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buck-nialled · 4 years

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idk if i’m doing this right but for the Setting + Trope + Sentence Prompt Game

niall: setting - 1, trope - b, sentence - 14 🤍🤍🤍

NOTE: Thanks for the submission! Click HERE to see all prompts and send your own combo to my inbox!

SETTING: after a near-death experience

TROPE: a big damn kiss

SENTENCE: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

BANG - N. Horan Imagine

On the rare occasion when your and Niall’s schedule were concurrently wiped, most days consisted of being attached by the hip at his Los Angeles household. Mornings were spent going out together to catch up with friends or admire the belted trousers that hugged Niall’s ass perfectly on the eighteen-hole course he would drag you out of bed to cheer him on at. Nights were reserved with only each other, in the most intimate positions your bodies could lock themselves into. Whether that be a warm bubble bath you prompted Niall to join you in after concluding another delectable dish he had made or heating each other’s bodies with panting breaths and lazy kisses as you entwined your quaking legs together. Catching up on sleep and attaining a healthy number of hours unconscious was also on the agenda, but never failed to collapse once your and Niall’s calendars became clustered again.

When Niall placed a crisp white envelope in your lap and said nothing, a feeling of apprehension consumed your insides. This would be no regular weekend, you thought to yourself.

You picked up the envelope to inspect the front and back for any writing but came back unsuccessful. “What is this?” You rose a brow in suspicion for what the contents inside could be. Niall’s impatience revealed itself as he sat beside you on the couch and bounced his knee in a furious rhythm, mumbling to “open it.” You giggled, noticing how hard he was trying to keep his lips in a firm line to hide his smile and knew the answer to your question could only be good.

“Hurry, the suspense is killing me.” You wasted no extra time dwindling and ripped the seal to the envelope. You pulled the lip of it open and gasped at the thick rectangles sitting at the bottom. Plane tickets, you think to yourself. After you had retrieved them from the bottom with a racing heart, only one question rattled around your head: what adventure did your boyfriend have planned this time? You skimmed over the flight information on the ticket, but Niall had the answer before your eyes could locate one.

“They’re for Ireland.” You set the tickets on your lap and focused your eyes on his. His hand blindly searched for yours to embrace. The feeling of his calloused thumb trailed on the skin of your hand while he continued his explanation. “Figured it was time for you to finally meet my family and friends back home. We both have the next few weeks off together and I know that’s rare, so I thought there was no better time than now.”

The promise to fly you down to his hometown had been brought up many times in conversation. He just had the opportunity to share dinner with your family months before and had been reminding himself to return the favor. You assured him it would be okay for him to not uphold his end of the bargain temporarily, since escaping your occupations for over a week and at the same time seemed inevitable. But the man was adamant, and now that he had finally been gifted the wish of taking you down to the place he grew up, there was no chance he was letting the possibility pass him by.

Niall does not think there was anything more gratifying than when he made you smile. Your arms locked around his neck tighter than they ever had as you squealed excitedly against the skin of his shoulder. Though the two of you still stood over five thousand miles from Mullingar, a sense of being home coated his insides as he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him. He noted how your hair smelled like home too, and your skin was soft like the childhood blanket still sitting on the bed at his mother’s house. He realized then, bringing his two homes together would be a feeling unlike any other. It was one he couldn’t wait to experience.

------------

Possibly one of the cutest sights was Niall’s smile acting like a beacon as he led you around to all of the famous sites Mullingar had to offer. Granted, half of them consisted of his favorite pubs, but the shimmer of his eyes as he spoke of each one made you giddy inside. When he knocked on his mother’s door with shuffling feet, you prepared to let go of his hand when you imagined all of the embraces he would be engaged in moments following. But you were caught by surprise when you received the first hug out of both of you, from the short blonde woman who could only match Niall’s description of his mother. As you were brought down to her height to return the welcoming hold, the familiar laughter of your boyfriend sounded behind you when his mother mouthed excitedly to him: “this is the girl! she’s so pretty!”

Even more endearing than Maura showing you baby photos of Niall and cooking what Niall informed her was your favorite meal, was your boyfriend performing actions just as charming for you. Being foreign to the country and Niall’s vast knowledge of growing up there only equated to him bundling you up in every jacket and sweater you packed before entering the cold. He would spend nights making you cups of hot cocoa or tea Maura had stocked up in the cabinets and cuddle you on the sofa. A warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, would be sprawled out on your laps as he played you some of his favorite shoes and movies from when he was younger.

When the day to introduce you to his "buds" arrived, you both agreed to meet up with them at a pub near Niall's house later in the evening

The shattering of a beer bottle and crossed, accented shouts were all it took for the night to go downhill. Ireland’s alcohol was phenomenal, Niall informed you a few weeks before your flight, but some people can’t control their emotions when intoxicated. You always heard the expression of drunk words being sober thoughts. But you could process none of what these men around you were spitting, as their voices were too slurred and heavy to be understood. You ducked and tried scuttling around the altercation in hopes of spotting Niall in the crowd. His comforting form remained beside you for the last twenty minutes, introducing you to all of his friends and chatting before all of them dispersed, including Niall. He only promised it would be for a quick trip to the restroom and he would be all yours for the rest of the night. However, the dim lighting and escalating violence nearby proved his sudden absence very poor in timing.

“Niall! Ni!” You shouted, drawing a few heads your way. Everybody in his hometown knew the name. Hell, everybody in Ireland recognized the five-letter, top-charting musician’s title. You were unfazed by the glances spared in your direction and continued your efforts in working your way through the dancing, chattering swarm of people. The shouting only increased in volume, passing the music playing over the bar’s speakers and a football match on the television. You turned your head back around to find you had made little to no progress in escaping the quarrel when the bartender tried separating the two, snapping figures. Pauses began taking place in between their unintelligible threats, and when the worker attempted to interrupt the fight and declare to call the police, a long silence filled the room. You, along with many other patrons of the pub let out breaths of relief and prepared for the night to carry on, tension-free. As you spun around, one of the men now behind you muttered something and you froze in place when you heard the unmistakable click.

The gunshot reverberated through the walls of the vicinity and made your ears ring. Another followed before you had time to turn around. People were trampling over one another to evacuate the building with petrified screams. You, though, ran the opposite direction and toward the restrooms where (you hoped) your boyfriend was located. Booming stomps sounded on the hardwood flooring of the pub during your scramble to the swinging doors in the back, but louder ones drew closer to you. As your palm made contact with the sticky, cold texture of the painted door the feeling of hard metal halted you in your position.

“Not so fast, birdy. I can’t have any witnesses.” His grating voice slurred. On instinct, you removed your hand from the door and rose your other to match its height.

“P-please,” you whispered, tears brimming your eyes. By now, you prayed Niall had exited with the rest of the patrons to safety. “Please don’t.”

“Ah, an American bird! What’re ye doin’ here all alone?” Trembles overcame your body without permission. Hot tears started slithering down your face as you remained focused on the restroom door.

“You’re right,” he speaks again after a few moments of silence. “I don’t need to know,” he laughs boisterously. “Hell,” he hiccups, “you won’t even be able to tell me in a few se—“

“Police!” More stomping echoed around the barren pub. “Sir, drop your weapon and put your hands up. Now!” A man barked. You remained unmoving with shattered breaths. A clatter of the gun never sounded, and you squeezed your eyes impossibly tight once your inevitable demise continued digging into the back of your scalp.

“Sir, I won’t ask you again. Drop the weapon.” Your eyes opened. Now concentrated on the silver bolted plate flush on the door, you studied its reflection. The man turned his head as to scowl at the officers.

“We won’t hesitate to shoot.” Another spoke, readying his weapon.

“Neither will I.” The drunkard replied, never taking his eyes off of the men in uniform. It was then you took the opportunity to whirl your body around and snatch the gun from the man’s hold. His grip was tight on the weapon and only allowed limited maneuvering of the firearm. Losing no more time to fulfill his threat, the man’s finger laid pressure on the trigger. Another gunshot sounded through the building. But you felt this one inside of you, damaging your middle as you clutched your stomach desperate in attempts to claw the bullet out yourself. You lost your footing and stumbled back against the restroom door. Your mouth hung agape when the man lifted it to his head and allowed you the sight of his end. One final BANG resounded, before the officers scattered about the room. One called for more ambulances and medics on the scene into the walkie talkie clipped on his collar.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” You nod, stunned by all you had witnessed and remembered the initial reason for your run away to the back of the bar.

“M-my boyfriend. He’s—bathroom.” You stammer, trying to twist your body in attempts of entering the restroom yourself but elicit a pained wail instead.

“We’ll search this whole building for any others but it seems like you two were the only ones in here. Right now, we’re gonna get you out of here okay?” The feeling of drowsiness overcomes you, the pain in your stomach ceaseless but becoming tolerable once fight or flight takes over. Medics enter the scene and you feel like you are floating when they assist you onto the gurney. Removing your red-stained hands from the wound once instructed by the emergency care team is the last focused sight you recall having. Their overlapping chatter and cool, Ireland air biting at your skin wade you off into the darkness. But through it, you swear you can hear Niall’s voice, soothing your every qualm and ache.

“I’m going to take care of you, okay petal? It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of you. It’ll be okay.”

------------

The bright fluorescence scorched your eyelids and elicited a hoarse moan from your throat. Niall, who sat in a chair beside the white bed and your figure adorned in a baby blue gown added pressure to your laced hands. Watching you be pulled away from his side for emergency surgery and observe your unconscious body the last five hours on a bed, with the fear you would somehow flatline nearly drove the man to insanity. He felt idiotic and a lack of chivalry within him when he sped from the bathroom by the sound of gunshots and assumed you would already be waiting outside for him with open arms. His mother’s visit to see him and wait for a few hours while you slept did little to ease his gnawing teeth against his lip and fingernails, and his restless leg.

“Petal, are you awake?” Niall’s gruff voice and a squeeze of your hand is all the incentive necessary for your eyelids to peel themselves open. Your eyes adjusted to the harsh light, and as you bring your un-held hand upwards to stretch, pain shot straight to your core and made you curl into yourself.

“Oh, no. Don’t do that.” Niall stands from his set and feels the blood rushing down to his legs and feet. He endures the pins and needles as he waddles over to your injured person and brushes the hair away from your face. “Love, you gave me such a scare.”

“I’m sorry—“

“You shouldn’t be apologizing. I was stupid to not find you first before I left to go outside. The officers said you were lookin’ for me and found you by the restrooms…” He says in question, earning a meek nod from you in reply. “Why didn’t ya just book it?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” The feeble squeak followed by a slap of Niall’s palm against his chest. A feeling like no other pained his heart as he stared down at you.

“Love, if anything like that happens again you have my full permission to leave me there. Have you ever seen me play hide ‘n seek? I would’ve made it out of there fine, trust me.” His comment leaves you in a fit of giggles before a vicious hiss passes through your teeth. One of your hands, adorning an IV went to clutch your stomach with your other palm.

“Oh yeah, the doctor told me earlier you should try and keep your laughing to a minimum. Your stitches might pop if you don’t.”

“That won’t be so hard with you as my housemate.” The genuine tone laced in your worlds cued Niall’s lips to quirk down instantly. He brought his face closer to yours, cupping a cheek in one of his hands as he gazed deeply into your eyes with a devious twinkle in his pupils.

“If I could, I would tickle you so hard right now. But you’re injured so I’m going to give you a damn big kiss instead.” His lips were planted on yours seconds after, leaving no room to reply as he fulfilled his promise. Loosely, you clutched his biceps adorning a long-sleeved t-shirt and sighed blissfully into his mouth. The ache of your stitched stomach no longer mattered. Niall’s devoting words and warm lips could numb any bullet that struck you.

#Niall horan #Niall James horan #Niall horan imagine #niall horan oneshot #niall horan blurb #Niall horan imagines #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan angst #niall horan story #nh #njh #niallhoran #nialljameshoran #niall horan x reader #one direction

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gffa · 4 years

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I was talking with @himboskywalker about Tolkien and fandom and fic, because I’m always curious where people’s “area” of the wider Legendarium are at, whether they’re a fan of the Dwarves or the Humans or the Elves or the Valar or what! (As a surprise to absolutely no one, the Elves are where my heart is at, where I very much love the Noldor, but if you give me a choice I’m going to run over to that Sindar-centric fic every time.) Which got us onto the topic of fic recs, where, yes, I’ve done a LOT of Tolkien fic recs but I tend to read something of a wide variety and this is a list specifically aimed at those who are familiar with the wider Tolkien world, but haven’t really read much fic and want to know where to start! Other Recs First: - If you haven’t gotten further into Tolkien’s work (like say beyond the movies), I’ve done something of a primer here, which includes fic recs and brief explanations and links to videos that help explain some things. It’s not as hard as it seems to get involved, honest! - Some other fic recs here, as an addition to the above. - My Tolkien blog (which I haven’t been on in awhile, though, I haven’t let it go in my heart yet) has, I’m not kidding, A LOT of fic recs, I did recs regularly for about three years, so it’s almost as massive as my collection of SW recs. If I Could Only Pick Three To Start You With: ✦ And What Happened After by thearrogantemu - This is the fic that took me from enjoying the Silm characters to diving face-first into really loving them, because it wove such an engaging story about the characters sailing to Aman at the end of LOTR, where various characters you wouldn’t think interacting would be as meaningful as they are, but the fic absolutely sells them on it. Frodo and Feanor having a conversation about language? Sam and Maglor sharing a boat to the West? These things are amazing, as this is a fic about healing and what it means to sail into the Undying Lands. Also, it has a Feanor and Fingolfin reunion that literally put tears in my eyes. ✦ Interrupted Journeys by ellisk - I’m generally not someone who does a lot of rereading of fic just because I have so many new ones to get to, but I’ve read my favorites in this series (parts 3 to 5 are my sweet spot especially) probably four times through now because “Elfling Legolas growing up in Greenwod with a whole cast of characters around him, as the Shadow so very, very slowly creeps towards them” may sound somewhat simple, but the worldbuilding here is off the scale. The weaving in of how much the First Age and various Elven politics influenced Thranduil’s ruling of a Silvan people is a major theme, but it’s also good parents raising that precious Elfling right and he and his cousins+friends getting into all sorts of mischief, so it’s balanced between humor and drama in the exact amounts I want. You can skip the first two fics and jump into the third if you like, which is when Legolas is introduced, but I enjoy the whole thing. ✦ Return to Aman OR Quenta Narquelion by bunn - I can’t pick between these two, they’re both incredible. Return to Aman is basically “Elrond grabs Maglor and drags him to Aman with them” and it breaths such incredible lift into all the characters of Aman, it doesn’t negate the terrible things the Feanorians did, but neither does it negate Elrond’s love for them and his biological family, too. It’s another fic that’s about healing and forgiveness and it made me glow to read it. Quenta Narquelion is basically “Feanor refused the call of Mandos after he died and everything started to snowball from there” and it’s an absolutely heartbreaking look at all our Problematic Fave Feanorians and how they were once good people trying to do the best they could, but bit by bit they slipped into the dark. It’s especially amazing for capturing the complexities of Feanor, as he hovers over his children as a spirit and it really brought me around on his character. The Silmarillion and other First Age Batshit Faves: ✦ The Starlit Sky by Cirth is the fic that really made me get the potential of reading about Maedhros and Maglor raising Elrond and Elros, where it does such a fantastic job of showing that there was genuine affection there, even the midst of all the angst and trauma and pain. You really get why Elrond could never give up on them, after reading this fic. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan - “What if Maeglin never left Nan Elmoth and instead, several decades later, found himself on an errand to Menegroth and developed a relationship with Finduilas instead?” isn’t a fic I expected to capture my heart, but boy did it ever. Beautiful characterization and beautiful writing, it really captured my imagination, but also gave me ALLLLLL the Maeglin feelings, as well as made me pine that this Finduilas couldn’t have been more common in fandom. ✦ naught but the shores and the sea by ncfan is more of Elrond and Maglor, where it’s an AU that has Elrond finding Maglor after the disastrous attempt to recover the Silmarils and I loved it a lot. ✦ The Crane Wife by Trebia is one that takes an underused character from Tolkien (Lalwen, in this case) and breathes this incredible life into her, gives her personality and joy and sorrow and meaning and, look, any fic that can convince me that Thranduil would marry a Noldo and utterly believe it, you know it’s well-written! The Second Age Is Kind of Quiet in Fandom But I Love It Regardless: ✦ The Art of Long-Distance Grandparenting by Kazaera is a lovely and bittersweet (but mostly lighter in tone) fic about the separation of the Sea between family members and does a wonderful job with Idril’s character, as she tries to stay connected to her grandchildren while being so distant from them and unable to see them, unless they choose to come to Aman. There’s joy to be found here and it’s a lovely read. ✦ Relativity by French Pony is a lovely look at the final meeting between Elrond and Elros and strikes the right amount of bittersweetness, where it’s awkward and difficult and heartbreaking, but also feels natural and like this was how it was meant to be. I had many, many Elven Twin feelings during the whole thing. (I like all their fic, they’re worth checking out their other stuff for, too!) ✦ A Thing or Two About Elrond by Crookneck is a series of fics about Elrond and the various relationships he has--with Celebrian, with his children, with Gil-Galad, etc.--and I remember being really charmed by all of them and how much shit Elrond has seen over the course of his life. The Third Age, Lord of the Rings Version: ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy - This one is sort hard to summarize, but it’s basically “Boromir lives, makes a friend, and slowly changes everything about the LOTR plot”, but it’s so much more than that, where the worldbuilding is phenomenal, the pacing is incredible, it made me fall in love with Boromir as a character all over again, it contains probably the best portrayal of Denethor I’ve ever read in fandom, and I really loved the OC and so on. It’s utterly engrossing and honestly I cannot recommend it highly enough, even if you’re not usually into this sort of thing. ✦ The River by Indigo Bunting is a fic where Legolas and Sam get separated from the others for a brief time and I love fics that take two characters who don’t interact much, throw them into an intense situation, and sees what happens. It’s not precisely a light-hearted fic, it’s very intense, but it’ll make you fall in love with the sheer good in both characters and the friendship they develop. It’s brilliantly written and I cannot recommend it enough. ✦ A Bit of Rope by Aiwendiel is a fic where Gandalf doesn’t fall at Moria and it changes everything--not necessarily for the better. The slow, creeping sense of things changing, things going just a little bit worse here and there, until you realize how much darker the Fellowship’s journey could have been, was brilliantly done, and one I thought did justice to the idea, it’s not grimdark, there’s still light and hope here, but it makes you feel like, oh, maybe things happened as they did for a reason, even as hard as that seemed sometimes. Gorgeously plotted and utterly engrossing. The Third Age, Mirkwood Version: ✦ daw the minstrel has an entire series of fics about Legolas growing up in Mirkwood and there’s absolutely a reason why she was one of the most well-known authors in that corner of fandom. Her ability to create new characters (including two brothers for Legolas) was incredible, I cared so much about the family dynamics and got swept up in the drama (which was in a very loving family, but Legolas was definitely a mischief-seeker) and they’re fantastic. If you find yourself in something of a stretch with too many OCs and your attention wavers, you can always skip around, they don’t have to be read in order and a lot of the non-canon characters can be skimmed over, imo. ✦ In a Field of Blood and Stone by ScribeofArda is so much better than what The Hobbit movies gave us of the Battle of Five Armies, it does such beautiful justice to the complicated character of Thranduil and Legolas, not sacrificing the warmth there for how difficult these times are and the war they find themselves in the middle of. This Bard is also really engaging and fun to read--I read pretty much the entire novel’s worth in, like, a day or two because I could not put this one down. ✦ Swordplay and Swimming by cliodna_bright has an incredible meeting where Thranduil comes to visit Rivendell, runs into Elladan and Elrohir, who are young enough that they speak without thinking, and it’s not precisely a humor fic, but I was screaming the entire time because it’s so sharply written and so absolutely delightful, I LOVE IT. ✦ Deep and Crisp and Even by rivlee made me fall in love with how Elves and humans may look very similar, but there’s this sense of otherworldliness to the Elves, as shown through Bard’s eyes when he has a meeting with Thranduil. Beautifully written and just the right amount of atmospheric. The Fourth Age Where Everything Actually Does Mostly Work Out: ✦ Far Horizons by Bodkin is the Fourth Age fic of my heart, where the various Elves that we came to know in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are all in Aman and decide to build their own realm there. Which is difficult because Elven Politics even just amongst themselves, much less clashing with all the established politics of the other Elven realms in Aman! But it’s a light-hearted fic (for the most part) that’s about healing and moving forward, balancing their ties to their history versus that Middle-Earth changed them, and I love it for soothing my soul. (Thranduil sailed, you can’t tell me otherwise!!!)(Bonus moments of Glorfindel being pretty hilarious.) I like all of bodkin’s work, but this one has a special place with me. ✦ Age of Healing by trollmela is one where Maedhros and Legolas have a conversation in Aman and it’s about the bittersweetness of healing and how difficult it is, taking two characters who would never have met in canon and weaving something entirely engaging and poignant out of it. Collections That Span The Ages: ✦ This Taste of Shadow by Mira_Jade - This is a collection of dozens of various shorter stories (or sometimes 10k “ficlets”) that you can largely skip around in if you have specific characters you like or you can just start at the beginning and read through. It contains looks at pretty much everyone, from Maedhros to Galadriel to Thranduil to Elrond to Caranthir to Glorfindel to the Valar, etc. I’ve enjoyed pretty much everything I’ve read in this collection! ✦ Fiondil's Tapestry and Tales from Vairë's Loom by Fiondil are in the same vein and I have really enjoyed everything I’ve read from both of them! I especially remember that there was one chapter that had a scene between Thranduil and Cirdan and thinking, ahhhh, why has no one ever written that before!? as an example of the neat things it does. But also lots about Elrond and Glorfindel and the Valar and so on! This probably doesn’t feel like a super extensive list, but those collection series will give you an excellent spanning of Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Hobbits, etc., not just the same central characters, but giving time to a lot of lesser focused ones as well. Like, I feel I’ve read a fair chunk of Elwing fic, but I couldn’t point you to a specific one in my list of recs, which means I’m pretty sure it was in the collections ones or else she got some good scenes in one of the Aman-based fics, so I swear the above is at least a solid place to start for dipping one’s toe into Tolkien fic. AS ALWAYS, OTHER PEOPLE’S RECS ARE WELCOME, god knows I haven’t read anything in the last two years (and will have missed a lot even before that) and so I always need more recs, too!

#tolkien stuff #the silmarillion #fic recs #tolkien fic recs

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hoseokmylovesworld · 3 years

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Yes, Dear | Sub!Jin

Pairing: Sub!Jin x Dom!Reader

Requested: “Can i request top sub Jin x bottom dom reader?”

Genre: Smut, BTS smut, oneshot.

Length: 5,633k Words

Warnings: Strong language, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, mutual masturbation, BDSM, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, praise kink, choking, sight deprivation, spanking, slapping, cock ring, rope restraints, multiple orgasms, Top simp Sub!Jin, a very hungry Bottom Dom!Reader, sweet assistant Jimin, Smut with a plot.

A/N:

1. I said it was gonna be a while, but I lied. This was the easiest thing in my prompts to write and I have finals to finish so here you go! See y’all in a bit!

2. AH! I’ve never written for Jin before or for a male sub so for this to be the first entry under his name in my masterlist is...interesting to say the least aha. Our poor Jin

3. I hope it’s everytihng you ever wanted request anon. Y’all feel free to comment your thoughts!

You cursed for the nth time today when you opened your desk drawer to see that the folders you had been looking for, for over fifteen minutes weren’t there either. You sighed heavily, plopping into your computer chair and holding the intercom that connected you to your assistant. “Jimin, can you come here please?” You rushed out frustratedly.

He came into your office not thirty seconds later with that same old attentive expression that seemed to be glued to his face. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N?” You groaned. “For the last time, call me Y/N.”

“Yes, Y/N.” He nodded quickly. “What can I do for you?” The black haired boy chirped eagerly.

“Can you find me some more folders? Hanging file, manila, tab folders, I don’t care, just bring me some please? I don’t know how I didn’t notice I ran out-” You made a sweeping motion with your hand and knocked your coffee cup off the desk in front of you and into your lap. Scalding coffee spilled onto your blouse and skirt, burning your chest and seeping into your shoes.

“Fuck!” You yelped, jumping up from your seat to avoid further spillage, making Jimin jump in the process. You close your eyes and attempt to gather yourself. You do what your therapist suggests and count down from ten to get your breathing back in order and your temper in check. You knew this day was going to be shite when you were running late for work. When the barista got your order wrong and had you sipping on disgusting coffee all day. When you stepped into a puddle on your way into the building. When you couldn’t seem to find anything in your office and it’s being proven as you look down at the brown liquid soaking into your cream blouse that today was indeed a shitty day.

“Jimin, find me a new blouse as well.” You grumbled, going to clean up the mess.

He spoke up shyly. “Uh, where should I get-”

“Just get one!” You exploded at him regretting it immediately, but he was scurrying out of the office in search of the folders and blouse before you could apologize.

You finish cleaning to the best of your ability before collapsing once more. You rested your elbows on the desk and massaged the bridge of your nose defeatedly. You didn’t need this, you thought bitterly.

You needed comfort, release, reassurance. Upon making this conclusion, you sat up and pulled out your phone to text your fiance because you decided you need to let off some steam.

“It’s been a day and I need you to take care of me. I want dinner on the table and a foot rub when I get home. Understood?” You pressed send easily, fully expecting your partner to come through with no questions or complaints. And just as you suspected, his reply was prompt.

“Yes, dear. I can’t wait to see you, my beautiful goddess.” You smiled fondly down at your phone. He always knew just how to lift your spirits. You went about the rest of your day feeling slightly better, knowing what was waiting for you when you got home.

On your way out of the office, you spotted Jimin at his desk and paused. “Hey, Jimin. I’m sorry about earlier. Today has not been the best.” You stammered softly.

His eyes widened with understanding and he rushed out sympathetically, “Oh, no, it’s okay. I get it.”

“Okay, good. I mean, thank you. Have a good day.” He wished you the same and then you were all but running to your car to get home to your fiance.

You entered the house and breathed in deeply, closing your eyes at the amazing savory smell filling the room. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of Seokjin rounding the corner into the foyer in his crisp white apron that you loved so much. He wore a baby blue button up and black slacks, looking as handsome as you had ever seen him. He removed his apron and tossed it over the back of the couch before he approached you.

“Hello, dear.” He hummed with an affectionate smile and then cupped your cheek in his hand, bringing your face to his for a chaste, but amorous kiss. You returned it wholeheartedly, just happy to be home and with him again. He pulled away too quickly for your liking and you caught the neckline of his shirt, bringing him back down to you forcefully.

You capture his lips in a more wanton kiss and wrap your arms around his neck. He smiles into the kiss and even hums giddily into your mouth. Your lips moved and molded against each other sensually as Jin finally brought his hands to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You suddenly reached up and tugged on his hair harshly, separating your mouths. You smirked at the gasp that left his perfect lips.

“I missed you, kitten.” You purred, leaning in to place feather light kisses on his neck. He shuddered slightly at the sensation, and at the pet name; the one that let him know what time it was. His attitude turned docile and he was ready to take orders. He purred right back in anticipation, “I missed you too, dear.”

“What did you make me?” You murmured, nosing gently at his jugular and taking in the smell of his intoxicating cologne.

“You’re favorite, of course.” He spoke matter-of-factly. You beamed up at him, pearly whites on full display. “You truly are magnificent.”

“It was nothing, dear.” He insisted.

“Nothing my ass, it smells phenomenal in here. Pick up that apron.” You released your grip on his hair and shoulder and grabbed his hand, leading him to the kitchen. You were stopped short because once you entered the dining room, you saw a full romantic spread at the large table.

The chair at the end of the table and the chair to it’s right each had a steaming plate of chicken parmesan over spaghetti with meat sauce and a glass of red wine set out for it. He laid out the good napkins and silverware as well as a vase of flowers and lit candles to set the mood. You looked back at him with a raised, impressed eyebrow and a grin to match. You knew he would come through, but you were just expecting dinner.

“Someone’s trying to earn some brownie points, huh?” You allbut swooned, rubbing his chest sensuously.

Jin shook his head. “I just live to please you, dear.” He rebutted genuinely. You leaned up to give him another slow, lush kiss. “Good. Because I have plans for you.” You promised once you backed away. He hummed agreeably in reply and pulled out your chair before asking permission to put away his apron. “May I be excused to hang this up, dear?”

“Yes, kitten, but hurry back.” You sat down and placed your napkin in your lap, ready to dig in. Jin was back in no time and the two of you talked about your days over the lovely dinner that he cooked for you. “More wine.” You spoke suddenly and Jin knew you weren’t asking so he quickly got on his feet to retrieve it. “Yes, dear.” And with that he was off to the kitchen. After your second glass you were feeling tipsy, but you needed more than that to relieve your stress.

“Come, kitten.” You got up from the table and headed over to the couch in the living room. Jin watched you make yourself comfortable from afar, waiting to be given an order.

“Come rub my feet.” You called to him. He was on the couch in seconds flat, taking your foot carefully in his hands and massaging immediately. You were moaning in no time, tilting your head back to rest on the arm of the chair. “That feels so good, kitten.” You sighed, almost melting into the cushions.

You watched him work and admired how engaged he was with what he was doing. His genuine desire to please you turned you on even more than his cooking skills. “Touch me, kitten.” You spoke suddenly in a deep, jaded voice while making a come hither motion with your fingers in his direction.

He took his massage from your feet to your legs to your thighs and up the sides of your hips, kneading your body deliciously all throughout until he was fully nestled in between your thighs. His hands caressed your torso and travelled further north to give the same treatment to your breasts. He moved slowly and thoughtfully in case he did something you didn’t like or wanted to stop abruptly.

But no objections were heard and so he unbuttoned your replacement blouse and dragged your bra cups down. He tweaked and sucked on your nipples until you were moaning again, letting out some moans of his own to let you know he was enjoying himself just as much. The vibrations made you gasp deliciously. You grabbed his face swiftly and brought it to yours for a fierce kiss before imparting, “Now rub my clit.” against his lips.

He moves fast, as usual, removing your skirt and underwear before getting to work, still playing with your breasts with his free hand. He collected the juices that had been flowing from your opening since you laid eyes on him tonight and marvelled at the sight as if it was the first time he’d seen it.

“You feel how wet you make me, kitten?” You cooed, petting the back of his head.. “Yes, dear.” He panted, pressing three firm fingers to your clit and rubbing in a slow circular motion while making eye contact.

“Aawwww fuck, kitten. You make me feel so good. Always know just the right buttons to push on me, don’t you?” You whimpered proudly, devouring his plump lips once more. “Yes, dear.” He mumbled, loftily against your hungry mouth, rubbing your clit even harder at the praise he was given. You spasmed slightly, bucking your hips up into his hand. “Hngh, now I want you to use your mouth, kitten.”

Jin scooted back towards the other end of the couch, fondling your body lovingly on his way down. He finally came face to face with your core and ran his fingers chillingly down your thighs before he was pressing them down to your chest so that you were on full display for him. “Yeah, eat me like you mean it, everything you did to me, I want you to lick it all up like a good little kitten.” You panted, looking down at him with hungry eyes.

“With pleasure, my dear.” He purred deeply before taking your clit in between his lips and licking the bud of nerves all while making heavy eye contact. You let out a sharp hiss at the brilliant sensation. “Ohahoho, you motherfucker.” You chuckle breathily through clenched teeth, gripping Jin’s scalp again and giving a loving tug. “Looking up at me with those pretty eyes while you eat my pussy.”

Your crood words went straight to his dick and he let a small moan slip out of his mouth. The vibrations sent a shock of pleasure through you and forced you to hold his head as close to your sopping cunt as possible and rut against his mouth.

He was fully lapping at your juices now, mouth wide open for his tongue to stroke you clit sloppily and making a mess, just the way you liked it. His mouth and your lips glistened with your essence, you could literally feel it dripping down your asshole and onto the couch. “God, I love that fucking mouth!” You squeaked. “Eating that pussy like you fucking love it. Do you love it, kitten?”

He nodded immediately, getting his nose involved in the fun and hummed noisily against your clit in agreement. But you needed to hear it. “Tell me you love it.” You ordered sternly. “I leurve uet.” He professed sincerely into your pussy, staying focused on his task of making you cum. Lucky for both of you, you were almost there.

“Ugh, hhh-yes, kitten. Put your fingers in me, now.” You barked out another order, which Jin was happy to take and had no trouble shoving two fingers into your perfectly soaked cunt, curling them and railing them into you at the perfect speed to get you off.

“Hungh, fuck! Make me cum, kitten, come on!” You chanted up to the ceiling with your eyes clenched shut, focusing on that extraordinary release. He grunted desperately into your cunt, sending you into your first orgasm of the night.

You let out a silent cry as your body quaked with the pleasure only your fiance’s mouth could deliver. You rode out your high in a moaning, shaking mess beneath him, grinding your core into his face and on his fingers as you came down.

You gently grasp his cheeks and lift his head up to look at you. He admired your breathtakingly fucked out expression and smiled lovingly as you brought his face closer to yours for a sloppy, languid kiss. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips as your tongues swirled and explored each other's mouths and your lips smacked together lazily.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. My good little kitten.” You praised catching your breath, patting his wild hair down on the crown of his head. “Thank you, my goddess.” He whispered back, revelling in the adoration.

“Upstairs.” You gave him one final peck before you stood up from the couch. You begin your course to the staircase, when you have a better idea. You turn around to find Jin stopping in his tracks behind you with a slightly bewildered expression.

“On your knees, pet.” You directed sweetly. Jin got to the floor compliantly and assumed the position, looking up at you for further instruction. “Lead the way.” You gestured to the stairs and got out of his way, watching him walk casually up the stairs like a small child. You even got a great view of his ass from here, you thought pleasantly.

He entered your shared bedroom and stopped several feet in front of the bed. “You’re so good at waiting for direction, pet.” You commended him from behind, getting rid of the remainder of your offensive clothing. “Thank you, dear.” You drifted over to your nightstand to retrieve a sleep mask and covered his eyes with it. He swallowed thickly, wondering what you had planned for him now.

You crouched next to him and without a word, you delivered a hard smack to his clothed bottom. He jumped in surprise, but he didn’t make a sound. “And you’ve got such a great ass, too. I really lucked up didn’t I?” You chuckled quietly. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, dear.” He recited easily. “Good kitten.” You waited a long silent moment before gifting him another loud smack. “Thank you, dear.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, my goddess.” He vowed faithfully.

“And who else?” You drawled, groping his ass to your heart's content, because it was yours and no one could take it from you.

“Only you, my sweet goddess.” Another devoted promise fell from his lips bringing a smile to your face.

Your hand travels from his butt up his spine to his neck and into his hair. You give a lenient tug to the black strands before pressing your lips to his ear. “Do you love me, kitten?” You whispered melodiously, causing Jin to shiver. “With all my heart, my goddess.” You kiss the shell of his ear softly at the admission.

Your voice takes on a more weighted, lustful tone. “Are you hard for me?”

“I’m so hard for you, dear.” He answered, his breathing beginning to pick up now. “Oh, really? Let me see.” You reached over his side and found his crotch. He hissed when you ran your hands along the outline of his dick through his slacks and he was not lying. The feeling of it in your hand alone made you clench your thighs together to savor the throbbing between them. “I can’t wait to have this amazing dick inside of me.” You were fully groping him now, rubbing him through his pants and making his heart race faster.

“What do you wanna do to me, kitten?”

“I wanna make you cum, dear.” He moaned out roughly.

“That’s my good, boy. Now strip for me.” You waltzed over to the bed and made yourself comfortable to watch the show, spreading your legs and letting your hands drift to your clit to fully enjoy it.

He stood up in the same place, eyes still covered. He undid the buttons of his shirt slowly, unveiling a new section of creamy skin as he went and making your mouth water. You pressed down firmly on your clit that was still wet from previous activities and began moving your fingers in slow circular motions when Jin shrugged the button up off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He was entirely too sexy without even trying.

You got to watch his newly exposed muscles flex as he undid his belt and tossed that as well.

He unbuttoned the slacks and unzipped them in one motion and then stepped out of them, his full package on display with his boxer briefs not leaving much the imagination. You subconsciously rubbed at your clit faster, the lewd sound of your wetness becoming known to Jin.

“Take the underwear off.” You commanded a little harsher than you planned for. “Yes, dear.”

He quickly did as you requested so that you could now see his large cock standing at attention, his nearly purple cock head curving up to touch his stomach. “Walk forward.” You instructed, aware that he had no sight, but that he trusted you.

He walked in a straight line headed directly for you and once he was precisely in front of you, almost touching your knees that hung off the bed, you told him to stop. Your next order surprised Jin, but boy was he glad to hear it. “Touch yourself.”

“Yes, dear.” His hand jerked up to stroke his dick that was so close and beautiful that you were tempted to put it in your mouth, but you stopped yourself. You kept your eyes on his breathtaking body and watched him work himself over with his skillful hand, rubbing your clit rampantly at the sight. “I want you to cum for me, kitten. Can you do that for me?” You coaxed breathlessly.

He swiped at the head of his cock, collecting the precum before sliding his hand up and down the shaft again and faster this time. “Yesss, dear.” He breathed heavily. “You make me so fucking horny, I’m getting off at the sight of you stroking your cock.” He moaned at the thought, imagining it behind his eyelids.

You stopped rubbing your clit to insert two fingers into your sodden cunt and begin moving them in and out quickly, the sound of the two of you pleasuring yourselves filling the room. “You hear that, kitten?” Referring to the squelching noises produced by your actions.

“That’s what you do to me, mmm fuck, you’ve got me drenched and dripping onto the fucking bed.” You bit your lip, getting carried away with pleasure. “Ooooh, dear.” Your fiance moaned for you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he worked up a fine sweat on his brow.

You could feel your orgasm approaching as your arm gave up supporting you on the bed and you leaned back on your elbow. “Faster, kitten. I wanna, ungh, I wanna cum with you.” You gasped, giving up on holding yourself up entirely to play with your breasts and giving yourself over to absolute pleasure.

“Haah, y-yes, dear.” He stroked his cock even faster in hopes to catch up with you because lord knows what happens if he doesn’t. “Cum on me, kitten. Unnf-ha, I want you to milk that dick all over my pussy, I need it, pleaaassse.” You cried out, your back arching up to the heavens as you released all over your fingers blissfully.

“A-aahhh, aw, fuck!” Jin growled as he climaxed. You removed your fingers from yourself just in time because he did exactly as you asked and came long and hard, emptying his hot seed all over your already impossibly soaked cunt.

You shot up at the feeling of warm cum being sprinkled all over your nether region and couldn’t help, but giggle. “Take off the blindfold, kitten.” he did so as he caught his breath and finally got to take you in, somehow getting turned on again from looking over your fucked out form with his cum covering you. You looked him in the eyes as you gathered the cum on your lips and clit and inserted it into your pussy just to add to the fun. You liked things nice and sloppy, what could you say?

He watched you in awe, the visuals had his dick stirring to life one more. You raised your hand and curled your finger at him, signaling for him to come closer, although all he had to do was shuffle a few inches and bend down to be that much closer to you. You gripped his prominent jaw in your hand and laid a wet, potent kiss on his waiting lips, in which he gave one hundred percent.

“I knew you had spectacular aim, but I must say, this is a new feat, kitten.” You whispered proudly into his luscious mouth and he giggled into yours in response. “Thank you, dear.” He kissed along your cheeks and neck passionately. “But I believe you said a bad word, kitten.” Your suddenly stony tone caused him to freeze completely in his tracks.

“Didn’t you?” You demanded, wanting to hear it from him. “Yes, dear.” He whispered regretfully into your ear.

“And what is our rule on that, kitten?”

“The submissive must not utter any profanities during play time.” He recited from memory. You gripped his chin again and moved him back far enough to look you in the eyes. “So why did you just say it in my face?” You asked not letting go of him, feeling genuinely disrespected.

“You just made me feel so good, dear. When I ca-climaxed I only thought about making you feel good and I just couldn’t help myself, I’m so sorry, dear.” He stammered. You studied his face closely and found that your love was being earnest. “Thank you for your apology, kitten, I forgive you.” You pecked his lips and he smiled into the kiss. “But you need to be punished so we can make sure this kind of thing never happens again.” His smile falls, but it is replaced with a face of understanding. He nods in your hand and whispers, “Yes, dear.”

“Now, get your fine ass on this bed. On your back.” You barked and he moved quickly to position himself so as not to piss you off even further. You, on the other hand, moved back over to the night stand to retrieve the punishment. Jin’s face was only slightly concerned when you crawled on top of him and showed him the cock ring and lube.

“You’re going to wear this, I’m going to tie you to bed, and you’re going to let me use your dick to cum for as long as I want. Understood?” You deadpanned. He nodded instantly, eager to please you and get into your good graces again. “What was that?” You leaned in close with an ominous expression. “Y-yes, dear.” He stuttered out, nervously. “Don’t push your luck kitten.” You warned him.

He looked up at you with truly apologetic, wide eyes. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, dear.”

“It had better not...If it’s too much, you know the safe word.” You admonished and tossed him the items before going to tie his legs to the bed. He took his bottom lip in between his teeth and focused on fitting his dick and balls through the tight silicone ring. He laid back and spread his arms out wide so they were at your mercy and ready to be restrained. “That’s a good boy, kitten.” You praised, caressing his arms as you wrapped the rope around them snuggly and attached it to the bed.

You climbed on top of him again, taking his semi-hard dick and running it up and down your incredibly slick folds causing Jin to toss his head back into the pillows and sigh. “Gotta get you nice and hard again so we can have some fun, kitten.” You press his cock to your heat and begin grinding back and forth on it, covering it with your combined juices. You feel him start to harden beneath you already and you couldn’t wait any longer so you sat up on your knees and impaled yourself on his cock.

He grunted loudly when you sank down on his length, attempting to hold his head up to see how he disappeared inside you inch by inch. You shuddered out a moan when your pelvis fully met his, you could feel your combined juices dripping down to coat his cock even further.

“Mmmh, my God, that dick is perfect, kitten. And it’s all mine.” You gasped as your hips moved up and down on his cock. “All yours, my goddess.” He keened in agreement, his arms flexing against the pull of the ropes and his tight stomach muscles tensing deliciously beneath you.

You lean forward to rest your hands on his chest while you bounce up and down at a new delectable pace, your ass slapping down on him to create loud, wet, vulgar noises in the large bedroom. He nudges that spot against your walls that had you seeing stars and your jaw drops, but no sound is released, just hot air wafting down to sweep across Jin’s face and vice versa. He looked up at you like you hung the moon in the sky and his dick in that delicious pussy of course. In his eyes you were perfect and he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Of course he had you near climax within three minutes of being inside you, that’s why you saved the best for last and had no intention of stopping any time soon. “Talk to me, kitten.” You spoke breathlessly, your hand reaching up to grip his throat in the perfect way that made his dick twitch inside of you, but still allowed him to speak.

“I love you, dear.” He blurted as if it was the only thing on his mind and had been dying to let it out. “I love everything about you-nnhg! How good you are to me, how sexy you are,” You stared deeply into his loving, fucked out eyes as you rode him like a woman possessed, chasing your high that was so close. “Tell me you want my cum.” You ordered through clenched teeth. “I want your cum, goddess, I want all of it gushing out for me.” He returned genuinely causing you to clench around him.

He continued, revelling in how you constricted him inside of you as you neared your climax. “I love how tight you are, the face you make when you orgasm around me, ugh-sss, how you take my cock so well, your flawless ass, I wanna touch you so bad-gnghnaaaaa!” He quivered as you suddenly came, silently creaming all over his cock. You spasmed and rode your high all the way to the end with your eyes rolling into the back of your head while Jin marvelled at you from below.

“Haahh, fuck.” You exhaled deeply before gathering yourself. When you finally managed to sit up again your hand came down to deliver a hard slap to Jin’s cheek, his surprised face turning to the side from the force. “Kitten, what is it with you and these curse words today?” You prompted, releasing Jin’s still hard dick from you and travelling to the dresser opposite the bed.

Jin sucked his teeth and clenched his eyes shut with regret. “I’m sorry, dear-”

“Yeah I'm sure.” You mocked, opening the drawer and pulling out a pair of lace panties. You climbed onto Jin once again, taking him inside of you wordlessly. The obscenely wet sound of his cum coated dick re-entering you made the both of you incredibly horny. “Do I need to gag you? So you can shut up and take this pussy?” You offered with a strong grind of your hips on his. “Ahh, yes, dear. I deserve it.” He panted.

You stuffed the panties into his mouth roughly and you could have swore you felt his dick twitch inside of you at the action. “Such a naughty boy.” You teased, rocking back and forth with his cock nestled so deep inside of you. He mumbled something through the gag and you just laughed maniacally.

“Ahaha, that’s right, kitten. Shut up and take this pussy.” You growled, bouncing up and down on his amazing cock. “Unnnffuck, I want you to split me wide open on that dick, kitten.” Jin just nods enthusiastically, his chest rising and falling frantically. “Is that what you want, kitten? You want me to keep fucking this cock til I cum all over you, again?” You whined, never taking your eyes off of him. He moaned loudly and nodded quickly.

“Mmmm, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum for you so hard, kitten!” You cried as you felt the familiar flame in the pit of your belly ready to explode. In the next second, you were shouting expletives and convulsing vigorously as your orgasm crashed through you. “Homygod, homygod, homygod,” You chanted, grinding your pussy down onto your finance’s public bone mercilessly. You bent down to grip his face and remove the gag before kissing him senseless. “You fuck me so good, kitten.” You mumbled into his perfect mouth earnestly before gripping his throat with a growl. “Now, make me cum again.”

For the next twenty minutes, you continued to ride Jin non-stop, cumming around him, kissing him, slapping him or twisting his nipples when he got out of line, choking him occasionally and watching his eyes get a shade darker each time. He enjoyed this just as much as you did and you both enjoyed the slick and sloppy noise of his cock being repeatedly stuffed inside you. The white, runny substance coated both of your genitals and thighs, sticking to your sweaty bodies and even creating a sizable stain below you.

You looked down at your pet to witness a tear fall out of the corner of his eye, but his expression was still full of lust for you. “Oh, kitten.” You sucked your teeth and cooed at him. “Do you wanna cum?” You spoke breathily, never wavering on his cock. “Yes please, dear.” He nodded desperately at the offer and tugged on the restraints instinctively.

“Okay, kitten. I’ll make you feel good, but only because you made me cum so many times tonight.” You squeeze him with your walls one last time making him wince before you were separating yourself from him. You walked on wobbly legs to where his wrists were attached to the bed and undid the binds and each side. Your face scrunched up in annoyance at the sight of all your hard work being worked off as Jin removed the cock ring and just placed it on the already ruined sheets.

He looked at you expectantly with hopeful eyes as you walked around the bed and climbed up directly in front of him. You took hold of his angry looking cock gently, not wanting him to bust just yet, and took the slick from your wrecked pussy and coated his length with it once more.

“Much better.” You whispered before placing your mouth on his cock and stroking generously. Jin’s body tensed strongly as he let out a wicked groan. The feeling of being free from the cock ring and your heavenly mouth had him on the very edge. “Ahh-sss. T-thank you, dear.” He uttered, placing a hand on your head and gently running it through your hair.

“Anything for my pet. I want your cum in my mouth, kitten. Make me choke on it.” You purred, listlessly, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. “Ha-aahhh! Yes, dear!” He yelped, cumming almost instantly, emptying himself feverishly into your throat. “Nnhga! Yes, yes, yes, yes, dearrrrr.” He groaned loudly when you swallowed around him, making sure you got every bit of his seed in your mouth.

You bobbed your head lazily on his cock even after he was spent, body limp on the sheets just about down from his climax. You crawled back in between his strong legs to cover his body with yours and capture his lips in an adamant, love-filled kiss. He returned the kiss lethargically and wrapped his arms around you. “You’re so good to me, baby. I love you.” You pecked his lips one last time.

He opened his eyes wearily at the new pet name in realization. “I love you too, Y/N. I can’t wait to marry you.” He muttered honestly, looking up at you with so much adoration in his eyes. You beamed back at him. “You stop that right now, Mr., or I’m gonna have to suck your dick again.” You threatened playfully. You both laughed heartily and got ready for bed, knowing you were going to be sleeping next to the person who accepts you and will love you no matter what.

#jin smut #btssmut #hoseokmylovesworld #bts jin #bts smut #bts #bts fanfction #jin fanfic

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mrmallard · 3 years

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fuck it AMV time

Spoiler warning for all these AMVs, especially the Evangelion one

Sasameki Koto - A Thousand Years

youtube

Sasameki Koto was one of the last animes I watched, and it was a slam dunk to end on. I adore this show. It's a yuri anime where the blonde girl on the right side of that thumbnail is an out lesbian, and her best friend - the black-haired girl on the left - is madly in love with her but in the closet. It's funny and emotional, and one reason I love it so much is because it's optimistic.

When I first saw this AMV, I legit teared up. The editing is on point, the music choice is phenomenal and it's just a good time all round. I loved the show so much, I went on to read the entire manga - the show only goes for 13 episodes, and I just had to know if they got together in the end or not.

There's a caveat in that there's a cross-dressing character who's treated as comic relief, so

But Sasameki Koto is a 10/10 yuri show otherwise, this AMV makes me cry and I think people should know about it.

Anime Mix - Little Wonders

youtube

I think I found this because I was super into this show called Kimi Ni Todoke - it's about a girl who looks like Sadako from The Ring, but in reality she's really nice and extremely shy. She runs into the popular guy one morning and falls in love with him, and the series is her opening up, making friends and spending more time with the guy. It resonated a lot with me at the time - it's the reason I got into slice of life anime.

That's just one anime in this AMV. There's also Toradora, Clannad and some other shows I don't remember. But man, it's tied together really well with the song.

The story behind this AMV is super awesome too, the guy made it for his fiancee and I think they played it at their wedding. And like it's easy to go "haha fuckin weeb showing this shit at your wedding that shit's fucked up lol" but man fuck you, they loved each other and he did something amazing and nice involving a hobby that they presumably bonded over. This is amazing.

Neon Genesis Evangelion - No Children

youtube

AWW YEAH BABY FUCKIN FRIED CHICKEN FRIED CHICKEN WEDNESDAYS FUCK YEAH FUCKIN FRIED CHICKEN

This is one of the more recent videos in my Great AMVs YouTube playlist. It's edited super well, the footage is super crisp and the colours are so saturated and the lines are sharp as fuck. It's great editing on behalf of the video maker.

This AMV is just a massive Mood, and frankly I think it ends fucking amazingly. BIG SPOILERS, but if you're never gonna watch this show and you like the song, this is a solid AMV.

The Garden of Words - The Scientist

Thumbnail has spoilers, but here's the YouTube link: https://youtu.be/7VyTXJAsFi8

Yeah motherfuckers it's THAT anime

I have The Garden of Words on DVD, I ADORED this movie when I first turned 18. It's about this kid who's a bit of an old soul - his passion in life is shoemaking, he works for his household because his mother has had a lot of personal issues since his dad died, and he feels disconnected and alienated from his peers. So on rainy days, he gets off the train one stop before he's meant to, and he goes to the large park in the middle of Tokyo to sketch.

One day, an unfamiliar woman is there. He thinks he recognises her, but he's not sure. He sits down and begins to sketch, but he keeps looking over at her - and then she gets up to leave, and says a poem to him as she goes. And that kicks off a huge emotional rollercoaster that's just 10/10.

As the movie progresses, they become closer and closer. To the kid, she represents the adult world that he wants to break into. To the woman, he represents an era of growth, prosperity and happiness, which contrasts with the life she has as an adult which fucking sucks. This lady is Depressed. She's been dumped and she's being bullied at work, and her life is decidedly Not Together. Slowly, through their meetings on rainy days, they begin to rely on each other.

And look, there's that apprehension because the guy is a high school student and the woman is in her 20's. I get it - it's sketchy. All I can say is that it's a fantastic movie with a short runtime (45 minutes) with some of the best animation ever, the music fucks and the story is phenomenal and it MAKES ME WANT TO CRY

So what do you do with that?

You condense it to a four minute runtime, and play The Scientist by Coldplay over it.

Fucking phenomenal AMV. It got restricted in Australia due to copyright claims once so I downloaded it to my computer. I did the same thing with the Sasameki Koto AMV. I would do it again.

#sasameki koto #kimi ni todoke #evangelion #the garden of words #rob thomas #the mountain goats #coldplay #christina perri #Youtube

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tsaritsa · 5 years

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i know that god is not supposed to save today

written for the @womenmadefullmetal zine! i wrote a fun little ditty on mrs bradley :^) please check out all the art and writing ppl did - there’s some truly phenomenal stuff!

On the eve of the Promised Day, an unbeknownst but suspicious Louisa Bradley considers the state of the nation and her household.

It is a cool spring evening when Louisa considers the state of her household.

A lesser woman might come to the conclusion that her husband is being unfaithful, with the way in which he buries himself in his work. It is not a new concept for Louisa – there have been many an insinuation that her husband’s dedication to his country is not as it seems: that it is a smokescreen, that he is not the man she married all those years ago –

All lies, the whole sorry lot of them. It is one thing to be envious of the position she holds – wife to the Führer, with every whim catered for before she need even ask: it is another entirely to suggest that Louisa Bradley does not know her husband, and all the secrets he keeps close to his chest.

She is a wife. Wives know these sorts of things – and her husband is but a man, after all.

Selim’s report card had been the usual drivel: it was frustrating that none of his teachers could look past his name, look past the bodyguard that patiently waited outside his classroom. He was a clever boy, but he needed to be pushed. Memorising his multiplication was all well and good but her son was capable of far more than his teachers gave him credit for. She had made an appointment with the headmaster, but Louisa did not see that meeting going anywhere productive.

Truthfully, Louisa could not have anticipated this kind of life, could not have anticipated her ambivalence to the whispers that followed her like a second shadow. The women she brushed shoulders with in high society would probably faint at the suggestions that were as constant as the threat reports that her security detail dealt with every morning.

She checks the clock above the fireplace. Her husband would be returning any moment from his final meeting of the day. More often than not now he would come home in a foul mood that radiated off him in waves. He tried to minimise what she saw, but Louisa knew her husband, knew the signs. He could merely brush it off as an excuse to indulge in their shared love for tea, to add to their ever-increasing collection of tea sets, but she was growing tired of all the broken crockery she kept finding strewn all over the mansion.

The tension that simmered in their household, that lingering rumble that had become comforting in its consistency rather than unnerving, was growing. She is no fool. The sudden introduction of King’s new attaché – Lieutenant Hawkeye, was it? – and the ever-growing war in the South had brought an element of uncertainty to her life that Louisa did not appreciate. Though she always dismissed the superstitions her friends employed to tell their fates – tarot, tea leaves, and other sorts of divination – it was difficult to ignore the warning signs making themselves known.

King had done a relatively good job of brushing over the state of the nation, much like she did when it came to the affairs of their household, but there was no denying that change was sweeping through the country over the last few months, building towards… well, something. Slum camps were on the move once more, and the unrest at their borders grew only increasingly dire with each passing day. The last time she had seen the country like this was just before the little indiscretion in Ishval became the civil war in Ishval: and Louisa would be damned before she would go through the pain of being made bereft of her husband once more, regardless of how small the rebellion could turn out to be.

He’s gotten sloppy, she thinks as she hears his footsteps near. Stress weighs him down – makes his usually quick and noiseless gait gain a distinctive cadence that rumbles on the hardwood. She turns to face the archway, and sees him there, back ramrod straight and entirely too tense for her liking.

“Wife,” he greets her, and this, this is what she will fight tooth and nail to protect. He is hers just as much as she belongs to him – and she knows every inch of his skin, knows the intimate ways in which his muscles work over one another. He has spent his entire life preparing to protect his country and Louisa will not deny herself the benefits of such dedication. She beckons him over to where she sits on the loveseat in front of the dying hearth. The diamond halo on her ring finger refracts the warm light against his face in a thousand bright fractals as he brushes a reverent kiss against her knuckles, before he joins her, hands balled tightly into fists.

“Selim is in bed now,” she tells him after a moment, savouring the crisp smell of his cologne mixed with the soap the maids use to clean his uniforms. “He’s had a rough week.”

“At school? I thought we had sorted that problem out.” The line of tension in his back softens, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as he adjusts his position next to her, slightly less taut than before. Progress, Louisa tells herself.

“I’m speaking with the headmaster this week,” she promises. “I get the impression he’s been sneaking a few late nights, however. You will speak to him, won’t you? I can’t always be the bad cop.”

King nods, reclining fully against the loveseat. “I have to go to the Eastern district next week to oversee the training exercises between the Briggs troops and Eastern divisions. Perhaps a change of scenery will do the boy some good.”

Louisa is no fool. She knows what her husband is telling her – the truth that is hidden neatly in between his words. She is not allowed to protest. She has a part to play here, just as much as they do.

A wife knows these sorts of things, after all – and her husband is but a man.

(Sometimes Louisa wonders if she is the only person who remains cognisant of the fact).

#mrs bradley #wrath #fullmetal alchemist #fma fanfiction #my fanfic #mrs bradley is one of those intensely interesting ppl who i love playing around with #what motivates a woman to love like that?#is it carnal or feral or both or more?

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commanders-sole-braincell · 5 years

Text

Dawn

Playing with an idea I had of "Commander picks a successor"

No beta read, no spell check, we write on mobile and die like pocket raptors.

Slight warning for violence/gore/owies in a bit of detail, big spoilers for Path of Fire, and my allergy to full stops and short sentences

The sky in Elona was different. Sure, all skies were the same in truth, speckled with ways to navigate the land through the cosmos despite the distance between the two, but Elona's sky was different. The day was blinding and and unrelenting, pale blue seemingly as drained of colour as Kasmeer felt under the harsh desert sun, but the blanket of night highlighted the way the blues that hid from the sky played across the vision before her, far more mischievous than back in Kryta. The night air brought a cool breeze that ruffled her sleaves and trickles of laughter from the cityscape below her balcony. The rooms, penthouse in nature and sprawling, had been a small gift from the Council, a respite from dealing with the rouge warmonger once called a deity. The barrier on her balcony felt cold against her tightening grip.

"Kas, got a min?" She jerked and spun around, off balance and bouncing her hip slightly off the balcony as she went, causing the sylvari leaning in from practically on the other side of the room to wince "... Or is now a bad time?" Taihneford questioned, nose scrunching up on one side in worry.

"Commander! No, no it's fine! Just surprised me is all!" Kasmeer rushed out, showing her hands in mock surrender, before gesturing to an empty space on the balcony and resuming watching the city breath life into itself. The tell-tale plod of the sylvari, sporting a small limp no matter how hard he tried to hide it, coming up beside her and resting against the balcony with a heavy sigh. She closed the distance between them by resting her head against his shoulder, smiling a little as she felt him shift to rest his cheek on the top of her head slightly.

Silence enveloped them for a few minutes, lost in the soft noises of life and the lulling waves of being.

"Where's Jory?" The black and white sylvari lifted his head slightly, gazing lazily across the room, if she closed her eyes she could imagine the familiar sight of his pointed ears twitching as if to catch the sound of their little family moving about.

"With Canach, something about spending his winnings for him"

"Oh Pale Mother, I'm not dealing with that tomorrow"

"Me, neither"

She'd once asked Canach what the sylvari bond was like, and he'd described it as 'when you simply feel another's mood, like any race can, but far stronger, almost like you get a glimpse into their very being'. Another sylvari shed heard describe it as feeling a splash of colour from someone that was distinct to them. Another yet, like fireworks. She imagined it felt like what she felt as Taihneford slipped back, sighing as the Commander stepped forth in his place. The warmth seeming to slip out of his body as his spine straightened and the walls came down. Soft, fuzzy blues that splattered and fizzled erratically giving way to a wave of deep blue. He gently placed his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow and she followed his request.

The rented room's luxurious decor clashed with the interrogation Kasmeer felt like she was about to receive. The wide desk between them felt like the authority the years she had on him should arugably give her, but framed by the swirled sky, moonlight and room light casting harsh shadows across his features, her friend looked more like an eldritch warning than the goofball she'd had to guide around his first noble party

He shifted to settle on his elbows, hands pressed together infront of his face, leaning over the desk with twin glow pulsing and dual eyes staring straight through her.

"Kasmeer, you're a very dear friend to me" Oh by the Six, she's getting kicked out of the guild

"and I'd liked to of discussed this with Marjory too before confronting you" No, no this can't be happening, what's happening, is she really getting kicked out, oh the hiccups are coming!

"So I'd like you to take up the name of Commander after I pass" What.

"What?"

Taihneford shifted in his chair, no longer looking like a vicious Commander, more like an awkward teenager attempting conversation with their crush, dropping his eyes to the desk and blush flaring wildly "I mean, just if you want it, I think you'd be great for the role, and I know you don't have alot of confidence in yourself but we all think you're amazing and you're so kind and nice and-"

"No, I mean... What?" Eloquent Kas, real eloquent.

He seemed to understand her question though, "Well, the title of 'Commander' is more a symbol or figurehead to be perfectly honest, and dealing with Balthazar highlighted how... Unprepared I am for someone to be the Commander. I mean you've seen what happened after Trahearne died" His words caught in his throat a little, and Kasmeer lifted her hand to place on top of his on instinct, pausing when he pushed through it "If something happens to me, I want to have a say in who takes on this role next. And I think you'd be the best candidate."

Kasmeer opened her mouth to voice her objections, swirling insecurities surging to the surface, but Taihneford wasn't finished.

"You're the most kind hearted, loyal, and sympathetic person I think I've ever met Kasmeer, you stand up for others, but you also aren't afraid to explore every option, see every angle, before making a decision. You're a phenomenal mesmer and we'd all be lost without you, but above all you're a phenomenal person. The world doesn't need another idiot with a hammer who throws themselves at every problem screaming bloody murder. They need someone who'll think things through, who'll fight for what's right; most of all they need someone who's kind at the root of it all. I know it's scary, but you're strong enough to do this, I know you are"

Slightly numb from the speech, Kasmeer only barely registered Taihneford taking her hands in his larger one's, squeezing slightly, before loosely holding; a physical nod to the fact she could outright reject this offer, strange as it was to propose, she could pull away and say no, and he'd accept her offer. Dully, in the back of her head a voice whispered if he was offering the consent he was never given. Her mouth kept flailing open, mind racing between fantasies of grandeur and heroism she'd say she'd grown out of, parties, audiences with people who could make a difference, children looking at herbe her; and images of the work it would be, the never ending cycle of problems, of the blood, sweat and tears. Of barely being able to get a minute in to see Jory, to check on Taimi, Braham, Rox, even Canach. Of being the one everyone threw their problems at and demanded answers. Of the failures and the injuries, all the times she'd seen Taihneford conceal an injury until he'd nearly collapsed on a medics tent, of how many times she'd seen him up and about, barely held together by the layers of bandages and sheer stubbornness as the medics tutted and fussed.

Of the aftermath of Balthazar's ambush.

Of encountering her friends body amid the ash, bubbling sap everywhere, scotch marks from dueling fires carved into the stone, patches of sand crystalized from the heat. What wasn't charred to a crisp, what was recognisable, laying on his back, staring blankly upwards, near cleaved in two. The ringing in her ears, the smell, the sound of Taimi screaming for them to get there as they stood on the ship, unaware of what was happening.

A soft, squeeze brought her back. Taihneford cocking his head at her slightly, running his thumb over her hand gently. The stiffness to his midsection now a blaring siren, the exhaustion in his eyes framed by dark bags and merging with warm affection, the dulled leaves, the small scars, and slightly dried texture of his hands reminding her of the houseplants she'd seen dying in widows in Divinity's Reach.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Her mind hummed, but she felt her back straighten. Her shoulders mimicking the way she'd seen him slip into the Commander role. It felt like an answer.

"Of course, I just thought you should know is all" He squeezes her hands once more and bites his lip before rising and pulling out her chair for her.

As she exits his room, she has a moment to hear him slide down the closed door, air escaping trembling lungs

She's still awake when Jory gets back, sitting on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, in the dark, staring at the sky. Jory comments on how pink the sky looks now.

tldr: I keep thinking about Kas during that Scarlet fight and I think Kas deserves more tributes to how powerful she is. Also, I'm gay so Anet give Kas all the power???

#Guild wars 2 #Gw2 #kasmeer meade #kasmeer #Pof spoilers #Commander #Taihneford #tw gore???#idk if it counts #look Ma writing #me at myself write a normal sentence OMFG

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thederekmiller-blog · 5 years

Text

(Hollywood) HILLS AND (Yorkshire) DALES

Today marks a year since I arrived in England. I arrived a day after my son Jarvis started his first day at school (I was waiting for my visa - obtained by having an English wife). As I sent him off today for his first day of Year One (*kindergarten), I was of course teary eyed at how much my little guy has grown up - but mostly I was acutely aware of what a HUGE change we made by leaving Hollywood and moving to England.

We had planned to live in London and be close to “the action” but we have settled in a country house near Leeds in Yorkshire (where my wife grew up.) They call it “God’s own Country” and sure…I get it.

I am happy about the move for a bunch of reasons…

Schools! As I saw what Jarvis’ life was going to be like in L.A. with Debbie and I going to parties to be vetted by elite preschools that were going to cost us more than my state university tuition or staying up all night to get in line for enrollment or being concerned when a guy was picked up in front of one of the schools with a car packed with assault rifles - I decided it wasn’t how I wanted his education to start. I won’t go into my experiences being a nanny in L.A. but it was much different than then my mid-west upbringing. Mostly, I got real tired of driving twenty minutes to a safe park. His school here is awesome - it’s free - as are breakfast and lunch. We get photo updates on an app, he goes to school with an eclectic group of kids from Pakistan, Syria, India and economically diverse kids from the council estate. As a bonus, he looks great in an English school uniform.

Kid friendlier in general! I loved Griffith Park and explored a lot of it but it was always rounding up past the creeps and the dog shit. Here we are surrounded by fields and parks (and even pubs) that are great for children. Like for real - some pubs have indoor play-lands and a lot have playgrounds. We are a couple hours from London - but even in Yorkshire there are local family festivals ALL the time and tons of kids museums and railways etc… Yes, we had Travel Town in L.A. - but I had to keep rounding up on that graveyard of sadly eroding engines - here they are oiled, pristine and have freakishly large faces on the front of their boilers.

So on a very base level, I am assured that Jarvis has had a major upgrade in his quality of life - not just in the atmosphere but also by having parents who aren’t stressed every day immersed in a “hustle” mentality. I just heard Danny Mcbride on a podcast talking about how moving his family to Charleston freed him of the pressures of things as small as seeing peers on billboards and having his kids ride bikes on the street. It articulated life outside L.A. really well. So we are more relaxed - and partially because when we go to dinner we aren’t surrounded by people discussing their screenplays.

Happy wife, happy life. Debbie is the happiest I have seen her in our ten years of marriage. She came to L.A. to be with me and follow my endeavors - which was a sacrifice I probably could have checked in more about… but we were close to the beach and weather!. Of course she is happy to be back home and closer to her parents and now she can eat weirdly flavoured (*flavored) crisps that we had no access to in the USA. She has also expressed how happy she is that she isn’t competing with women at parties for attention or status. She doesn’t have to endure “bits” that masked social insecurity. People here have banter and it’s like bits but with less voices and more self deprecation. She also just got a killer job.

So my family is happier and that’s what it’s about really.

That should be the win fullstop (*period) right?

But.... then there’s my personal stuff -

I left a hefty twenty year career in L.A. - some people responded with a disbelieving HOLY SHIT when I said I was going - which I won’t lie was nice to hear. But, I had taken stock of some stuff...

Happiness. I got to be around A LOT of famous people in my time in Hollywood. My access was phenomenal, from working at the Chateau Marmont to being included in ridiculous friend groups and working on shows with plenty of “successful” people. Ever since I moved to town - I was very aware of the success to happiness ratio. I once interviewed a celeb for a DVD special edition who had been in a few films I loved. He was sat in a one bedroom a recliner in the valley recounting his awesome anecdotes underneath movie posters from films he’d starred in. He had no one, his whole life was in this one room and next to him was a jar of his own urine. Extreme example - but it was a cautionary tale I needed of never wanting to be waiting for the phone to ring.

Depreciation. The work changed - as actors we may have lost about 70% of our union work and I definitely lost 70% of my income - and to pretend the bulk of my work wasn’t commercial would be an insult - I logged over 80 spots. I am extremely grateful for the handful of series I got to do and the pilots that never went - but when it gets down to it - Nestle Water bought my condo. When the work dried up a lot of the joy that brought us to this job went with it. Every audition (that there were 70% less of) was met with waiting rooms full of long faces or irritated rants of how terrible things had gotten. I wasn’t even blindsided - I saw the change coming, I got into directing and more into writing and making content - but that was ultimately just more hustle to try and make the same money. So many of us turned to Lyft or Uber. My last ride in LA was with my buddy who once shared top bliing with me on a call sheet for a TV series - it was poetic. It was also really depressing.

 What keeps us in LA? When I posted about leaving, J.D. Walsh said “Wait, we can leave?” And every actor I’ve told that to laughs - HARD. Because we feel like we have a duty to it - I think it’s probably predicated on guilt - like we can’t leave or we have “given up” on ourselves - OR if we are true artists “we could never do anything else” or everyone said it was a “dumb choice” and leaving it would be admitting they were right. I thought about who I was supposed to be appeasing. We have to stay because the only outlet for creatively is in L.A.? I left L.A. ten years ago after yet another breakup for not being “successful enough” (true stories) I left for a year and did cruise ships with Second City and it was one of the most notable years of my career - it was out of L.A. and no one even knew I had been gone. So, I have always been a fan of taking some space and of trusting my instincts of when to move my cheese. Just happens, this time the cheese was a Wensleydale (*local cheese)

I also knew staying in L.A. meant fighting even harder - the battle to keep jobs union is the biggest fight of our careers and I knew that where I was in my life I didn’t have the emotional resources to be on the front lines every day. If I didn’t have that, I didn’t deserve to be reaping the benefits of a union that took great care of my family. I pushed all of my students to stay union strong and had no time for those who went fi-core. I flipped internet jobs I produced and directed but I knew it needed to be bigger. I love the fight that is being fought and have so much respect for the people waving the flag and showing up.

The other reason we stay is because of the “ground we’ve gained.” Which is never enough. I was quick to rifle off my resume to anyone who would listen but I never saw myself as a success. My therapist worked with me for months after I left just to be able to say (without shakiness of the voice or avoiding eye contact) that I was successful. We aren’t allowed to say it out loud - everyone will hate you - or decide that you’ve had enough and don’t need anymore. Most importantly, we have to be able to say it ourselves. So, what’s our barometer for success? - cause I bet some of the people we’d consider tipping the needle are MISERABLE. At the end of the day I was able to do it for years on stage, small and big screens and afford a modest home in the hills. When I stopped being happy - it was time. That was my barometer.

Life is too short. This planet is huge and full of amazing experiences. When we got to England I had no designs on singularly pursuing an acting career. I have been applying for all kinds of work, ALL KINDS and yes my resume is met with a lot of furrowed brows. But, a funny thing happened - since I’ve been here I’ve booked commercials, voice-over and even gotten to audition for a West End musical (if you know me at all - you know that is a dream come true.) I have also been teaching comedy and acting for the camera in London and Dublin. I directed a show that ran for three months. I even taught in Covent Garden - and when I walked out after teaching a seven hour intensive in the heart of the West End - I kinda lost my breath for a second. I thought about the last three years in L.A. and how they were all the same in terms of the Sisyphean rock roll of anxiety and reward - and here I was in the center of London doing something I loved and had no idea I’d get to do more of. Then I took the tube home.

And that’s just work stuff - we have gotten to see so much of the UK. From Brighton to the Edinburgh Fringe Fest and dozens of cities in-between. I’ve gotten to stay after-hours in the Tower of London drinking with Beefeaters, we did the Beatles tour of Liverpool with my Parents and we’ve seen where Dracula, Wuthering Heights and Peter Rabbit were all written. I’ve seen friends at the London Podcast Festival, in West End shows, in comedy shows and film festivals. Been to private soho late-night clubs I used to read about in NME. I’ve flown to Ireland and France for $60 round trip each. Jarvis talks with a cute accent and sees knights fighting each other - way more often than I thought was possible.

Sure, I miss stuff. I was a magnanimous people person in h’wood and the solitude of our country cottage is nice, but can get awfully lonely - especially when anyone you want to talk to won’t be awake until mid-afternoon. That said, I do have some great friends in London and my Scottish neighbour (*neighbor) Gavin is a good laugh and always down for a pint at my corner pub. I miss a lot of foods but can craft a decent facsimile of most things. I flew with four pounds of frozen chorizo and chihuahua cheese when we came back this summer because they have nothing remotely close. And the “Kentucky bourbon” made in France and Germany is… passable.

I have no idea what the hell any of this means - I spent decades trying to relate any headway in this business to peers and students and the one thing I stressed most was - “It’s your own journey no one gets successful like anyone else.” I used to roll my eyes when people went to celebrities for advice and I’d overhear something along the lines of “First, get discovered when your 16…then, sign with CAA” So, the only insight I want to share is in regards to the fact I know a lot of people struggle with when to “cut and run.” Was this the right move? can’t say yet, but I do know we were happier this year than the last three in L.A. and we have A LOT of new experiences (*and phrases) to show for it.

Cheers!

I left out the political stuff - because it’s just the same here now :(

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hazyheel · 5 years

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Smackdown Live 5/21/19 Review

The night actually started backstage, where Shane McMahon and Elias talked about Elias’s match at Money in the Bank. Elias said that he felt like he let Shane down, and offered to be in Shane’s corner at Super Showdown. Shane said no, but that he would be in his corner during the rematch tonight. A new way to open the show, so I felt good.

The actual opening segment was from the New Day, when Xavier Woods and Kofi Kingston announced that Big E was back in action. He came out with a robe on his head, but when they revealed him it wasn’t Big E. They made fun of whoever this was and then yelled at him to leave. The real Big E then showed up, and he gave the entrance voiceover, and he came out to a big pop. They quickly revealed that Big E couldn’t wrestle yet, and he sniffed his teammates. They addressed Brock Lesnar becoming Mr. Beast in the Bank, and Kofi’s title win on Sunday, but only briefly, as Kevin Owens showed up to spoil the fun, alongside Sami Zayn. Zayn complained that he didn’t get a comeback celebration, and Big E crapped on him and Owens. Owens stormed away as Zayn called the New Day disgusting for encouraging the fans’ toxic nature. Woods began to drown Zayn out with a trombone, and Zayn yelled some more.

Grade: C+. Even the phenomenal mic skills of all of these guys, this still did nothing. It was good from an acting standpoint, but it didn’t serve any purpose. No new information, the definition of filler.

Backstage, Carmella searched for R-Truth, who was disguised with a wig and his new belt. Carmella said he had a bad disugise with a cheap wig (Truth was offended because it cost $12), and Truth begged her for her help. She agreed, and they ran. I’m gonna wait and grade all of these segments collectively at the end of the night.

Then we had Ali vs. Andrade, hopefully this one won’t end in a DQ. Before the match, they announced that Andrade would have a shot at Balor’s IC championship at the super showdown. This was a classic high flying match, with Ali delivering a reverse rana within the first few minutes. Andrade really wanted to get the win via countout, but he really destroyed Ali to get that. Andrade really destroyed Ali with double knees to the back of the head, but only a near fall. Ali then rolled up Andrade for the win.

Grade: B-. A stronger B-, because these guys are really good, but it just felt very telegraphed. The spots weren’t very crisp, and this really felt like it’d be a glorified squash match until the rollup. I think this win means that Ali will be added to the match at Super Showdown, and it is looking better with each match that is added. Because that triple threat would be killer.

Backstage, R-Truth was made into a drag queen by Carmella, complete with a bra, which Truth needed help with because he could never really get them open. Not really feeling this so far, but lets see where it goes.

Then we had Mandy Rose vs. Carmella. Truth came out with Carmella and tried to do her entrance, but could not moonwalk. Commentators pointed out how stupid it was for Truth to still wear the belt, and that he was on TV and everyone knew where he was. Sonya Deville kinda got involved, and Carmella beat her ass in the middle of the ring, which caused a distraction for Rose. However, the entire lowcard ran out to attack Truth, and I think the match ended in a DQ? Or maybe Carmella lost by Countout? I dunno, but imma lump this as a 24/7 segment.

Someone (dunno her name) then interviewed Bayley about her two wins on Sunday. She just said that she was gonna be a great champion and wants people to bring their best.

Carmella and Truth tried to hide in the ladies locker room, but Truth refused and they were chased.

Sami Zayn vs. Kofi Kingston was next, but Big E was assaulted backstage. Kingston assumed that it was Zayn, and beat the crap out of him early on in the match. They didn’t do many spots that were totally incredible, but Kingston won with a trouble in paradise.

After the match, Heyman showed up and teased a cash in. Kofi was ready to fight off Lesnar, but then Dolph Ziggler returned to kick his ass. Ziggler wasn’t injured, but he was basically hired as a higher card enhancement guy at this point. Ziggler went for Kingston’s neck, assaulting it with a chair. Kofi pulled a stretcher job, which went on for a real long time, but he was actually able to walk out on his own.

Grade: B. Fine, but nothing really more than that. I am definitely into Kingston vs. Ziggler, especially now. I smell a WWE championship match at super showdown. Definitey into that. I bumped this up a grade because of the post match angle. When commentators talked about it, they used their serious voices. So this was a serious attack.

Roman Reigns was in the parking lot walking into the building, but Elias was on the top of a trailer and he played him a song on the guitar, saying he’d take the big dog on a walk. I-I don’t know why anyone would do that, it wasn’t intimidating. I’m just kinda baffled.

Then we had a women’s Tag Team match, Lacey Evans and Charlotte Flair vs. Becky Lynch and Bayley. Before the match, Lynch commented that she wanted her Smackdown Women’s Championship back, and while she said that she was happy Bayley is holding it, she looked Bayley in the eye and said she was coming for her next. Also, on commentary, Graves said that he was able to throw a football a quarter mile in high school (I dunno why) and Saxton said that he was surprised Graves could even through a football. Philips just muttered “that was clever Saxton” and I laughed. I like when they acknowledge that Saxton gets one over on Graves. Bayley was beat down by the heels, Lynch got the hot tag. Lynch had a disarmer locked in at one point, but Evans nailed her with a women’s right. Bayley was able to tag herself in, throwing Evans out of the ring and then rolling up Flair for another win.

Grade: C. Another kinda lame tag match. Of course the champions would win here, but I am glad that Bayley went over. Aside from the ending stretch, this was unspectacular and just heels working the faces.

In the last 24/7 segment of the night, Truth nearly got beaten by Jinder Mahal, but he kicked out and fought him off. The B-team then ambushed Truth, but they couldn’t decide who would pin him, so he was also able to fight them off and run away with Carmella.

Grade: D+. Yeah, this gimmick really takes a hurtin when all it is chasing people around. Truth was being pretty funny early on, but this was kinda lame because it was all of the low card guys just chasing people. They kinda had something good when a couple guys actually fought Truth, but that was really it. I hope they do more with this, like showing social media videos of title changes.

Backstage, Ziggler was interviewed about attacking Kingston, but he refused to answer in the interview. Instead he stole the mic and went out for a promo. He said that Kingston didn’t deserve the opportunity at Wrestlemania, Ziggler did. He deserved everything that Kofi got, but he hasn’t gotten it. He sounded like he was about to cry the entire time. He issued the challenge for Super Showdown.

Grade: B. This was an odd promo, but Ziggler kinda pulled it off. He delivered the emotion, and was kinda sympathetic the entire time. Not the route I would have gone, but this was good enough to get a B from me.

Then we had Roman Reigns vs. Elias, the rematch. The two started off with a slugfest, with Elias being fine with cutting some corners during this match. Shane was interfering quite a bit during the match, often distracting Reigns to aid Elias. At one point, Shane saved Elias by putting his foot on the rope. Reigns was pissed and drilled Shane with a drive by, but that was when Elias just wrecked Roman by throwing him around ringside, and an elbow drop for a near fall. Shane then placed the guitar in the ring and Elias grabbed it, only to be speared by Reigns for the win.

Shane attacked after the match, and went to use the guitar himself, but ate a superman punch. Roman was then gonna use the guitar, but Drew McIntyre ran in out of nowhere and nailed him with a claymore to stand tall.

Grade: B. I would have been satisfied with this match on a pay per view, so it was a serviceable main event here. That is one last roadblock between Reigns and McMahon. It sucks that McIntyre needs to get his ass beat too, but that’ll probably happen. Match of the night for me, which is kinda impressive considering that Andrade vs. Ali opened the show.

Overall Grade: C+.

Pros: Ziggler return; Ziggler promo; main event

Cons: Women’s tag; 24/7 segment

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helloorandomfandom · 6 years

Text

Little Doves find love in the strangest ways

Eric x reader

Words: 1944

I’m cruising down flop street but I’m still feeling sweet.

*GIFS NOT MINE*

Also let me know if you want other characters. LEAVE SOME REQUESTS!

Y/n. That was the name you were now living with. That was the name you decided to stick with as soon as you hit the net. You had been asked and that was your decision. Your first day in Dauntless was well daunting. Making friends was easy being from Amity. Kill them with kindness was basically your motto. You had joined a pretty houmous and lively clique that gladly welcomed you. The first night with the faction transfers was one of your favourites. Most of the group got tattoos but you opted for a personalized necklace. One charm had your name on a vinyl record made of gold and another said ‘Amity’ on a tree. You loved music and you left Amity. That was the first day. Everything after that got exceptionally harder.

Physical training wasn’t horrible but you also weren’t a ‘champion’. I guess doing some heavy, weight work in Amity helped with your muscle mass. One week you did phenomenally but the next you were setup to fight Peter and lets say, a few bruises and one excruciatingly painful headache made you lose the Amity spring in your step. Losing that fight brought your rank down a debatable amount. Deciding to not cause a ruckus you kept your mouth shut and dealt with it. The decrease did however deplete your motivation leaving you with a few lazy punches or easy blocks causing you to earn a couple of bruises.

“Dove, in the ring!” Four’s voice shouted.

Dove was the nickname you got being one of the few Amity transfers. It was Will’s doing because doves are a symbol of purity and peace, and so are you according to him. Your bare feet padded across the cool smooth concrete and onto the springy mat. You cocked your head to the side, wordlessly asking who you would be fighting.

“Al, jump in.”

Oh come on. Al was obviously no match for you, he was to soft. Although according to others so were you. Eric gave the signal and you began to dance around the ring, arms up with Al.

“Today initiates!” Eric’s voice demanded sounding obviously bored.

You let out a sigh and stepped forward. Lifting you leg up and twisting your body you roundhouse kicked Al in the face knocking him out cold.

As you reached down and picked up his unconscious body you let out the word

“Sorry.”

The weight was semi-relieved as another person helped you with the unconscious boy.

“Don’t apologise initiate.”

Eric.

“Sorry.”

This made you mentally facepalm.

“Oh my God, Sorry!”

Eric’s steel blue eyes glared at you as the two of you walked the halls to the infirmary.

“Holy shit Y/n stop it!” You scolded yourself.

You tiny outburst of embarrassment seemed humourous to Eric who let out a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s not my fault, I blame the bread!”

“Oh little Dove, how innocent you are.” Eric teased, still laughing a little.

Al was dropped into a hospital bed and you made your way back to the training center. Partnering up with Will, you practiced some basic skills involving blocking, jabs and throat hits.

“All right get out!” Eric shouted.

Everyone began to shuffle out the room including you.

“Dove, stay back!”

“UGH!” You groaned clearly annoyed.

Everyone you passed gave you sympathetic looks or a quick ‘good luck’.

“What do you require, Sir?”

“Well I was going to offer you help but with that attitude I don’t think so.”

“Oh great! So I can go and shower now? I really need to.” You jumped from foot to foot towards the door. Peeking your head round the corner you smiled. “Oh Eric? I may be from Amity but you won’t find me begging.” You winked and swiftly made your way back to the dorm room retiring to bed after a much needed shower.

The next week or so Eric kept holding you back, giving you useless jobs to do.

“We don’t even use these knives Eric. Why do I have to sharpen them?”

“Because little innocent Dove, I’m exposing your pure self to dangerous items.” Eric teased.

“Oh my-! I’ve had it with you! I’M NOT INNOCENT!” Your rageful outburst took over your body and the next thing you knew you had hurled a knife straight into Eric’s shoulder. “Oh for fucks sake!” The adrenaline coursing through your veins gave you enough courage to grab Eric by the hand and drag him through the halls to his apartment.

“Code?”

“Do I even want to know why you know where I live?” Eric questioned punching in his code.

The door slid open sending a cool breeze over you. “For your information, I wish to know my way around thank you. Apparently I’m already gullible enough as is.”

Eric chuckled which caused a muffled groan.

“Hey, you pushed my buttons that what you deserve.”

“Touché”

Silence fell over the apartment and you dragged Eric into his bathroom. Frantically searching for his first-aid kit you seized the bright red bag and unzipped it. The contents exploded and you found exactly what you needed.

“Brace yourself.” You said wrapping your fingers around the knife’s handle.

Eric grabbed the bench and you yanked the blade from his skin. He let out a string of mangled groans expressing his agony.

“Shirt.” You guestured.

“Is this an excuse to see me shirtless, not so innocent, little Dove?” Eric flirted.

“It’s either I fix this or you get infected, because we both know you’re too stubborn to tell the nurse an initiate stabbed you.”

Eric rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt over his head with minimal staining to his shoulder. You were awestruck at his Greek God physique. Holy shit, this man is fit. His six pack basically shines like the sun and it’s so hard not to look away. But you do, opting to unscrew the lid on some antiseptic liquid to keep from drooling. Pouring some onto a wad of spare gauze you warned the Dauntless leader again.

“This is gonna sting like a bitch.”

“I think I can hand-”

Eric cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you pressed the soaked gauze onto his bleeding wound. The shocking action caused his hands to latch onto the nearest thing. Your hips. Your cheeks flushed as your y/e/c eyes met his steel blue ones, causing him to smirk.

“You’ve got a nice set of love handles here Dove.”

“Well your pretty bold aren’t you, Sir?” You replied using the gauze to wipe the excess blood.

Putting the wad in the trash, you fiddled with the needle struggling to thread it. After about the fifth attempt the thread went through and you secured a knot onto the end. You rested your hand onto Eric’s protruding bicep and pierced his skin dragging it back in and out repeatedly. Once the wound was closed you cut the thread and taped down a fresh pad of gauze overtop to keep it clean. You cleaned up the bench in silence then reopened the cupboard and grabbed some aspirin. Popping two pills out the bottle you handed them to Eric who took them and without saying anything retreated to the kitchen. You put the bottle and kit back, closing the door and exiting the bathroom.

Walking towards the door you pushed the button and it slid open. “Where are you going Initiate?” “To hopefully get some privacy for a shower.” “Here.” Eric walked over to his dresser and grabbed a plain black t-shirt throwing it to you. “Care to join?” You teased. Eric scoffed and you dashed into the bathroom.

Once the warm water hit your skin,you were a moaning mess. The steam clouded the glass and you completed your usual routine. Parting with the heat, you dried off and slipped Eric’s shirt over your head. The shirt sat mid-thigh and complemented your curves. You braided your hair into a simple plait and let it fall to one side. Exiting the bathroom the smell of cheesy goodness filled your nostrils.

“Why are your showers so much better? It’s not fair.”

“Because Dove, we are privileged from passing initiation.” He responded handing you a bowl of Mac n cheese.

“You’re starting to grow on me Coulter. I’m not sure if I should be afraid or intrigued.”

Eric moved closer towards you. Putting his bowl on the bench, the action which you repeated. Eric’s boots made two short steps towards you ending up face to face with you. His minty breath casted a cool breeze to fall on your lips. You swiftly looked down at the black combat boots encasing your feet, that was until you felt the soft touch of Eric’s fingers under your chin pushing it upwards. Your gaze met his and you flirtatiously blinked smiling a little towards him.

“Both.”

And with that Eric closed the gap between you, connecting at the lips, eyes closed. The kiss was slow and filled with passion. You deepened the kiss by turning you head to the side and lifting your hand to hold Eric’s neck. The sound of your heartbeat heavy in your ears balanced out the apartment’s silence as Eric’s crisp breath calmed you. Your tense muscles relaxed as Eric placed a hand on your hip and the other on your cheek. He began to walk, backing you into the kitchen bench you were lifted up and onto the frigid marble countertop. Eric stepped between you legs that wrapped themselves around his still bare torso. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to tug at his hair. Eric let out a low groan and you broke away from his addictive lips letting out a small giggle.

“Enjoying yourself Coulter?” You giggled again.

“Little Dove, whatever should I do with you?”

“Hmm…this.”

You leaned forwards and pressed a lasting kiss to Eric’s lips before teasingly pulling away and resting your forehead against his.

“I should go.” You whispered disappointed.

Eric pulled away and helped you down from the counter. You gave him a chaste kiss and swiftly walked to the door. You looked over your shoulder and quipped.

“Keep that shoulder clean, yeah?”

You left the apartment and quickly returned to the dorm room hoping not to get flooded with questions.

Your eyes peeked through the crowd of various hair colours in search of the scoreboard. Your name was situated on the third rung meaning not only did you pass initiation you made it to top three. Tris, one of your close friends, sat at the top taking her well earned spot as overall ‘winner’.

“Top three initiate. Well deserved.” The rugged voice of your secret boyfriend whispered into you ear.

“Thank you Sir.”

You reached your arms up and held the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re mine now.” He grumbled and you tilted your head to meet him.

“I suppose so.” You whispered against his lips.

“HEY EVERYONE! I FOUND OUT WHY ERIC WAS BEING NICER!”

Everyone in the room quickly shut up and stared at the pair of you.

“WILL! I SWEAR TO SATAN I’LL KI-”

Eric’s lips captured your words and disolved them into the kiss. The once silent Pit erupted in cheers and wolf whistles egging you on. When you broke apart, the crowd cheered even louder and a few people you knew, including Tris who knowingly hated Eric, congratulated you. The Pit died down only to spike back up at the loud music blasted through large speakers and the party officially began.

“It’s this Dove’s time to fly!” You shouted running off into the crowd of dancing Dauntless.

And fly you did.

Tagged:

@clockworkballerina @shinigamiathene @jaiboomer11 @lacy-love @sophiesworld1992 @home-of-the-lonely-writer @pathybo @that1girloverthere @buried-in-books @lunaschild2016 @nijiru @kalliewinchester-queenofhell @kgurew

#eric coulter #eric #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter x amity #divergent imagine #divergent #i miss divergent #divergent imagines #eric x y/n #flop #this will flop #eric x reader

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alittlemorevodka · 3 years

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Vodka has never been a huge fan of live albums. Give me a good studio recording any day, and I tend to appreciate it more. That said, The Lunar Laugh’ soon-to-be-released Nighthawks! LP is thoughtfully curated, and carefully engineered, and mixed to get that live feel without an abundance of crowd noises. The production is bright and crisp, and the music is expertly played and sung, including wonderful three-part harmonies. What more could you want?

Nighthawks! is mostly a collection of back-catalog tunes gathered from very good (see above) live recordings. In 2020, as the pandemic put an end to touring for the band, they released It’s Okay (seen/heard here) as a way of passing on good vibrations to their fans:

“So I say It's okay it's okay to have a heartbreak it's okay if you don't know what you're thinking of trust me I can relate it's okay if you're questioning everything that you used to be No, you are not your past You're here at last and you're who you're supposed to be it's okay“

The message is that there are a lot of things that upend our lives. Certainly the pandemic has been one of those things. In the end, though, you will get through it. It’s okay, as the lyrics say, to feel like you do, but just remember you aren’t in this alone. The music emphasizes this positive outlook, pushing that fun, free, revelatory feeling. It’s Okay, as well as the lead off track, I Wanna Know, are songs that were part of the band’s studio sessions that created the LP, Goodnight Noises Everywhere (June 2019). They didn’t quite fit into that LP, but I’m glad they make an appearance here.

So what else can you expect from the LP? Well a lot, actually. The previously mentioned I Wanna Know is a mid-tempo rocker with a jangle rock feel that would have been comfortably played on the radio two to three decades ago. Because the band is so playful, it does not sound dated at all, but fresh like a little time machine bubble updated just for you. On The Road, is a song that dates back to the band’s 2015 LP, Apollo. It is always included in the band’s set list, because, as Jared Lekites tells it:

“It works so well in a live setting and this line always rings true: playing my songs, making bank, but every dollar winds up in the gas tank”

By The Light Of The Living Room, from Goodnight Noises Everywhere, seeks to channel the influences of Tom Petty and Pat DiNizio (The Smithereens). Both artists had recently passed away before the song was written. It is a reverent re-imagining of both artists styles. It might be Vodka’s favorite song on this collection, but there is a lot to love everywhere here. Listening to this song will have you singing it aloud in no time!

Living Room is followed by Winsome from Apollo and Living a Lie from Mama’s Boy (February 2017), and the Campbell Young penned and sung Alive, originally from his solo work before he joined the band. It should be noted that It’s Okay is also written and sung by Campbell. Jared Lekites is definitely the lead writer here, with 9 of the 18 tracks written solely by him, and with a hand in four additional tracks. Lekites’ penned Tell Me A Story, from Goodnight Noises Everywhere, is his version of what I would call the state of the music business. Today’s next “hit” is more about feelings, rather than a message, and Lekites longs for that missing element:

“we gotta keep movin’ on can’t concern ourselves with yesterday said it’s alright and day turns to night anyway is there somewhere that I belong? another place where I can sing my songs again when nobody’s listening hey! tell me a story of seven maids and cabbages and kings and help me take my mind of some things hey! tell me a story that makes me wonder where the treasure’s hid the kind of story I heard when I was a kid“

Jared, Vodka is with you there 100%.

There is original material galore here, but The Lunar Laugh almost always include a few covers in there live sets. True to that live set format, the band does not disappoint, by including Neil Diamond’s Solitary Man, and Death Cab For Cutie’s (Ben Gibbard penned) Soul Meets Body with guest vocals provided by Chase Kerby (an Oklahoma City The Voice contestant) here. This latter track reminds me so much of songs written and performed by The Bats. Both tracks work very well within the band’s style.

The three primary band members, are Jared Lekites (vocals, acoustic and electric guitar, harmonica, percussion), Campbell Young (electric guitar, keyboards, bass, vocals), and Connor Anderson (electric and acoustic guitars, vocals, percussion). Additional musicians included here are Chris Anderson (keyboards), Peter Collins (keyboards, melodica), Jimmy Jackson (drums, percussion), Triston Lightner (bass, vocals), Derek Moore (bass), Logan Morris (percussion), Levi Sherman (drums, percussion, vocals), and John Stendel (bass). There were also special appearances by Chase Kerby (vocals, acoustic guitar on "Soul Meets Body"), Kyle Reid (pedal steel guitar), Lucas Ross (banjo on "Nighthawks and Mona Lisa") and Taylor Johnson (bass, keyboards, guitars on "I Wanna Know" and "It's Okay"). You can find more information on the band, by heading up to their very complete website, which includes all of the purchase, streaming, and social links that you need. You can also purchase Nighthawks! from The Lunar Laugh’ label page at Big Stir Records.

As a footnote, there is one track that The Lunar Laugh can’t get away without playing in any live set, and so they include it towards the end. That track is Work In Progress (track 18 here), from Mama’s Boy. A great way to end this phenomenal set of music!

Nighthawks! releases in just two days and you can pre-order right now. Head over to Big Stir Records and reserve your copy! You can find most of the band’s music right there, but feel free to visit The Lunar Laugh’ bandcamp.com site as well.

Note: Unfortunately, we are still dealing with Covid 19. The variants are making a comeback, which means that the livelihoods of artists like The Lunar Laugh and many others are still threatened. If your situation allows it, consider purchasing more in these tough times. Please, if you are physically able to do so, get the vaccine! –Vodka

#the lunar laugh #jared lekites #connor anderson #campbell young #chase kerby #the bats #ben gibbard #a little more vodka #musicblog #alittlemorevodka #indie-pop #indie-rock #indie

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knbafterdark-blog · 6 years

Note

Hey honeybuns it’s me and I’m so fucking happy you’re restarting this blog. You know my hardcore love for Mr Aomine so like how about we start this blog off with some Mr and Mrs Aomine… but fake married! Because you love that shit and i love you. Why are they fake married? idgaf. You decide ;)

[Sweet girl I love you, and since I love you, here’s your fave: a little police officer!Aomine. What a way to start this blog again.]

The coastal city grows lethargic with the evening. The suns hangs like a lazy blush in the sky, the wind has subsided after the afternoon rainstorm, a few birds chirp their goodnights, and Aomine Daiki’s plain gold band glints as he fishes his wallet out to lay a credit card on the table.

Distracted, you smile as you watch the distant waves crest. “I’m so glad we’re able to just get away from everything. Darling, you’ve been working so hard for us. You deserve this.”

Aomine manages to smile and frown within seconds of one another “We’re in public, baby. Call me by name.”

You fight the urge to flick his forehead or to kick him under the table, but the desire is strong. Lowering your eyes, you murmur demurely, “yes, Shintaro.”

“Shin-chan is fine,” Aomine pushes at the thick rim of his glasses absently. He slides the credit card across the gingham brocade to the server.

“Yes, Shin-chan.”

Everything about the cover had been thoroughly researched by his superiors, but Aomine’s backstory had been good enough to convince them that the name wasn’t important. This was not a high-risk, casualty-gaining sort of operation, anyway. And you’ll be damned, but the glasses are a delightful touch.

“Shall we go around the boardwalk?” You’re hopeful to get a little fresh air in the most romantic spot in town. “Remember that couple from the hotel? They said it’s so romantic at sunset. Since I’m getting a pedicure at the spa tomorrow, I might as well do lots of my walking tonight?”

Aomine throws his grey blazer over his shoulder after accepting the credit card back. He is the picture of a professional man just starting to unwind; not so much that he’d sleep in the following morning or have a too much to drink tonight, but just enough to let the smiles come a little easier and let some of the stress out of a stiff posture. Maybe he’d even stay awake long enough to give his pretty, young wife a little extra attention.

Your breath rushes out in a little gasp as he pulls you close firmly by hip. Leaning down, he breathes in your hair and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “We can take in the boardwalk any time,” he mutters. “I can think of something else I’d rather do.”

You don’t have to fake the blush or the stammer. “Shintaro! Don’t, we’re…”

“In public?” he supplies, practically glowing. Even now, he surprises you as a better actor than you would have ever thought to give him credit for, even knowing his undercover history, but you still begrudge him the cheshire grin. “It’s fine, no one can hear me, and even if they could, isn’t that the point of coming here in the first place?”

Well, he’s not wrong. Why else would a serial embezzler and his stunning new fiancee come to a quiet little town like this? There certainly is something like desire that plays around in the salty wind out here. She must be a romantic, you muse for the fourth or fifth time since the train ride in.

Aomine’s hand rests naturally on the curve of your waist as you walk back to the hotel, and you the two of you fall in stride. He’s probably thinking about taking off those uncomfortable shoes, and probably those glasses, too. Maybe have a beer and a shower and fall asleep with the television still on like he’s told you he does. The man at your side hardly looks it, but he’s had three hours of sleep in the past two days and most of that was on the train on the way there. You twist the diamond ring and the plain band back and forth with your pinky finger.

No, he certainly doesn’t look as tired as he must be.

You get the generous bed to yourself, falling asleep to the picture of Aomine, still in his cardigan and uncomfortable slacks, typing away on a laptop that seems tiny compared to the size of his hands.

When you wake, he’s already gone.

The embezzler’s fiancee, Akane, is phenomenally beautiful up close. Her skin is crisp and perfect and she has the most perfectly conspiratorial smile you’ve ever seen.

“So how about it? It might be fun to blow off a little steam. I’ve met a couple of other girls here and the one, she’s having a, oh what did she call it, something ridiculous… right, a ‘pre-bridal party party’. We can catch a cab and be back before Seki and Shintaro even know we’re gone. Well, maybe not, but we can leave a note and text them. I doubt Seki will even see it if I just leave a note, though he’s hardly likely to even leave the room. He needs to relax a little.” Akane sighs and fingers her necklace delicately, thoughtfully. “He’s so sweet, really, but I mean, the most he’ll do is visit the pool.”

You nod in sympathy and give a moment’s pause before offering: “my Shintaro, too. He works so hard for us. And I know it’s to save for our future, and hopefully for our future children, but sometimes I’d rather - oh forgive me.”

“No!” Akane leans forward. “It’s okay.”

You’re flushed with just the right shade of embarrassment, delighted so greatly that your breathing is dangerously shallow. “I am sorry, I don’t mean to rant. It’s just, sometimes I think that there’s the present to think about, too, you know? If he keeps up like this, well, I don’t want him working to an early grave. Oh, I’m so sorry to complain.”

Akane brushes the apology away with a flick of her delicate hand and a shake of her head. “Getaways like this are vital for recharging.”

“The pool is a great idea,” you continue thoughtfully. “There’s nothing quite like swimming to clear the mind.”

You’d bet an ice-cream sundae over who would be the first to chat to either the target or Akane. Technically, Aomine had apologized for bumping into them in the elevator, but that had hardly qualified. This? This is perfect.

“What do you say?” Akane asks, beaming over a glass of spiked lemonade.

“Well,” you pause long enough to draw the thought out, “I did just get my toes done, and I have my new shoes to try out… oh, of course I would love to - count me in!”

“I’m just calling Shintaro,” you laugh as, making sure to step gingerly into the taxi. You have to slow down on the drinking and the ride to the party should do the trick for the moment.

“Yeah?” Aomine’s voice comes gravelly and alert. “Where the hell have you been?” Ah, so he must be on his own, then, and hasn’t yet seen your note.

“I’m texting Seki now,” Akane says, then brightens as she looks over at you. “Look at the look on your face, oh, you’re so cute it’s almost borderline! You love to hear his voice. I want to be like you when Seki and I are married!”

You cover the mouthpiece of your phone as if it’s somehow necessary, and just laugh before returning to the call. “I’m going out this evening… just wanting to make sure you got my note.”

You had scribbled POOL ROOM, 21:30 TONIGHT FOR OBSERVATION and pasted it to the bathroom mirror where you were sure he would see it.

“Yeah, no,” he huffs.

You continue like he hadn’t said a word, emboldened by the alcohol and your own personal sense of victory. “I’m out with Akane - what do you mean, who’s Akane?”

“I’m Akane!” Akane giggles loudly and leans over. “Hello, Shin-kun! I’m stealing your wife tonight. You can punish her later.”

You sputter and laugh and guard your heart against the sound of Aomine’s noise of approval.

“Don’t get her too drunk,” Aomine advises. “She’ll start dancing, and once she does you’re going to have to pull her out of there, and she’ll probably hit on half the men. Take care of her.”

You grind your teeth before smiling curtly. “Still talking to me, my love.”

You can practically taste the gratitude hidden behind his laughter. “Well then, have fun and take good measurements. I’ll need to know the cup size of all attending parties.”

“Ugh,” you grumble and hang up on him with satisfaction.

“All done,” Akane chirps, looking up from her phone. “What’s up?”

“He wants to know how big everyone’s boobs are,” you huff. “What was that about wanting to be just like us when you’re married?”

Even Akane’s half-drunk laugh is a pleasure. “Men!”

Half an hour and a split cab-fare later,you arrive to find the party is already in full swing in the club. Akane takes you by the arm and sashays up to the front of the line, blinking just once at the bouncer before announcing your friends are already inside. It’s like anything she touches turns to gold, and you’re almost sorry you will have had any role in putting her soon-to-be husband away for so many years. She orders the two of you drinks before whisking you away to the party of at least seven other young women who greet you like you’ve been friends for years.

You can’t help but pity Aomine. If only things were this easy for him. You laugh and introduce yourself and, as you down half of your first drink before being pulled by someone’s persuasive argument of “this song is my favourite!”.

“Better music!” you call when three men approach your group with hungry eyes and ask what you’d like. What you’d really like is to make sure Aomine is okay, even though you’re both the best strategically placed as you could be, and it’s only thanks to you, well, thanks to Akane, really, that he has as good of a shot as he does tonight at all. So you do what you know you have to do to keep the party going and turn off your mind as much as you can.

“Her husband says to watch out for this one!” one of the soon-to-be bridesmaids yells gleefully and points to you.

You suck up the implications, convert them to a smoldering smile, and grab a young man from his friends and pull him onto the floor with you. By the way he slides a hand up your back, he doesn’t seem to mind you have a husband at all, and you can’t help but imagine his strong hand is Aomine’s as you close your eyes and move in.

It continues like this for hours, with the steady bass pumping through your feet, through your heart, and the hands - all of the hands - become Aomine’s hands, the stomachs, chests, and arms become Aomine’s firm stomach and chest and arms pulling you close, holding you tightly. You grind the diamond against the inside of your pinky and imagine Aomine looking down at you, so full of desire, and why, why couldn’t this be him?

Is this any way a married woman should behave? Even if her husband told her to?

You know it’s foolish, that you shouldn’t down another drink, but you do, because Aomine could be talking with Seki the Embezzler right now and you’re helping by keeping Akane busy.

“Oh my god, girl, no.”

Both you and another young woman are propped up in the booth with water in two tall glasses, and you briefly fade out, more from the exertion than anything.

“Someone call a cab!”

Akane hovers into view mutters, her face pink and eyes glassy but at least she’s able to stand, even in her four-inch heels. “I called Shin-chan, he’ll be on his way soon. Whose phone password is 9999 anyway?”

You take a shaky sip of water. “I just need a second, I won’t black out, promise. I’ll get a cab back later. I’m gonna call Shin-chan back! We’ve got a party to celebrate here!”

Akane pauses, but not for long, and laughs her sparkling laugh. “You’re amazing! I’ll give you ten minutes and if you’re not ready to dance, I’m sending you back!”

You speed-dial Aomine and think of his eyes and steel yourself against the threat of your racing pulse.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing out of his mouth. The phone hadn’t even rung once, and you melt for his concern.

“I’m fine,” you yell over the noise. “Just needed a breather.”

“How’s Akane?”

“She’s at least a solid C - I might say D with the right bra!” Akane turns around, mouthing ‘are you talking about me?’ and you wave.

What you can make out of Aomine’s laugh is that it’s a fake one which makes your ribs feel suddenly too tight, like you want to breathe but there’s not enough air, not enough room to breathe. “Tell her her husband’s in good hands. If you’re not back by one, I’m coming to get you, you idiot. Oh yeah, Seki’s telling me to be kinder - you gorgeous idiot.”

You hang, exhale, and smile in relief.

Twelve thirty comes and goes. One comes and your feet are killing you, but the dances keep coming and no one in the party is ready to go until you get kicked out, and you’re most of the way to sober, which is and isn’t nice. You’re exhausted and worried it might be showing. Nonetheless, you run your hands through a head of dark hair and imagine it to be navy instead, imagine those eyes are the ones you can get lost in, imagine the fingers on your ass pulling you against a firm bulge are someone else’s entirely.

“Excuse me,” comes from behind you, and you turn too slowly, leaving yourself to be pulled back by the shoulders.

You mumble your surprise and stumble back on your heels as much as you trip over your words. “Sh-Shintaro?”

“I think I’ll be taking my wife home for the evening,” Aomine drawls before calling to the right, somewhere over your head that feels miles away, “Seki, you’d better do the same.”

“Punishment time!” Akane shrieks in full glee as you are personally manhandled out the door.

“My phone, my…”

“I have it,” Aomine shushes and pushes you into the cab.

The rest of the ride is silent and leaves you gazing out the window to catch Aomine’s reflection against the raindrops on the glass. His mouth is set in a hard line, but he seems more contemplative than anything for the whole ride and doesn’t spare you a look. You wonder how much got accomplished in the last four hours or so with the target, how late he’ll be up writing the report, how he must be resenting cutting the time short to come and get you.

The elevator ride is just as quiet and it’s not until Aomine’s opened the door up with the keycard and you’ve kicked off your shoes, your heel now bloody from the night’s exertions, that he says anything at all, and that’s only a “you should clean up and get to bed.”

“Sorry,” you say, and you don’t know quite why you’re saying it to the silhouette of his broad shoulders because he does owe you big for this, really for doing this assignment with him at all. But out it comes again, and as you slump in defeat against the bathroom door frame, it comes out a third time.

“Nothing to be sorry for, moron,” he says distractedly. He could just be busy thinking, itching to write his report so you’re one step closer to wrapping up the case. “I made some really good headway.”

“I kinda thought you might be mad for coming to get me,” you say nonsensically, and a quick flick of the bathroom light switch on and off again proves correctly that perhaps the best thing for you to do would be to shower in the dark.

“Nah,” he says curtly, and that marks the end of it.

So you turn on the shower and gratefully slide out of your dress and sweaty underthings. You hiss as the water hits your heels, but the pain is enough to bring you back to total awareness, and you just sigh your contentment into the darkness. Relaxed against the cool marble tile, you hold your fingers over your mouth and whisper Aomine’s name. You say it again as the drops run over your lips.

A few minutes come and go before you can force yourself to pull a towel over and grab for the pyjamas you’d scattered on the floor earlier that morning. You brush your teeth and feel so much better once you do, like you’re a proper human again, and pad out to bed.

The lights are off. Aomine’s already nestled on the lavish daybed with the laptop resting on his chest.

“Good night,” you half-whisper as you pass. Then, as an afterthought, say, “I really don’t mind switching out on the daybed. You can have the real bed if you want it.”

Aomine doesn’t say a thing, too busy in the blue screen glare of his work, and you smile as your head hits the luscious pillow. You close your eyes and feel your breathing turn deep and slow, feel the weight of the blanket on your chest. Then, so low and quiet you’ve probably imagined it… “Say it again”.

“Mmm?” you moan sleepily.

There’s a shifting sound and a long, measured exhale. “I said, say it again.”

“Weirdo” you say, smiling, “goodnight.”

Blankets rustle and you’ve almost fallen to sleep when a weight settles against the mattress and you dip forward a little. “Not that.”

“Look,” you mumble, fully aware that there’s the potential for you to drool on this most comfortable pillow. “I said you could have the bed but I take it back now. It’s mine, get lost.”

Aomine shifts his weight and that’s all it takes for the realization to hit.

With a slow breath, panic crosses you and for a moment, you’re back in the shower with your wet hair running over your lips and the few syllables coming from you like a taboo. “Oh god,” you screw your eyes shut. “I didn’t, not even once, I swear.”

Aomine sighs like his endurance for this wore thin years ago but he doesn’t so much as twitch a single muscle. “Say it again. Say my name.”

You gulp and heat snakes its way into your stomach and thighs unpleasantly, uncalled for by anything other than the raspiness of his voice. “Aomine,” you breathe.

“Fuck,” he exhales simply. “I’m so fucked.”

“Not in public!” You shoot up in bed. “Only to myself, only in the shower! And all night, it was all ‘my husband Shintaro’ and ‘handsome Shin-chan’ and ‘oh I love -’”

“If you say ‘I love Shintaro’ Midorima or otherwise, I will lose every bit of patience I have left,” Aomine enunciates every syllable, grinds it out. “The name was hilarious at the time and now I can’t stand it. And seeing you like that? Not to mention you smell.”

“Yeah, that’s rude,” you protest with familiar heat rising in your cheeks.

“You do,” he grinds out, furious, as he lowers his head. “Did. Whatever.”

“You literally smelled like sweaty socks and sweaty basketball player for years. You still stink!”

Aomine punctures each word by caging you in, trapping you first with his arms, then with his legs. “And? You’re supposed to be my wife.”

The tension sears through you and you feel the particular sinking feeling of having royally screwed up. It doesn’t matter that he had just been being an ass with his comments over the phone earlier. You had fallen for it, fallen to acting the persona he’d detailed for you only because you’d been too focused on being adaptable and ready to play any part perfectly. Deflation and exhaustion are quick to overcome your urge to bicker but his breath is hot on your forehead and his body radiates heat even though it’s at least a foot away from you, it swells in you the need to say something to defend against the onslaught of his overwhelming presence. “Sorry, wait, no, I’m not really sorry, only sorry I fell for it, and I only acted how I did because you told me to be that way! You’re the investigator - you’re the lead! And, thanks a lot, now my feet are bleeding on the sheets I have to sleep in.”

You don’t make it a breath further.

“I regretted every word right as it came out of my mouth.” He sounds exhausted and raw and frustrated. You can’t help but be so aware of your body that it hurts, that burn in your throat, your stomach, your thighs. “It kills me to say that I messed up, kills to know other men had been all over you all night. Ah, damn it, that’s not what I meant to say.” He practically growls, like he’s trying his best to get just a fraction of it out in words. “Because what you do is your choice and I’m going to get off this bed right now like I’m a working fucking professional.”

You let out a shaky exhale and try to relax the stiff board of your body, made tight by his proximity, his heat, his very being. Aomine doesn’t move. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you trace the outline of his arms and torso in the air without thinking. The diamond ring has twisted itself and the rock digs into your middle finger.

“I just have to say the word,” you echo.

Aomine’s arms are shaking, though not from the effort of keeping himself up. “Yeah.”

“And you’ll go?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. His eyes have slipped shut but that’s a cold relief because the weight of the decision aches, presses against your chest, and deadens your limbs. Your pulse rushes against the delicate skin of your neck. He sets your nerves on fire, as in just listening to his forcibly measured breathing makes you want to bury your red cheeks into the pillow.

Tongue-tied and light-headed, you do the only thing you can: reach your arms up and tangle your hands in his hair. Aomine lets out a shade of relief, a short and involuntary growl that jolts you to full attention as your body completely takes over. You guide him an inch and he swoops the rest of the way. Your mouth is enveloped in a wet heat, less a kiss and more an expression of release.

Aomine groans into your mouth, reverberating against your lips and teeth, and your response wells up from deep in your chest as you kiss back, every bit as messy and imperfect and impatient as him. He pulls away sharply, his whole torso shaking with suppression, long enough to say: “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“You just did,” you mumble, grabbing the opportunity to wiggle out of the blanket vise and breathe. You’re boneless and moving in slow motion with all your senses at once dulled and ablaze.

Like this, sitting up, the moonlight spreads a thick stream across Aomine’s jaw and down his clavicle, and the sight of those defined lines have you choking to breathe. His posture, relaxed and with rolled back shoulders, is a practiced front. He stares down at you through heavy lids with blown pupils like he’s dreamed of this. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows reflexively, and you can only stare, too overwhelmed by the look on his face.

Aomine doesn’t wear his cocky grin but when he speaks, his voice is a purr. “That was just the warm up.”

To keep from moaning and giving in, oh just as completely tempting as it is, you sit straight up and wriggle against the weight of his knees on your legs. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you’re treading volatile territory if you provoke, but you do it anyway. “I’ve seen you warm up better for games when you didn’t even show up for practice.”

Aomine throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he says offandedly before turning his full attention round to you again, and this time you can’t stand your ground, no, this time you push up as far against the headboard as you can, putting distance between him and yourself because he’s so there, so close, so overwhelming, and it’s the only way your body knows how to react. There’s a terrible need searing your body, and your heart threatens you with its persistent beating as Aomine bears down on you.

“I had fun tonight,” you threaten softly.

He soft laughs a short laugh, all teeth. And this kiss, this one must be what he meant by a real kiss: a slow brush over the lips like he’s reading them with his own, learning the curves before committing to a chaste press to part your mouth at the seam. You moan a little moan against him and he smiles before dipping his velvet tongue against your own.

Aomine only breaks the kiss to brush your hair out of your eyes and away from your throat, which sets your pulse to fluttering like a trapped bird, and when you open your eyes you’re almost relieved not to be looking straight into his own that are such a consternating split between honest and commanding.

“Of course you had fun,” Aomine murmurs in that dark voice against the crook of shoulder and throat. You shudder and he easily pushes against your jaw to tilt your head to one side. “Because I told you to.” He presses a kiss against your pulse and a soft moan escapes you. When he drapes one of his legs over both of yours, the weight preses your thighs firmly in place. “You hardly even let them dance face to face with you, did you? That would have been too much. And when you did, you were giving in, like your eyes just glazed right over.I can tell.”

“You like the sound of your own voice,” you try, though it comes out as a winded rush like you’ve already lost at whatever game you’re playing. You can’t help your legs from trying to rub against each other as much as possible to relieve some of the incessant throbbing, but Aomine blocks the movement by adding just a little more pressure. He keeps his hand on your cheek as he does so, pinning you to the pillow.

“You,” he pauses to lick a stripe up your neck only to breathe a stream of cool air against it, reveling as you shiver, “loved to pretend they were me. But not knowing that I was thinking about you the whole time. It shoulda been about how close you’d gotten me on this case, but instead,” Aomine hums in your ear, stifling your body’s reaction to the noise with his casual hold, “I’m here at this hotel, thinking of what you must look like. Thinking how just nice it’s all been when it should have been more like work. And all while I’m here, knowing how I served you up on a platter for all the men out there to be all over you. About how you’re out there tonight, on display for everyone but me.”

You try to speak but the words die in your throat and are replaced with shallow, loud breathing. Boiling and bubbling under Aomine’s touch, you wish you could see more of him than a couple of fingers in the periphery.

“Aomine?” is all you manage to carve into the thick silence.

“Mm,” he rasps, running his thumb down your throat to rest with just enough pressure at the base, watching as you swallow hard against the slightest pressure, before turning your face toward his again. He looks completely raw and partly possessed with need as he relaxes his hold on you.

He pulls away and up to take his shirt off in a single fluid motion.

“Oh yes,” you whisper.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises with a genuine smirk. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You agree with a hoarse and wrecked groan that leaves Aomine blinking down at you with hooded eyes. You struggle up long enough to pull your shirt over your head and he leans over to press a kiss to each of your breasts before sliding back to slip his boxers off.

“You’re never going to want anyone else,” he boasts, but you know the truth of his intentions and the look on his face has you believing him. His muscles expand and contract as he moves, fluid and beautiful even in the dark. You smile, and he traces the shape of your delta with his fingers before resting them against the seam of your lips.

“Open up,” he murmurs.

You do, running your tongue over his index and middle fingers, letting your eyes close in anticipation, fully appreciating his deep exhale at the sensation of your mouth. When Aomine’s had enough, he withdraws and immediately slips that hand under your pajama bottoms, parting your legs with ease and plunging both digits in without hesitation. You take his laugh as a good sign and revel in the depth and breadth of his fingers.

“You’re so ready for me, just went straight in. Damn, you’re so wet,” he marvels before pulling his fingers out and leaving you mewling a complaint of the emptiness. “More foreplay next time, maybe,” he offers and doesn’t give you time to fully appreciate the guarantee. He’s too busy drawing your legs into one arm and gliding the throbbing head of his cock against you in less a tease and more to borrow your slick to ready himself before he plunges in without another word.

You cry out. Ready as you think you are, you’re not ready for him to have gone as far as he did, even is that’s two thirds of the way in. You squirm to adjust to that feeling of fullness and he groans as you move about. His patience is traded for gripping at your calf and breathing hard. Only when you work your way off the shaft just enough to still for a moment does Aomine decides he’s through with waiting and pulls out just enough to push back in and encase himself fully.

“God, Daiki!” you cry, and he groans his approval.

He pumps fully into your heat a couple of times further, delighting in watching you shake below him before pulling out entirely. “I mean it,” he mumbles as he grabs you, pulls you up and twists the pair of you so he’s seated on the bed and your back is pressed flush to his chest. You scramble to grab at his legs as he works his hand over your back. “Anyone ever touches you again and you’re gonna think of me.”

Instead of letting you turn around, he grabs you by the hips and pushes you up as he lays back, to angle you and slowly draw you back down on him. Like this, you’re fully exposed, at your most defenseless, and spread wide for his eyes. ““Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The very new feeling leaves your mind muggy, like it’s too hot to think, and after a long moment your body moves on its own. His abs press against your your ass as you sink down on the shaft, bent forward, adapting to the angle to form a rhythm of your own. Like this, he’s so big, and you’re so full, so complete in a way you had never considered, and if Aomine minds your knuckles turning white as you grab his thighs for support, he doesn’t make a sound. You can just imagine himself propped up on one arm as he’s rubbing your back with the other and full of appreciation for the view. You make sure the next descent is forceful enough to make your ass quiver from the impact. His guttural groan is your reward.

Naturally, as soon as you start to get familiar, Aomine shifts. He grabs you roughly by the thighs as he sits up, only to catch you with an arm spread over your chest as you fall forward. “No, don’t go,” is all you can manage, but it’s too late, he’s already sliding out from under you and pressing wet kisses to your shoulder blades as he goes.

He fully leaves the bed and moves lithe and limber across to the other side just in time for you to turn around. He pulls at your legs and pulls you down the soft sheets, grabbing a pillow as he does so and props that under your hips. You’re still so exposed like this, though differently than before and you’re not sure which sense of subjection you prefer, but Aomine shows you he enjoys the offering that is your body in the way he praises it with kisses down your legs as he spreads them and folds each one up and over his shoulders.

You lock eyes and he unashamedly spits into his hand, rubs himself to relieve the pressure in a way that leaves you to whimper with wanting. As if waiting for his cue, he fulfills your moan of wish and presses back into your folds like he never left. You do your best to stay trained on his eyes, but it’s impossible, with the perfect burn as he screws you deep and hard in his perfect way, it’s all you can do to not repeat his name over and over again - you let a few syllables loose and that spurs him on as you should have known it would.

“I’m close,” he warns as he brings his thumb down to your clit, not so much rubbing as letting the motion of your bodies do the work for him. You yelp, stiffening under the intensity of the feeling, drawing deep shaking breath after deep shaking breath. You’ve become something more than yourself, something violent, something liquid and molten, and your orgasm brings Aomine to the brink so quickly he almost misses pulling out in his next stroke. He only watches as the emission arcs and falls in thick strips over your stomach, chest, and arms. His whole dark body absolutely quivers with sensation as he seems to be trying to unclench his hand from your hip but can’t quite get the coordination just yet.

You work your jaw to say something, anything, and what comes out is very direct and exactly what you weren’t wondering at the moment. “Is it, with us, going to be a one-time thing?”

You curse yourself the moment you say it but you’re too far into the bliss to work up the stamina to repeal the question.

Aomine doesn’t sigh or brush it off, instead, as he sets your legs back down on the bed and sits up as straight as he can. He looks over his shoulder at you, inscrutable as he asks: “Do you want it to be?”

Still shaking from the exertions and hoping that somehow of everything that’s transpired this evening, this answer won’t be the turning point that turns the moment sour, you shake your head.

All of Aomine’s burnished body seems to slump for a moment in relief. He wordlessly gets off the bed to pad shakily across the room.

“Aomine?” you inquire as you gather the blankets around you and stare vacantly at the ceiling, waiting for the swimming dark spots in your vision to clear.

“Daiki was fine in the moment and it’s fine now,” he calls from the bathroom. “Though if you like calling me Aomine, I guess that’s okay. Hey, look at that, this is a honeymoon suite after all. They gave us the good soap.” The sluice of the water almost drowns out his words, so he shouts over the noise and leaves you speechless. “I’m getting this shower ready for you, so are you coming or what, Mrs. Aomine?”

#Aomine Daiki #AominexReader #cop!Aomine #female reader #jealousy #alcohol mention #writing for bae

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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years

Text

poison ivy & stinging nettles 10

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Chapter 10- The

~~~

The dinner went well, all things considered.

~~~

Before anyone knew it, Sunday had arrived.

Greg and Molly had enthusiastically accepted Amelia’s invitation to dinner. Molly brought a plate of chocolate cookies, and Greg pulled a bottle of bourbon out of his jacket that Amelia hadn’t seen in the stores since moving to the UK.

Her uncle Max had spent the night with Mrs. Hudson, and helped set up the apartment for the dinner, dutifully setting out plates and making sure that Amelia and John didn’t burn the place down before guests arrived.

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock had been ushered out of the way, with the former having broken into a bottle of champagne a little early and the latter just hovering and commenting on the chemistry of cooked meat- correcting Amelia and John every few minutes.

Ruthie and Frank arrived shortly after with little Tommy holding a plate of crudely decorated fall sugar cookies. He handed them to Sherlock, who stared perplexed at the little boy until Tommy proudly declared;

“I made biscuits,” before sprinting into Amelia’s arms with an excited squeal.

Mycroft was the last to arrive, passing Mrs. Hudson a bottle of pinot noir and taking a quiet seat in the living room to avoid that chaos of the kitchen.

“You need to tell me where you found this,” Amelia demanded of Lestrade, taking a long pull from the dark liquor with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t do gin anymore. I’m losing my mind.”

He laughed, promising to text her the address of the shop he’d found, while John turned his attention Tommy who was asking a million questions about the meal the doctor was struggling to prepare.

Molly asked Amelia how the case was coming, and the women soon fell into an intense conversation regarding some questionable toxicology reports the medical professional had come across on a recent murder.

With no one watching the lamb in the oven, the place quickly filled with smoke.

John, thankfully, caught the disaster before the place caught alight, and fortunately, the meat wasn’t too overdone (though Mycroft would have begged to differ).

The meal went well, and with drinks flowing and conversation bubbling, Mrs. Hudson convinced Sherlock to play a few songs on the violin. Ruthie, red faced and grinning over a hot toddy, demanded some drinking songs and wore the detective down until he started playing.

The upbeat music got the whole place singing along (even Mycroft muttered along to the familiar tunes).

Tommy danced around in circles until he practically collapsed from exhaustion.

It’d been a few hours, night falling outside, when Ruthie and Frank announced that it was time for them to catch the train back to Kent. Max offered to walk them to the tube, taking Tommy out of Ruthie’s hesitant hands and carrying him over his shoulder.

Mrs. Hudson dropped into John’s chair, taking a deep breath and sharing an embarrassing story of Sherlock with the remaining group.

Molly and Amelia were playing a drinking game involving plastic cups and coins, trying to explain its rules to Lestrade.

“Then you drink-,” Amelia took a swig of beer.

“Amelia-, Mycroft needs some of your drugs,” Sherlock called across the space, sending Amelia and Molly into a conspiratorial fit of giggles. She stood up, crossing the room, her mood bubbly and light from the good company and drinks.

“I’ll be honest Mycroft, you never struck me as the psychedelic type,” she hummed, sitting on the arm of Sherlock’s chair. “Maybe a big bag of weed.”

“I’m finding it difficult to track down the samples you tested in your report,” he reported dryly. “Apparently, most reputable drug dealers aren’t interested in meeting with government representatives, no matter the price.”

“I’m trying to picture you buying some mushrooms in Lambeth,” Amelia closed her eyes and grinned. “Yep. Phenomenal. Thank you for that.”

“Do you have extra samples?” he ignored her commentary and she hopped up.

“I do, but I’ll need some help moving the bins around,” she held her hand up above her head to indicate the height of the cultivation shelf she’d crafted in her closet.

“I need to pick up some more crisps,” John dusted off his pants, standing up. “I’ll help you before I step out.”

“Don’t drop them on yourselves,” Sherlock called after the pair. “If you need someone over 5’8’’, give me a ring.”

He returned to his brisk conversation on where Mycroft had tracked Lydia Brenner when there was a distinct crack of a gun from the lower level.

“Gunshot,” he stated, looking between Lesterade and Mycroft, leaping to his feet.

Taking two steps at a time, he could hear the sound of al altercation, some more thuds, before he kicked open the door to Amelia’s flat.

The room was in disarray. Someone had been tossing drawers and throwing things off of Amelia’s bookshelves, searching for something.

Near the fireplace, there were signs of a more traditional confrontation, Amelia’s reading chair had been overturned, clothes kicked up and on the ground…

Amelia was kneeling next to John, pressing a towel into his abdomen. Nearby, Maxwell Brenner lay unconscious with a broken porcelain pot next to him, dirt and flower petals scattered about.

Between them, a single pistol. The source, Sherlock surmised, of the gunshot.

“I don’t know what to do,” Amelia pressed down as hard as she could where the bleeding was coming out with a towel she must have grabbed from one of the overturned drawers.

“Oh,” Mycroft appeared in the doorway, Lestrade over his shoulder. The inspector whirled around, pulling out a radio and calling for medics and officer backup to Baker Street,

“Get Molly!” Sherlock ordered his brother, dropping next to John’s head, checking his pulse in the neck. “John, John can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately,” the doctor grunted through pained breaths. Even though Amelia was pressing with all of her strength, the blood from the wound was blossoming out, staining John’s sweater.

“I went for the gun,” Amelia explained, her voice cracking in panic. “I’d almost gotten it, but he panicked and fired.”

“Is he awake?” Molly entered the room, taking over from Amelia. She leaned into John’s wound, earning a low hiss of pain from the doctor.

Amelia just stood aside, her hands coated in blood, her eyes widened in horror, trying to keep up while Molly worked.

“If someone else bloody asks that-,” John started, wincing when Molly reached under his torso to check if the bullet had gone through.

“Didn’t pass,” she informed Sherlock, her brows knitted in complete focus. She was asking about the type of gun, which John did his best to choke out between deep, breaths.

“Medics are three minutes out,” Lestrade called into the room.

“John, I’m so sorry,” Amelia had his hand in hers, drawing circles with her thumb over his knuckles. She looked up at Sherlock, shaking her head. “It was him the whole time. You were right about Moriarty being an investor. They were working together. Not my mom.”

“Don’t act like I’m dying,” he huffed, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Molly leaned into the wound again to try and stop the bleeding. “Not the first time I’ve been shot.”

“I think that’s the problem,” Sherlock supplied with a snort.

“I just assumed it would have been your fault,” John shot back. “You know, the final gunshot wound."

“Are you two seriously bickering right now?” Amelia swallowed back the start of a small sob.

“They’re here,” Lestrade was leading an EMT and a gurney into the room. Molly started listing off what she knew, with Sherlock peppering in any details, and John slurring out his blood type.

The doctor was unconscious by the time he was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

Amelia was clutching onto Sherlock’s arm, staining the material with their friend’s blood, though neither paid it any mind. They were both too focused on John. Sherlock felt a lump in his chest. How had he missed Max being the true villain of the Chemo scheme? Certainly there had to have been some clue?

When they returned to the flat to grab clean shirts, an officer was helping Maxwell into the hall of Baker Street, the old man complaining of a cut in his head. Amelia spotted him immediately, her grasp on Sherlock dropping.

Before Sherlock could stop her, she bee-lined for her uncle, her expression wild.

“Do you know what you’ve done!?” she caught him by the front of his jacket and threw him back against the wall, a loud thud denoting the strength with which she hit him. “You sorry excuse for a human, if anything happens to him-!”

Mycroft, surprisingly, was the one who pulled her back, her arms struggling against the older Holmes. She looked ready to rip Max’s spine clean from his body, her eyes filled with pure rage.

“You’re a piece of shit! I fucking hate you!” she screeched, clawing at the air.

“Try to better contain your feral little beast, Holmes,” Maxwell snorted. “Lord knows I couldn’t.”

Sherlock, who’d moved to intercept Amelia whirled around, and planted a fist in the center of Maxwell Brenner’s face. The was definitive crack as a result, and a policeman cut in, shoving Sherlock aside and hustling Brenner out of the place.

He stood back, hands up, while her uncle sputtered through blood and bemoaned that the detective had broken his nose.

“Too bad it didn’t go into his brain,” Amelia tutted under her breath

Sherlock smirked, grabbing a pair of shirts from his room (as Amelia’s was now a crime scene).

When he returned, she’d washed her hands and gratefully took the clean dress shirt from him.

“Bastard ruined my favorite cardigan with my friend’s blood,” she hissed, angrily buttoning down the shirt.

“He has to spend hours with Mycroft interrogating him,” Sherlock tried to reassure her, though he too was seething under the surface. It did little to calm the fuming woman, who just slammed her way outside, flagging down a taxi to the hospital.

~~~

John was in surgery when they arrived. Molly Hooper met them in the waiting area, looking none too optimistic about what little news she had to share.

“He lost a lot of blood,” she explained softly, her fingers nervously intertwined in front of her. “They think there’s internal damage. He was still unconscious when we arrived.”

Amelia chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes cast down, a strange mix of anger, fear, and sorrow. It should have been her in the OR, not him. John Watson didn’t deserve this. He was too good.

Sherlock stood still, though Amelia was certain he was trying to walk through every step of their case, trying to catch what he’d missed. Looking between them, Molly cleared her throat.

“I’m going to head home,” she gestured to her bloodied clothes. “I didn’t have anything in my locker. I’ll call?”

“Thank you, Molly,” Amelia took her hands gratefully. Sherlock just nodded, barely registering the interaction, so Amelia took it upon herself to walk the exhausted Molly Hooper to a taxi.

“Where’s your head?” Amelia asked when she returned, guiding him to one of the chairs in the waiting area.

“Where did we miss it?” He asked in frustration.

Amelia had been asking herself the same question since Max pulled the gun on her and John. He was one of the few people she’d trusted completely, and when she found out he’d been the one to betray her. That he’d been the one to call for her death.

Her heart had crumbled.

“He slipped under the radar,” Amelia muttered bitterly. “Played the game with Moriarty whispering in his ear.”

~~~

“I feel like someone shot me,” John mumbled, his eyes cloudy from the pain medicine.

It’d been hours since he’d been released from surgery, groggy and barely conscious.

But he was awake and alive.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Amelia replied, holding his hand to her chest. “You had us worried.”

“Mmm,” John chuckled softly. “I don’t see why. You two would have convinced God himself to give me back.”

“The Reaper wouldn’t have been able to leave the room, who are we kidding?” Amelia chided back. “I’d be yelling at him, and Sherlock would pull some deeply buried secret up to use it against him.”

John smiled, giving her hand a final squeeze before sliding it back under the covers with a shiver.

“I’m gonna try and sleep a little more...” he said, his eyes already shutting and his body falling limp. He was breathing steadily moments later, sound asleep.

“He’s really the best out of us,” she commented, watching him breath peacefully.

“I know,” Sherlock agreed in a low rumble.

“Your brother has Max in custody, right?” she moved to sit down next to him, her arms crossed, and body rigid.

“He had to have his nose treated,” he shared a sly grin with her. “But, they should begin the interrogation soon.”

“What a fucking asshole,” she muttered under her breath, her fists squeezed at her sides. “I trusted him.”

“Apparently not enough to give him a hard drive,” Sherlock mused.

“I didn’t want to bring him in too deep,” she sighed, distorting her face in disgust. “I was worried he might get hurt.”

“Did you tell him about the hard drive you sent to Ruth?”

“Of course not,” she frowned. “Less he knew and all that. Why?”

“She didn’t seem close with him at dinner,” he replied, leaning back. “I thought it was strange, given how often he visited. I chalked it up to a recent quarrel.”

Amelia hummed, trying to recall the dinner that had only happened a few hours before.

“He walked them out,” she reasoned. “Though, that was probably so he could get into my apartment without anyone noticing.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock nodded. “Ruth and Frank both seemed perplexed by it.”

He closed his eyes, his fingers steepled under his chin. He didn’t speak again.

Mind Palace, Amelia thought to herself, left a little uneasy by the sudden loneliness that swept the room with her two friends. It was the first time she’d truly been alone in weeks.

She didn’t like the silence. It meant she had time to think, and that’s when she was able to take an introspective look into her life. It was awful.

Now that Chemco had been stopped, the true villain revealed, what could she do next? There was of course helping John recover, and whatever Moriarty was up to.

But eventually John would be fine, and frankly, Moriarty would always linger above them, so planning around that was impossible.

Was it time to consider going back home to New York?

She’d thought about it once or twice. Going back to a normal life.

A friend of hers from college had reached out about an amateur art exhibition in the Village she was running. She’d wanted to see if Amelia had anything she wanted to contribute.

It’d been almost a week and Amelia still hadn’t replied, unsure of what exactly to say.

How could she even begin to explain the chaos that her life had been for the last year?

Certainly, the papers and the news would reach New York once Chemco stock started to plummet. It was too big a company to just brush aside. Her friend would probably piece it together given enough time. There was really no point in hiding it, but Amelia wasn’t ready to pull off that bandaid.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to start a contingency plan. She did have an idea for a portrait she could send a picture of… just for some input at the very least. At the most? Having a painting up didn’t mean she had to live in New York.

She could visit during the exhibition.

Maybe Sherlock and John would go with her? It could be a fun trip, a little vacation after this whole hellish ordeal.

She tried to picture her friends in the streets she grew up on. The parks she frequented or the coffee shop she’d typed her thesis in.

Her friends would be jealous that she’d found such handsome Brits to settle in with, she smiled to herself.

It’d be hilarious until Sherlock started picking away at them. She could almost hear John reminding him not to be rude. That they were her friends.

“Idiots,” she was confident Sherlock would mutter. And he’d be right. The majority of her friends from New York were from old money like she was.

They weren’t very interesting or were very well-read.

They had their money, and their trusts, and their wildly popular social media accounts. Amelia was pretty sure one of her ex-boyfriends was on a reality show now.

Maybe she wasn’t as homesick as she’d thought.

“Canterbury,” Sherlock’s eyes slowly opened and he looked to Amelia. “You told Monty not to say anything to your cousin because you had to get home to London.”

“Yeah,” she pulled herself from her daydream in Central Park, back to the hospital room.

Back to London. Back to home.

“But, when we got back, Mrs. Hudson mentioned that Ruthie had told her father that she was disappointed we hadn’t stopped over,” he continued. “But if Monty never mentioned it...”

“Max was trailing us,” Amelia finished the thought, scowling. It made so much sense. How else would Max have been able to report so confidently back to Mrs. Hudson. Amelia certainly hadn’t told him about their excursion.

“It also explains how Moriarty knew exactly where to find you,” he added.

“They sent the arsonist as a decoy,” she realized. “To distract you.”

“Moriarty would have wanted to see you fall,” he nodded. “He must have realized that Maxwell hadn’t been totally honest when he saw John and I.”

“The decoy was Max’s idea,” Amelia surmised.

“To keep Moriarty on track,” Sherlock nodded. “He tried to play the most dangerous man of all.”

“Moriarty gets mad, brings me back, demands something he knows Max won’t be able to find,” Amelia was sitting up. “But had he accounted for this?”

They both looked to where John was still sleeping soundly in bed.

“We’ll have to find out,” Sherlock’s expression brightened considerably for the first time that day. “The game is on.”

Chapter 11

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #sherlock/ofc #sherlock original female character #john watson #watson #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #writing #OC #OFC #reader #sherlock/reader #reader insert

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asfeedin · 4 years

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“Let the Hate Flow Through You”: Cooking Tasks That Fill Us With Dread

[Photographs: Vicky Wasik unless otherwise noted]

It should come as no surprise to any of our readers that everyone on the Serious Eats staff loves to cook. Many of us are even die-hard defenders of the proposition that anything homemade is preferable to store-bought, from English muffins and cake (bye, Betty Crocker!) to even condiments like mayonnaise and chili crisp, where the store-bought versions are totally fine to use.

That doesn’t mean we all love everything about cooking! Some kitchen tasks are incredibly annoying. Washing spinach? Picking thyme leaves? Touching corn starch? Yup, all of those are bad. Usually, we’d say about such tasks, “Life’s too short. No one has time for that.” And yet, now, for all of us, everywhere, cooking more of our meals at home, we all do, in fact, have time for even the most-time-consuming kitchen chores. But that doesn’t mean we have to like them any better than in the time before coronavirus.

We asked our staff to identify one thing they hate to do in the kitchen above all others, and their answers are included below, from peeling garlic and deveining shrimp to “baking” (nice one, Niki!). We found talking about the cooking activities we hate to be cathartic, so if you’d like to take a minute out of your day and gripe about anything kitchen-related—for fun, for your mental health, or just because making chicken cutlets really does blow chunks—say it loud and say it proud in the comments.

So Much Hand-Washing

Cooking and baking are inherently messy activities that require thoughtful cleaning and prepping to mitigate the risks of cross contamination and food-borne illnesses. Now that hand-washing is finally getting the attention it deserves inside and outside of the kitchen, I feel some shame in admitting that it is not my favorite task. Please don’t report me to the CDC! I still practice it carefully as needed! You can still come over for dinner when social distancing is over! I just have painful eczema on my hands, which is exacerbated by soap and hot water.

I try to obsessively plan out my kitchen tasks to reduce hand washing. That means prepping in order from the cleanest to dirtiest ingredient, dry to wet, water-based to oil-based. There is a special type of dread that comes when both of my hands are greasy, sticky, and unusable. My personal purgatory would involve dredging fried chicken while the oven timer goes off, my phone with the recipe on it goes to sleep, and the doorbell rings at the same time. —Maggie Lee, designer

Bones to Pick

The only two single-use tools I own are a cherry pitter and fish tweezers, for deboning fish. Pitting cherries is a tedious task, but at least you get to eat cherries as you work. Deboning fish is grunt work. When I can’t get my fishmonger to do it, I have to dig through my utensil drawer to find the oddly shaped tweezers. Though plucking each pin bone out of fish fillets offers some gratification, not unlike plucking an errant eyebrow hair, it’s an annoying layer of prep work that gets in the way of cooking. It’s not satisfying like chopping or dicing, it’s not a skill that I seem to get better or faster at, and it’s something that, if you forget to do it, markedly decreases the enjoyment of the meal. I hate it! —Daniela Galarza, features editor

Garlic Prep

This most mundane of tasks is the one I can’t stand the most. Not because it’s particularly difficult, but because it’s a daily nuisance. There’s hardly a recipe that doesn’t require fiddling with garlic’s papery skins, and of course garlic is wonderful so I’m never willing to skip it, which just…pisses me off! Look, I know every trick in the book, from smashing the garlic with a knife and rattling the cloves around in metal mixing bowls to giving each clove a gentle twist between my fingers to pry the skins loose, but none of them work well enough or consistently enough to ease my mind of the inevitable dread whenever it’s time to peel yet more garlic.

There is a flip side to this, though, which is the deep appreciation I feel when a fresh crop of garlic rolls into the market and for a few months I get to enjoy those easy-to-peel skins before they dry out and become so damned annoying again. —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

Minty Fresh Aggravation

[Photograph: Max Falkowitz]

Whenever I have the energy, I like to add tons of fresh herbs to almost anything I’m cooking, and I especially love the summery freshness of mint. But the prep is such a fussy nightmare! First you have to carefully wash, then dry the whole plants, and then painstakingly pick off leaves one at a time. With things like parsley and cilantro I tend to just chop everything up, but mint stalks are so woody and fibrous there’s really no getting around individually picking off the leaves.” —Daniel Dyssegaard Kallick, developer

A Tough Nut to Crack

No matter what I do or whatever method I use (toaster oven, small sauté pan), the nuts I am attempting to toast always burn. It drives me nuts and burns me up. Burnt nuts aren’t really usable for anything. I am awaiting the development of the single-use nut toaster that automatically turns off when the nuts are a nice toasty golden brown. Until then I’ll continue to suffer, though no longer in silence. —Ed Levine, overlord

Berry Annoyed

When it comes to washing produce, my laziness knows no bounds. This is especially true with washing berries. They’re delicate, so I don’t want to mush them up; they’re more absorbent than anything with peels or a skin; and they require a careful picking through to take out any unwanted debris. I’ve begrudgingly come around to washing most fruits and veggies that come through my kitchen (as one should), but berries still get to me. —Jina Stanfill, social media editor

I Like My Fingers, Thanks

It’s time to get hyper-specific: I was hired because of my abilities to cut footage, not produce, so my chopping skills leave a lot to be desired. My mandoline has helped hide that fact whenever I’m prepping a dish that requires razor-thin shavings of anything. I’ve had no issues with anything I’ve sliced except shallots. I’m not sure if it’s the tear-inducing onion fumes or their slick layers that makes shallots super-slippery, but thinly sliced shallots are my arch nemesis. The only silver lining is that if I ever need fried shallots to snack on while going on the lam without fingerprints, I’ve got the perfect solution. —Joel Russo, video producer

Grating Cheese Really Grates

I am a perfectionist in the kitchen and prefer to do everything myself, but if there’s one task I delegate it’s grating cheese, an awkward motion that seems designed to induce repetitive stress injury. My great-grandfather had no rotational function in his forearm owing to a war injury, and so, I’m told, he built his own cheese-grating system operated by foot pedal. I am looking into a similar solution. —John Mattia, video editor

Golden Fried No-Thank-You

Like most people, I appreciate a perfect piece of fried food—from donuts and chicken to deep-fried pickles. However, despite how much I enjoy fried food, I absolutely dislike deep frying anything at home. I basically avoid it at this point. From having to make sure I have oil on hand (I never do, and I never have the right oil, to boot), to checking that the oil is hot enough and maintaining its temperature (which is a guessing game for me, even with a thermometer), and then to cleaning up the mess and the oil itself (which, to be honest, I’ve sometimes left for my husband to deal with), is just a recipe for more work than I’m willing to put in. On top of that, the fry smell permeates everything in my apartment for at least a week. I’ll leave the business of fried food to places that have commercial deep fryers and will continue to frequent them whenever I’m craving fried food perfection. —Kristina Razon, operations manager

Sharpen My Knife? Yeah, Right

As I look at this list of the cooking tasks my work colleagues dread, I’m pretty surprised. A lot of these tasks I actually really enjoy. Peeling garlic, picking mint leaves…those are things I relish and even find relaxing. You can’t mess up peeling garlic or picking leaves. But you can absolutely mess up sharpening a knife. Despite the fact that we have a really useful guide to knife sharpening, I can’t get myself to do it. I’m terrified I’m going to cut myself or mess up my blades. What looks like a really cool, meditative process on video just fills me with fear. And I know that dull knives can also be very dangerous! So the lesser of two evils is to use an electric sharpener. Don’t tell my colleagues! I don’t want them to be disappointed. —Ariel Kanter, director of commerce and content marketing

Baking

Look, I’m not a complete monster—I love to eat baked goods (though I’d argue that cake is seriously overrated). But with rare exceptions, like these insanely easy ricotta-brown butter cookies, this damn fine cherry pie, and these truly phenomenal lemon bars, I’ll go to great lengths to avoid making them from scratch. I’d say my resistance is a 70-30 ratio of “fear of discovering at the very end that I’ve messed up the dessert/bread and all my hard, finicky work was for naught and everyone will be disappointed and I will be judged” and “unpleasant mess.” But really, it’s so, so many reasons. Allow me to elaborate:

Too many bowls: It’s just too many bowls, period. Do I even have that many bowls? What if they’re reactive? And then after I’ve made the damn dessert I also need to clean them all?? Hard pass.

Whisking dry ingredients together: This is a task I thought I had under control until I found out Stella recommends doing it for AT LEAST ONE MINUTE—which might as well be a year.

Sifting: Sometimes the recipe asks you to sift stuff. The sheer amount of powder that winds up on my work surfaces, clothing, and floor is unacceptable. Especially when it’s cocoa powder that gets damp and is suddenly chocolate.

Using a stand mixer: I love my stand mixer for making fresh pasta. But when I have to actually use the bowl, it’s infuriating. Scraping the sides of your mixing bowl is just an endless game of turning the machine on and off, sticking your arm in at weird angles only to almost always miss a spot.

Too many leftovers: When I take on a baking project, I’m faced with indivisible recipes that yield far greater than two servings. Yes, you can freeze pie or cookie dough, but my freezer is incredibly small. Because I have zero self-control, this almost always results in a severe stomachache. For this reason, I almost only bake for company, which leads me to perhaps my greatest pet peeve…

Not being able to taste as you go! The idea that my baked good could look amazing on the outside, but I won’t know if I messed up until I serve and slice into the thing, is profoundly disincentivizing. As the EIC of a prominent food site, I put a lot of pressure on myself when cooking for company, and while I never second guess the quality of a Stella recipe, that doesn’t mean I can’t introduce untold human errors into the process.

The only way to get better at baking is to keep…doing it. Enough said.

Finally, to anyone thinking, so your real issue is being tidy, organized, patient, and detail-oriented…I guess you’re right. Shame on me! Thankfully, those traits don’t present in every area of my life. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, editor-in-chief

Sticky Cilantro

I love cilantro (sorry if it tastes like soap to you), so I don’t actively shy away from this task, but I loathe the seemingly special ability it has to stick to anything and everything once chopped—the cutting board, the knife, my hands, whatever you use to try and scrap the knife clean. —Paul Cline, president

Cutlets!

I hate making breaded chicken cutlets. I hate everything about it. It is, for me, the manifestation of cooking hell on Earth. Why does something so delicious have to be such a pain in the neck to make? Because that’s really the rub; there’s a lot of cooking tasks I dislike—washing fresh spinach 10 million times only to discover there’s still grit in the washing water; crumbling up cold leftover rice with my hands; touching powdered plant starch of any kind—but there’s only one that I dislike and yet feel compelled to regularly repeat, since I don’t know if life is worth living if you can’t eat good chicken cutlets at least once every two weeks.

Part of it is the mess, sure. But a lot of cooking tasks are messy. Any and all baking projects make me make a mess of my kitchen. And even if making cutlets means I have to clean a cutting board, a meat mallet, at least two half sheet pans (one for the breaded cutlets to rest, another for cooling), a cooling rack, a quarter sheet pan (for breading), and two 1/8 sheet pans (for the flour and egg wash dredging), a skillet, the stovetop (of oil splatters), the counter (for spills), the floor (for random flour and bits of panko), and my hands 10 billion times to prevent immediate food poisoning and belated food poisoning via cross-contamination, that isn’t the whole picture of my hate for these stupidly delicious things.

Part of it is you can’t do anything else while cooking them. They’re quick to cook, sure, but you can only cook a few at a time in even a 12-inch skillet, and you need to watch them, tend the temperature of the oil as you would a baby’s first toddling steps, and you need to salt each one right out of the fryer otherwise they’re crap, and then you have to cook like six more because who, really, makes just two freaking cutlets at a time except for heathens and (some very diligent) line cooks? That’s a solid block of kitchen time spent just frying things; you can’t clean as you go, you can’t prep other food, you’re just cooking cutlets for however long it takes to cook them all.

Another part of it is: No one likes a badly cooked cutlet, and cooking 10 cutlets, say, requires you pay careful attention to cooking the cutlets for a sustained period of time. It’s outrageous! And then, inevitably, when my attention flags, or I have to do literally anything else that might be necessary, like talking to my child, or paying attention to my wife, or thinking even for a moment, “man, I absolutely hate making chicken cutlets,” a cutlet will burn or get unevenly colored or overcooked because I haven’t been swirling the oil, or checking on its underside crust, or maybe I’m just at the end of the process and rather than “wasting” more cooking oil and topping off the fat in the pan, I try (for the 100 billionth time) to make do with less oil than is obviously necessary and all the burning bits of panko from the other 16 cutlets I’ve made start sticking to the crust of the final three, mottling their appearance and generally messing them up.

The only way I’ve found to deal with cutlet madness is to make them at least an hour before I have to eat them, because otherwise I find any flaw in any cutlet an indictment not just of my skills as a cook but of the entire cutlet-making operation.

But, of course, even the badly cooked cutlets taste really good, even when eaten as a cold leftover, provided you salted them properly and salt them again out of the fridge, and so the process will begin again solely on the strength of how good the things are to eat, any time of day, prepared in any stupid way.—Sho Spaeth, editor and writer and lover of cutlets

Cleaning Shrimp

There were a lot of time-consuming prep tasks that I used to dread when I cooked in restaurants. The combination of the sheer volume of prep required to get through service (picking a full pint of thyme leaves or thinly slicing a quart of chives to dole out to all the cooks on the line is a major pain in the ass when you also need to get purées cooked and blended, whole fish broken down, lobster meat picked, and so on), and the constant breakneck push and anxiety to get the endless list of tasks done by the time the first wave of guests are sat in a dining room can take the joy out of menial kitchen tasks. But these days, I don’t dread having to clean a big haul of produce that I picked up from the farmers market—in fact, I find the process very enjoyable and soothing.

That doesn’t mean that I suddenly enjoy every prep project under the sun, though. There’s one that I will always despise, and it’s peeling and deveining shrimp.

There is nothing enjoyable about the process—it’s tedious, time-consuming, not very appetizing, and over the years I’ve come to realize that the irritation I feel when handling raw shrimp is physical as well as mental (my hands get super-itchy when shelling shrimp without gloves). But when I want shrimp for dinner, like for a recent riff on aglio e olio pasta, I can’t bring myself to purchase already peeled and deveined ones. Shrimp shells are packed with so much flavor, it’d be a shame to miss out on that potential.

So, I begrudgingly set up a shrimp processing station instead, and get to work excising those giant digestive tracts, cursing myself the whole time for not just making shell-on salt and pepper shrimp instead. However, that would involve deep-frying, another cooking project that I don’t love tackling at home. —Sasha Marx, senior culinary editor

Dirty, Dirty Greens

It’s a running joke in the Serious Eats office that my refrigerator is usually a barren wasteland. I just don’t tend to keep a lot of food around; it inevitably goes bad because I’m so full from snacking all day at work in the test kitchen that I rarely feel like cooking when I get home. But once in a while you’ll find a pie plate in there with my favorite recipe on the site: spanakopita. The one thing I’ve learned from the dozen or so times I’ve made this recipe is that washing and drying leafy greens and herbs SUCKS. It is just the absolute worst, especially when you have a smaller salad spinner. —Vicky Wasik, visual director

Rice, Rice, Baby

I’m well aware that making rice is one of the simpler tasks to take on in the kitchen, and I’m slightly fearful of the backlash I might receive when my colleagues read this. It’s hard for me to pinpoint just what it is about making rice that I don’t like. Maybe it’s the pesky grains that try to escape when you wash them (I’ve only recently invested in a fine-mesh strainer, which has made me hate the process just a little less); or maybe it’s the water-to-rice ratio that, without fail, I always have to look up to make sure I’m getting just right. Whatever it is, I dread it. So whenever I’m cooking and I need to serve a dish with rice, I just nominate whoever is around me to do it instead. —Yasmine Maggio, social media intern

So now you know our dirty secrets. What tasks do you dread these days?

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seenashwrite · 7 years

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The Nail: July 2017

The Nail isn't about perfection. It isn't about award-level contenders. It's about seeing focus and effort and hard work radiate off of the screen.

The Nail's purpose isn't to highlight genres of fics or specific ships written during a certain time frame - the sole focus is quality.

Character dimension. Writing with clever readers in mind. Solid world-building. Tension through boundaries. Crazy crisp dialogue. Incredibly tight plotting. Big emotion.

And though yours truly - nice to meet you, new folks, I’m Nash! - is editor of the list, the goal is for YOU to curate the content.

Read more about how all this came to be, find past editions, see what factors are considered when constructing the list, and how to get your recommendations in/be a curator HERE.

Hey, ramblers? Let’s get ramblin’.

For your reblogging convenience, here’s The Nail Master Post of Editions!

Quickie Nash Note:

I've not had opportunity this month [June] to give individual three-point reviews. So, something a little different here for July's reads - and it just might be the way The Nail rolls from here on out [and yes - I still will review on my "own time", as it were, once I... y'know... have more time].

Aside from the typical short blip of a summary that reviewers provide for their readers, you'll see a handful of reasons these pieces made the list below that, labelled "Q". In other words, the "Q"s are a handful of elements we [curators & I] look for when it comes to an author nailing it.

Quite wonderfully, the curator submissions are increasing in number with every edition! So much so, many stories have been shifted to upcoming months. If you enjoy curator selections & found them to be of quality, please consider not only giving the authors feedback, but also thanking the curator(s) for bringing the story/series to your attention. I suspect they'll dig it.

XO - Nash.

* ~ * ALL FROM THE WORLD OF "SUPERNATURAL" UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED * ~ *

SPEED READS [from scene do-overs to gif-inspired one-shots to dripping drabbles, all 500 words or less]

These won’t be reviewed separately in Nash’s usual three-point manner à la #Nash Gives [Feed]back due to their length, excepting those cases where the author pulled off a fleshed-out plot/character or had a unique take that was well-covered in the short amount of space. If there is no title provided by the author, Nash/the curator will pick one for them.

THE YEAR IS 2050 - @mishasaurus

Years on the job, and still the occasional surprise.

Q: crisp, quick, no more words/detail than necessary; executed a call-back and wisely eschewed any [uneccessary] explanations; wonderfully delightful, spot-on humor

FIFTEEN - @teamfreewill-imagine

Time always has moved differently for Dean.

Q: Concise while still giving character dimension; exploratory without explaining every finite detail; subtle and realistic tipping point in character arc

RESERVED SPACE - @supernaturalfreewill

Rather than take action, Dean observes and wonders.

Q: pitch-perfection descriptions that gave just enough vs. too dense; took a prompt that inferred a certain direction/instead chose a thoughtful path to show a different side of a well-known character; pleasant change of pace/atypical use of reader inclusion/insert

STEP-BY-STEP - @veneredirimmel

A short character study, considering what exactly is behind this hunter's smile.

Q: careful and considerate exploration of a characteristic that often bends shallow and sappy; flow is pitch-perfect, each section adding a bit more gravity, growing more personal as it goes on; kept in line with the portrayal we know while adding believable layers; leaves the reader with a feeling of "I want to go back and read this again"

---> Unable to tag author, if someone would kindly let them know <---

THE LONG, FULL YEARS - @ariannnawinchester

What happens in the life story of the Winchesters after "The End" has been written.

Q: fantastic example of a heavy topic in the hands of a sharp author who can make it feel "light" & not depressive; written with clever readers in mind, painting a picture fluid enough to allow for interpretation; absolutely knocked it out of the park regarding the "main event", in that those details weren't important as the aftermath is the point; fleshed-out OCs whose personalities were clear & enjoyable despite only a few lines between them

THERE IT WAS - @deathtonormalcy56

There's every reason to believe he'll be back - after all, he's always come back before - and now begins the time in between.

Q: good contrasts between objectives & subjectives/how "dulls" can be "sharps", etc.; took the risk of going with little/no dialogue that can often go awry for many/go sluggish; strong protag in the face of sorrow/doesn't fall apart/introspection without broodiness; 2nd person almost fading into 3rd omniscient

ON THE SHORT SIDE [500-ish to 1.5K]

Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review

URBAN LEGENDS - @sasquatchandleatherjacket

Seems that some legends are more than the stories we use to contain them - and just how frightening they are depends on your perspective.

Q: creative take on the subject which made absolute perfect sense; nice, slow burn - despite the crisp pace & length - to the ultimate reveal, nicely camouflaged by the initial, more intuitive reveal; atypical choice regarding perspective, one not often utilized; leaves reader with the feeling of "I'd definitely read this again"

---> Unable to tag author, if someone would kindly let them know <---

SHEETS - @klaineaholic

The basic skills for hunting include weapons and the lore, but when it comes to hunting with the Winchesters, one must also master snark, sarcasm, sass - and those skills may just be the most important of all.

Q: well-done characterization; nice, quick pace; awkward moment handled realistically; fleshed-out protag in a very short amount of time/showed a sharp wit with a softer side that didn't bend sappy

TEA TIME WITH MILDRED [on AO3] - @grey2510

Crowley has help this time around with his critique of Dean and Castiel.

Q: in medias res with steady pace; excellent characterizations, including fleshed-out & highly enjoyable minor/here-and-gone character from a past ep; doesn't waste time on things superfluous to plot, nice flow

TRANSPLANT - @zepppie

Dean takes a moment to give thanks for a gift, one that's given him a very different perspective on life.

Q: very unique/original plot that fits within the universe of the show; excellent characterization [minor OCs & protag alike]; written with clever readers in mind; big emotion while calmly introspective

THE BEST OF FOOLS - @fanforfanatic

In which Castiel learns that a gift he's received holds more than simply music.

Q: in medias res; scene exploration with unique/original concept; tangible descriptions of the object in question, paints picture of sound extremely well; multiple fantastic turns-of-phrase/keeps a steady flow/prevents a bogged-down information relay

STICK 'EM UP - @seljepw

Dean finds himself in a slightly atypical situation, though he also finds the family mantra still applies.

Q: Solid beginning/cap-off; very believable characterization/verbiage/behavior of protag; tight plotting with crisp dialogue; little-to-no extraneous detail

MIDDLE-OF-THE-ROAD [around 1.5K - 2.5K]

Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review

LET'S SWAYZE THIS MOTHER - @emilywritesaboutdean

They thought Gabriel had been taken out of the equation. They were wrong. Oh wow, were they ever wrong.

Q: in medias res; incredibly creative plot [bonus points for perfect title choice]; both the overall story/structure and characterizations left the feeling of having watched an episode of the show; seemingly effortless humor

THERE YOU'LL ALWAYS BE - @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

It was a different relationship for Sam, this woman who understood his lifestyle and his secrets completely, though the feelings of contrition seem to find him all the same.

Q: beautifully fleshed-out, introspective view of the stoic main character that rings true to canon/believable interaction with secondary canon character; moderate borrowing from source material used appropriately; killer last line to cap off

Curated by @klaineaholic, who said: "This is so so sad and beautiful! The [pieces of dialogue were] such Eileen things to say, I’m so glad you wrote this!”

LONGER [around 2.5K to 3K-ish]

Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review

CRAPULOUS - @butiaintgonnaloveem

A tale of a hangover, a vampire stake-out that went awry, and mysterious underwear await.

Q: well-plotted story with just enough detail/purposefully does not reveal every facet/encourages readers' imaginations; quick, witty, crisp dialogue beyond prompt(s); phenomenal featured OC; believable take on canon character; seemingly effortless humor

THE REST - @mrswhozeewhatsis

Deferring to author's pitch-perfect summary - “It’s all about what you give away and what you keep for yourself.”

Q: excellent weaving together of a fleshed-out OC's story in a very plausible behind-the-scenes-canon vignette; limited/no laborious describing of situations/surroundings/appearances; well-done choices of breaks/flipping to next scene/kept flow; bonus points for utilizing a seldom-seen character

Curated by @klaineaholic, who said: "I'm falling more and more in love with these fics that explore what's behind the canon. [This story is] like following this thread and going until you think you know how it's going to play into the canon and then the end just tugs your heart unexpectedly. Michelle clearly put so much thought and creativity into her pre-canon story on [a] beloved, oft-written about part of the Supernatural universe."

DEEP DIVES [3K and beyond, including completed multi-parters with 2 to (roughly) 5 parts of modestly sized chapters totaling at minimum 3K words]

This does *not* include series, which have their own section. Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review.

THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS - @hannahindie

On a much-needed night of relaxation for the crew, Dean’s picked a happy hour - with the hope of a happy ending - that doesn’t quite go as expected.

Q: rarely seen use of a narrator to help tell the story - and it is pulled it off seamlessly/does not detract or add a cumbersome nature - this is one of those few exceptions to the likely-never-to-fail-you in medias res kickoff; crisp, witty dialogue/interactions; solid all-around characterization

SCAR TISSUE - @fanforfanatic

It's nothing new when Dean meets a woman in a bar - only this time, as the author puts it, "their damaged parts seem to match."

Q: took an oft-seen locale/situation and went deeper/introspective without being depressive; lovely, subtle touches sprinkled throughout for adding character depth - particularly O.C. - that add up by the end (bonus points for inventive "naming"); multiple well-crafted turns-of-phrase

SERIES SPOTLIGHT : SUPERNATURAL & SPN CROSS-OVERS [works that are completed series, as well as ongoing series with at least 3 parts published as of/prior to the edition of The Nail in question]

Due to time constraints, series are not read in full. They are given a cursory once-over for the quality basics, most importantly that the author has put maximum effort into world-building.

The first chapter / first handful of chapters / first third of the first chapter - depending on length - are read to ensure there are no gross grammar / spelling errors, as well as ensuring the story’s premise is made clear.

Summation line(s) below are taken from the author/the story, edited/shortened only for length/clarity if needed. Same applies to series from other fandoms featured on this list.

LIKE A ROLLING STONE - @stori-teller

"Cas Novak stumbles across a dead body - enter the Winchesters."

Q: in medias res; character dimension; descriptions of people/places/things unfold organically; plot unfolds organically/no long expositions/etc.; bonus points for mini-summaries/appropriate warnings for each chapter

SENSATION - @littlegreenplasticsoldier

"Sam is cursed to live without his senses and you are left to look after him at the bunker."

Q: [Deferring to our curators this go, seems they covered it, yes? ;) -N.]

Curated by @butiaintgonnaloveem, who said: "It's one of those fics that is heavy, while maintaining humor which is tricky. And the way she manages to describe the senses and the lack thereof just boggles my mind."

Curated by @klaineaholic, who said: "Being inside Sam's head as he loses all of his senses, following along as you (the character) try to keep him sane and make him feel not-so-alone when he can't help BUT feel alone [...] Sam's internal voice is captured perfectly, his characterization is so true, and the plot is just phenomenal."

BLOOD & PERFUME - @helvonasche + @madamelibrarian

"A pair of sisters must learn to navigate a life they're not used to, without a family, and with a power that should not exist."

Q: in medias res - and with a kick/thrown right into the action; unique ability/power/skill not seen/rare to see in this fandom; inventive name choices for original characters that fit the tone without being cumbersome or distracting; lets plot unfold organically

YOUR YOUNG MEN WILL SEE VISIONS, YOUR OLD MEN WILL DREAM DREAMS - @winchester-family-business

[SUPERNATURAL + INCEPTION]

"Dreamsharing: digging through the secrets that should stay locked up tight - and no secret is safe from the Winchesters."

Q: see my review for more detail on how this author essentially gave a master class on how to start a story, particularly in the action/adventure genre; takes inspiration without carbon-copy; characterization on-point; tension through boundaries; writing for clever readers

Nash Note: The link on the right - the second part of the title - is to the first chapter. The one on the left - the first part of the title - is to the brief primer on the “Inception” universe

RISE FOR YOUR KING - @thran-duils

“You were betrothed to a prince, but when a neighboring king - a mage - decides to dole out justice to your future father in law, he destroys the royal family... and takes an immediate liking to you.”

Q: well-styled fantasy/pseudo-historical AU with solid world-building; in medias res; tension/drama/action that ebbs/flows; gift/power/skill for protag which is atypical/rarely seen

Curated by @klaineaholic, who said: "JaNae is the queen of AU!Cas and she throws this character into new positions and life experiences and draws from the various Castiels that we see on the show in order to play with her AU!Cas' personality. This fic reminds me of Godstiel in a way, and how power-hungry that Cas was. Definitely imaginative, truly unique, and sexy to boot."

THUNDER ROAD - @tankcupcakes

“Sent back in time to stop the murder of their parents, Sam and Dean are met with unforeseen circumstances that strand them in the past.”

Q: in medias res; crisp dialogue; tight plotting; spot-on/fleshed-out characterization [familiar + OCs]; evident critical eye regarding appropriate detail for time period; nice formatting/flow

POEMS & POETICAL PROSE [mostly quick reads, these are actual poems of any structure/length, as well as short prose that sings like a songbird]

These will not be reviewed separately in Nash’s usual three-point manner à la #Nash Gives [Feed]back due to the typically short lengths & structure. For poems: an excerpted line is used in lieu of summary. If there is no title provided by the author, Nash/the curator will pick one for them.

WHAT ANGELS NEED - @justrandomspnstuff

"...counting freckles like they’re flecks of gold."

Q: stanzas arranged with common strokes vs. carbon-copy repetition; sweet/thoughtful without bending saccharine/broody; kept clever readers in mind/lets the reader fill in the finer details

HIS CREATION - @vintagesam

"...enough tiny stars to make you believe in infinity."

Q: impeccable structure; steady through-line with nice break in form for ending; imagery without using over-the-top vocab/kept it simple & sharp yet expressive

HE KNEW - @trexrambling

“The hunting continued while a different dream was born from the ashes.”

Q: nice change of pace with pseudo-”insert” approach in 3rd person/engaging readers with choice of 2nd protag; good formatting to help flow/segments of their time together separated; no "real" dialogue but without loss of pace

[ETA: Caught it on a subsequent glance - I have no idea why only Rex’s got copied from draft when I had it in another category initially, but it’s fixed now! -N.]

RANDOM FANDOMS [all types, all lengths, all the things that aren’t SPN but are still pretty dang super]

Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review, same standards apply per genre as noted above

TWO BIRDS [series] - @whotheeffisbucky

[MARVEL]

“Set in the roaring 1920s, Bucky Barnes runs Manhattan like a kid with a toy set. There’s perhaps only one person who should be more feared than him - and she’s asking for his protection.”

Q: phenomenal/well-researched world-building; tone, verbiage, descriptions that read like they're somewhere in the Gatsby family tree; appropriate to this time period/genre - winding and packed with rich - not laborious - detail

WHAT'S A LITTLE TRAUMA BETWEEN FRIENDS - @withstarryeyes

[STAR TREK]

An injury proves traumatic to more than just the person on the receiving end.

Q: wonderful characterization/explored side of a protag only seen glimpses of; nice cadence/flow; appropriate use of "breaks" in formatting that didn't disturb the flow; refreshing style to see regarding a distinct lack of laborious descriptions [setting/characters/etc.] in lieu of shots of tiny details sprinkled along paragraphs

LOGIC AND ANGELS - @oneshot-twoshot-redshot-blueshot

[SHERLOCK + pseudo-SPN]

The great Mr. Holmes adds to his vast amount of knowledge.

Q: in medias res; excellent characterization of protag; kept air of mystery/no explicit explanations/ambiguity - written with clever readers in mind; multiple well-crafted lines, both internal and verbal

---> Unable to tag author, if someone would kindly let them know <---

ORIGINAL WORKS [anything from haiku to novella]

Works via curators will not necessarily receive Nash's typical 3-point review, same standards apply per genre as noted above

I DIDN'T GIVE YOU THE FRUIT - @medeae

"I forget that ichor is gold."

Q: imaginative/original; vivid but not overbearing/atypical imagery; crisp, tight structure/verbiage

LIKE THE SUN - @louisamayanniecat

"He looked at her like she was the sun, in that he never looked at her except in frustration."

Q: subverted the concept and made it infinitely better; not a space/word/letter wasted; conveyed a multitude of thoughts and incited as many feelings in a crisp, quick, organized manner

---> Unable to tag author, if someone would kindly let them know <---

THE JUDGMENT - @impala-dreamer

One person's journey through.

Q: good use of imagery; platitude pulled from the facile & given framework; contrast of easy nature with intensity of setting

BOOKS ABOUT BETTER GIRLS - @inkskinned

Not every princess spends her days alone in the tower.

Q: above and beyond, fantastic, exceptional execution of a trope twist; fleshed-out characters; plot unfolds organically; written for clever readers; lovely world-building/character depth as compared to the length of text [read: many authors would take more words and likely accomplish less]

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