortunate that Caleb's is ages away Ali: I know Ali: so much of me cannot hack that, I'd actually die Ro: After emerging from Carly's mostly unscathed, you could be forgiven for believing yourself immortal, I'm sure Ali: It was pretty hectic Ali: not sure if I'd say life-threateningly so but keep that between us Ali: could tell ma though Ali: keep her from hysteria Ro: I'll use that as my conversational opener when I come in if you'd like Ali: Subtle, cheers Ali: tell her there were no recreational drugs or pre-maritial relations too, whilst you're at it Ro: Carly would appreciate the lack of, I'm certain Ro: More so than Tess would my attempts at such a clearly crafted lie Ali: Can't win with her, like Ali: don't lead with that though Ali: even if that's a truth Ro: It's the kind of day I'm having Ro: I'll simply wish on everything possible that the losses extend to calories as well Ali: Don't waste the magic Ali: I know you skipped lunch Ro: You know because I told you I was busy running around after Drew Ali: Exactly Ro: Nonetheless, I've spent more time on this bus than anything else Ro: It's a pity I can't transfigure my bike here Ali: it seems like a good idea until it starts chucking it down halfway Ro: True, I'd be unlikely to garner any sympathy or permission for more time off from Tess even if I caught my death Ali: Seriously Ali: if she has to see any of us tomorrow at all, she might actually lose it completely Ali: what with Bea and Fraze being their delightful selves all weekend too Ali: the only ones not on the shit list rn are Tommy and Joe and that's only through absence Ro: Precisely Ro: Much like how the idea of finding birthday gifts for Drew is favorable after the nightmarish pursuit we all have to endure in order to provide something that Bea will undoubtedly dislike and return where possible Ali: 😂 s'why I kick it homemade Ali: good luck finding any takers for my sentimental tat, babe Ali: bless Ro: Alas the memory of my childish homemade cards finding their way to the recycling bin earlier than I feel necessary haunts me still Ro: Did Carly like what you made for her though? Ali: 😞 Ali: Yes, thankfully she's far more receptive and forthcoming with her thanks Ali: and the caravan looks amazing Ali: looked, I HOPE everyone kept out Ro: It would be difficult for her not to be, Bea, of course, is without competition in that regard Ro: I was impressed by the pictures despite being well aware of your artistic eye and resourcefulness in gathering materials Ro: Perhaps you should take and utilise all the magic yourself immediately Ro: Protection spells have been employed and succeeded for less Ali: True Ali: and a good idea to boot Ali: I better do it remotely Ali: aside from me leaving the house for anything but school and work rn being a deathwish, I'm not sure of the state I'd find the residents in, like Ro: Hm, yes arguably that is an even better idea Ali: Obviously, I do not plan to be her prisoner for long Ali: but for a great escape, I need even greater plans on the outside Ro: It would be my pleasure to extend such an offer, dear sister, but my own flight of fancy earlier did little else but backfire so it's best I stay under lock and key until I feel suitably chastised Ro: Either by Tess or myself Ali: Self-flagellation is next to godliness, of course Ali: I'll think of something Ro: I have no doubt that you will Ro: But whilst the subject of faltering has been raised, can I ask you something? Ali: of course Ali: scientia potentia est Ro: I was just wondering if you spent much time with Drew this weekend, that's all Ali: Not a huge amount Ali: but I saw him about, doing his thing Ali: if I saw anything like that I would've kicked his arse and told you Ali: in that exact order Ro: Okay Ro: Well, thank you Ali: Of course Ali: sisterhood before everything Ali: especially boys Ro: My favorite religion and the one to which I've been devoted to for the longest and most faithfully Ali: 💚 Ali: What's your ETA? Ro: 13 and a half minutes Ali: Ooh precise Ali: that'll please the jailer Ali: tell her 15 and you'll be back in the good books when you're arse is up the table without her even having to shout up the stairs Ali: 👍 Ro: I already told her 21 minutes so I have enough time to fix my face somewhere that isn't a very full bus Ro: She doesn't need to know that I've been crying Ali: 😕 Ali: Cold water fixes all Ali: we can talk about it properly after Ali: feels like forever Ro: It's not too late to pray for a summer storm Ro: Though it seems everyone misses me until they get the opportunity to spend time with me, so I might be wise to adjust my prayers accordingly actually Ali: Not everyone Ali: just him Ali: and just because he's mad Ali: we'll tea and talk, promise Ro: As long as you share too Ali: I gotcha Ali: you wanna hear all the fantastical and sordid exploits Ro: Fantastical yes, sordid not so much Ali: 😂 Ali: I'll do my best to spin the yarn into something comfortable and befitting Ali: don't worry Ro: Being guaranteed one less thing to overthink about will forever be appreciated Ali: That's my job Ali: one of Ali: labour of love, really Ro: tá mé i ngrá leat freisin Ali: 💚💚💚 Ali: right, I got a table to set Ali: not gonna know what's hit her Ali: Rock even agreed not to throw any spaghetti up the wall Ali: providing I buy him sweets for a week Ro: I'm in awe of your power whether or not she will be Ali: whether a six-year-old can stick to a deal is another thing Ali: did threaten him with a broken pinkie so 🤞 Ro: I'll likewise threaten him with the type of hex befitting a 6 year old promise breaker if needs be Ali: 💀🐸🐀🕯🥀💀 Ro: Our minds have always worked in similar ways, that's a truth which deserves to be universally acknowledged Ro: But for now, go Ro: There will be plenty of time for talking later

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

Switching Lanes With St. Vincent

By Molly Young

January 22, 2019

Jacket (men’s), $4,900, pants (men’s), $2,300, by Dior / Men shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Rings (throughout) by Cartier

On a cold recent night in Brooklyn, St. Vincent appeared onstage in a Saint Laurent smoking jacket to much clapping and hooting, gave the crowd a deadpan look, and said, “Without being reductive, I'd like to say that we haven't actually done anything yet.” Pause. “So let's do something.”

She launched into a cover of Lou Reed's “Perfect Day”: an arty torch-song version that made you really wonder whom she was thinking about when she sang it. This was the elusive chanteuse version of St. Vincent, at least 80 percent leg, with slicked-back hair and pale, pale skin. She belted, sipped from a tumbler of tequila (“Oh, Christ on a cracker, that's strong”), executed little feints and pounces, flung the mic cord away from herself like a filthy sock, and spat on the stage a bunch of times. Nine parts Judy Garland, one part GG Allin.

If the Garland-Allin combination suggests that St. Vincent is an acquired taste, she's one that has been acquired by a wide range of fans. The crowd in Brooklyn included young women with Haircuts in pastel fur and guys with beards of widely varying intentionality. There was a woman of at least 90 years and a Hasidic guy in a tall hat, which was too bad for whoever sat behind him. There were models, full nuclear families, and even a solitary frat bro. St. Vincent brings people together.

If you chart the career of Annie Clark, which is St. Vincent's civilian name, you will see what start-up founders and venture capitalists call “hockey-stick growth.” That is, a line that moves steadily in a northeast direction until it hits an “inflection point” and shoots steeply upward. It's called hockey-stick growth because…it looks like a hockey stick.

Dress, by Balmain

The toe of the stick starts with Marry Me, Clark's debut solo album, which came out a decade ago and established a few things that would become essential St. Vincent traits: her ability to play a zillion instruments (she's credited on the album with everything from dulcimer to vibraphone), her highbrow streak (Shakespeare citations), her goofy streak (“Marry me!” is an Arrested Development bit), and her oceanic library of musical references (Kate Bush, Steve Reich, uh…D'Angelo!). The blade of the stick is her next four albums, one of them a collaboration with David Byrne, all of them confirming her presence as an enigma of indie pop and a guitar genius. The stick of the stick took a non-musical detour in 2016, when Clark was photographed canoodling with (now ex-) girlfriend Cara Delevingne at Taylor Swift's mansion, followed a few months later by pictures of Clark holding hands with Kristen Stewart. That brought her to the realm of mainstream paparazzi-pictures-in-the-Daily-Mail celebrity. Finally, the top of the stick is Masseduction, the 2017 album she co-produced with Jack Antonoff, which revealed St. Vincent to be not only experimental and beguiling but capable of turning out incorrigible bangers.

Masseduction made the case that Clark could be as much a pop star as someone like Sia or Nicki Minaj—a performer whose idiosyncrasies didn't have to be tamped down for mainstream success but could actually be amplified. The artist Bruce Nauman once said he made work that was like “going up the stairs in the dark and either having an extra stair that you didn't expect or not having one that you thought was going to be there.” The idea applies to Masseduction: Into the familiar form of a pop song Clark introduces surprising missteps, unexpected additions and subtractions. The album reached No. 10 on the Billboard 200. The David Bowie comparisons got louder.

This past fall, she released MassEducation (not quite the same title; note the addition of the letter a), which turned a dozen of the tracks into stripped-down piano songs. Although technically off duty after being on tour for nearly all of 2018, Clark has been performing the reduced songs here and there in small venues with her collaborator, the composer and pianist Thomas Bartlett. Whereas the Masseduction tour involved a lot of latex, neon, choreographed sex-robot dance moves, and LED screens, these recent shows have been comparatively austere. When she performed in Brooklyn, the stage was empty, aside from a piano and a side table. There were blue lights, a little piped-in fog for atmosphere, and that was it. It looked like an early-'90s magazine ad for premium liquor: art-directed, yes, but not to the degree that it Pinterested itself.

Coat, (men’s) $8,475, by Versace / Shoes, by Christian Louboutin / Tights, by Wolford

The performance was similarly informal. Midway through one song, Clark forgot the lyrics and halted. “It takes a different energy to be performing [than] to sit in your sweatpants watching Babylon Berlin,” she said. “Wherever I am, I completely forget the past, and I'm like. ‘This is now.’ And sometimes this means forgetting song lyrics. So, if you will…tell me what the second fucking verse is.”

Clark has only a decade in the public eye behind her, but she's accomplished a good amount of shape-shifting. An openness to the full range of human expression, in fact, is kind of a requirement for being a St. Vincent fan. This is a person who has appeared in the front row at Chanel and also a person who played a gig dressed as a toilet, a person profiled in Vogue and on the cover of Guitar World.

The day before her Brooklyn show, I sat with Clark to find out what it's like to be utterly unstructured, time-wise, after a long stretch of knowing a year in advance that she had to be in, like, Denmark on July 4 and couldn't make plans with friends.

“I've been off tour now for three weeks,” she said. “When I say ‘off,’ I mean I didn't have to travel.”

This doesn't mean she hasn't traveled—she went to L.A. to get in the studio with Sleater-Kinney and also hopped down to Texas, where she grew up—just that she hasn't been contractually obligated to travel. What else did she do on her mini-vacation?

“I had the best weekend last weekend. I woke up and did hot Pilates, and then I got a bunch of new modular synths, and I set 'em up, and I spent ten hours with modular synths. Plugging things in. What happens when I do this? I'm unburdened by a full understanding of what's going on, so I'm very willing to experiment.”

Coat, by Boss

Jacket, and coat, by Boss / Necklace, by Cartier

Like a child?

“Exactly. Did you ever get those electronics kits as a kid for like 20 bucks from RadioShack? Where you connect this wire to that one and a light bulb turns on? It's very much like that.”

There's an element of chaos, she said, that makes synth noodling a neat way to stumble on melodies that she might not have consciously assembled. She played with the synths by herself all day. “I don't stop, necessarily,” she said, reflecting on what the idea of “vacation” means to someone for whom “job” and “things I love to do” happen to overlap more or less exactly. “I just get to do other things that are really fun. I'm in control of my time.” She had plans to see a show at the New Museum, read books, play music and see movies alone, always sitting on the aisle so she could make a quick escape if necessary. But she will probably keep working. St. Vincent doesn't have hobbies.

When it manifests in a person, this synergy between life and work is an almost physically perceptible quality, like having brown eyes or one leg or being beautiful. Like beauty, it's a result of luck, and a quality that can invoke total despair in people who aren't themselves allotted it. This isn't to say that Clark's career is a stroke of unearned fortune but that her skills and character and era and influences have collided into a perfect storm of realized talent. And to have talent and realize that talent and then be beloved by thousands for exactly the thing that is most special about you: Is there anything a person could possibly want more? Is this why Annie Clark glows? Or is it because she's super pale? Or was it because there was a sound coming through the window where we sat that sounded thrillingly familiar?

“Is Amy Sedaris running by?” Clark asked, her spine straightening. A man with a boom mic was visible on the sidewalk outside. Another guy in a baseball cap issued instructions to someone beyond the window. Someone said “Action!” and a figure in vampire makeup and a clown wig streaked across the sidewalk. Someone said “Cut!” and Clark zipped over for a look. It was, in fact, Amy Sedaris, her clown wig bobbing in the 44-degree breeze. The mic operator was gagging with laughter. It seemed like a good omen, this sighting, like the New York City version of Groundhog Day: If an Amy Sedaris streaks across your sight line in vampire makeup, spring will arrive early.

Blazer (men’s) $1,125, by Paul Smith

Another thing Clark does when off tour is absorb all the input that she misses when she's locked into performance mode. On a Monday afternoon, she met artist Lisa Yuskavage at an exhibition of her paintings at the David Zwirner gallery in Chelsea. Yuskavage was part of a mini-boom of figurative painting in the '90s, turning out portraits of Penthouse centerfolds and giant-jugged babes with Rembrandt-esque skill. It made sense that Clark wanted to meet her: Both women make art about the inner lives of female figures, both are sorcerers of technique, both are theatrical but introspective, both have incendiary style. The gallery was a white cube, skylit, with paintings around the perimeter. Yuskavage and Clark wandered through at a pace exclusive to walking tours of cultural spaces, which is to say a few steps every 10 to 15 seconds with pauses between for the proper amount of motionless appreciation.

The paintings were small, all about the size of a human head, and featured a lot of nipples, tufted pudenda, tan lines, majestic asses, and protruding tongues. “I like the idea of possessing something by painting it,” Yuskavage said. “That's the way I understand the world. Like a dog licking something.”

Clark looked at the works with the expression people make when they're meditating. She was wearing elfin boots, black pants, and a shirt with a print that I can only describe as “funky”—“funky” being an adjective that looks good on very few people, St. Vincent being one of them—and sipped from a cup of espresso furnished by a gallery minion. After she finished the drink, there was a moment when she looked blankly at the saucer, unsure what to do with it, and then stuck it in the breast pocket of her funky shirt for the rest of the tour.

A painting called Sweetpuss featured a bubble-butted blonde in beaded panties with nipples so upwardly erect they actually resembled little boners. Yuskavage based the underwear on a pair of real underwear that she'd constructed herself from colored balls and string. “I've got the beaded panties if you ever need 'em,” she said to Clark. “They might fit you. They're tiny.”

Earrings, by Erickson Beamon

“I'm picturing you going to the Garment District,” Clark said.

“There was a lot of going to the Garment District.”

As they completed their lap around the white cube, Clark interjected with questions—what year was this? were you considering getting into film? how long did these sittings take? what does “mise-en-scène” mean?—but mainly listened. And she is a good listener: an inquisitive head tilter, an encouraging nodder, a non-fidgeter, a maker of eye contact. She found analogues between painting and music. When Yuskavage mourned the death of lead white paint (due to its poisonous qualities, although, as the artist pointed out, “It's not that big a deal to not get lead poisoning; just don't eat the paint”), Clark compared it to recording's transition from tape to digital.

“Back in the day, if you wanted to hear something really reverberant”—she clapped; it reverberated—“you'd have to be in a room like this and record it, or make a reverb chamber,” Clark said. “Now we have digital plug-ins where you can say, ‘Oh, I want the acoustic resonance of the Sistine Chapel.’ Great. Somebody's gone and sampled that and created an algorithm that sounds like you're in the Sistine Chapel.”

Lately, she said, she's been way more into devices that betray their imperfections. That are slightly out of tune, or capable of messing up, or less forgiving of human intervention. “Air moving through a room,” Clark said. “That's what's interesting to me.”

They kept pacing. The paintings on the wall evolved. Conversation turned to what happens when you grow as an artist and people respond by flipping out.

“I always find it interesting when someone wants you to go back to ‘when you were good,’ ” Yuskavage said. “This is why we liked you.”

“I can't think of anybody where I go, ‘What's great about that artist is their consistency, ” Clark said. “Anything that stays the same for too long dies. It fails to capture people's imagination.”

Coat (mens), $1,150, by Acne Studios

They were identifying a problem with fans, of course, not with themselves. It was an implicit identification, because performers aren't permitted to critique their audiences, and it was definitely the artistic equivalent of a First World problem—an issue that arises only when you're so resplendent with talent that you not only nail something enough to attract adoration but nail it hard enough to get personally bored and move on—but it was still valid. They were talking about the kind of fan who clings to a specific tree when he or she could be roaming through a whole forest. In St. Vincent's case, a forest of prog-rock thickets and jazzy roots and orchestral brambles and mournful-ballad underlayers, all of it sprouting and molting under a prodigious pop canopy. They were talking about the strange phenomenon of people getting mad at you for surprising them. Even if the surprise is great.

Molly Young is a writer living in New York City. She wrote about Donatella Versace in the April 2018 issue of GQ.

A version of this story originally appeared in the February 2019 issue with the title "Switching Lanes With St. Vincent."

#st vincent #annie clark #gq #interviews #shakespeare citations #christ on a cracker #lmao