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writingcold · 19 days

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Bound

AU Jake X Chris slash

A/N: At the announcement of Mirador, and that first picture of Jake and Chris, my brain went to the following blurb. I have been working on an AU currently titled The Dead. This story is about soulmates that have been cursed to live apart - and at the time of story, they have lived many lifetimes apart. Within the story there are 6 versions of our Jake set in many different eras, just as there are 6 different versions of Maéva - the Y/N character. It has been so fun to write! But I am rambling. The point is, the following blurb is just ONE of the lifetimes that Jake has across 400 years. I was only going to share it with a few friends, but then @katuschka, @its-interesting-van-kleep and @thewritingbeforesunrise really have thrown their support behind me and this blurb. The rest I’ve shared with - you know who you are - are such an amazing group, so I hope they enjoy the revisited blurb. I’ve cleaned it up a bit, polished it, honed it a little more. This will NOT be in the story proper, it’ll be mentioned, but not known to the main character. At least at this point, it is not. Our secret. And as always, thank you to @edgingthedarkness for listening to me carry on and on and on and on… and on about this story and being so patient with me over the mess that it is.

***This is an 18+ story for adults only. This is a blurb of Yakov Petrov (Jake) and Christian Hertel (Chris Turpin inspired). It is an AU set in time when Michigan was voted in as a state.***

Content warnings: Sexual situations m/m, oral, unprotected sexual situations, a little angsty (of course, and loops back to the actual story), a touch of Yakov (Jake) being a brat.

Word count: approximately 2600

Journal Entry - Yakov Petrov, June 1862

The commission had come in August of 1854 to survey the new territories of the northwest. Christian had reservations, but the money would be good, lodging and food was included. He had enough hands to set out like a grand jungle expedition into the wilds of the unexplored lands of the United States. I did not understand his reservations. To set out into the wilderness that only those native to the land had known? What adventure. What a privilege to see and paint and study. But, my Christian was the one who gained the commission, not I. It would be his decision to go and his decision to take whom he felt would be fitting to the project. Just because we shared our appetites with each other, did not mean that I would attend the expedition.

We had boarded the ship in Boston, May of 1855, that would take us first to New York, then up through the St. Lawrence Seaway, into Lake Ontario. We’d then follow the Niagara River to Lake Huron. From Lake Huron, we’d find ourselves on the Detroit River to finally push our way into Lake Michigan. Detroit would be our destination for a fashion. Christian had called it our last stop of frayed civilization before traversing into the untamed wilds of the north lands.

I will not be untrue - being aboard those ships brought me a joy from the core of my spirit, but a mournfulness as well. I felt this joy to be old, sunk down in the marrow of my bones and beyond me in a way that was confusing and best forgotten the moment my feet touched the land of Detroit. We were housed in what was considered a grand house of the region, but after such luxury in Boston and Philadelphia, I was finding myself holding my tongue from spoiled and rude comments. A tent in the grand garden of our townhome would have been more comfortable.

A month of those conditions prepared us for the path before us. We had native guides and set out with a troupe of sixteen hands to carry and maintain our academic venture. Christian was a marvel in his organization of those men. He wanted to start at the northern point of Sault Ste. Marie. That meant more travel by water, which was fine. The commission demanded each step be documented - not just in paint and charcoal, but recording for scientific reasons, the flora and fauna, the animals, the geography. All of it was to be recorded and sent to Washington, DC, for study. That was to be our nature of work, and we would follow it to the letter.

My foot touched the aged pier of Sault Ste. Marie and I felt an illness within that I could not explain. Christian wanted to send me home to Boston, I was so taken. I took to a bed in a passable inn and shook with a fright that I could not shake. It was in my blood. It invaded my breath. I sent Christian on with the promise that I would catch up if he were to leave me a guide. I was behind him by weeks, only, but in that time, my soul seemed to cry over the wild, windswept land that was this already old place. I found myself walking upon the grounds of a once great shipmaster’s house that overlooked the great lake of Superior. The French manor house that barely clung to its elaborate balconies, was a ruin. It was a ghost of memories that seemed to dance and toy with any and all who passed it by, eliciting the imagination of grand balls and fancy turns of women’s voluminous skirts.

It was on this scrap of field that I felt it for the first time, an ache that would go on to haunt me the rest of the journey. I set up my easel and painted what I saw: the town and the port beyond this desolate beauty that hurt my spirit for unknown reasons. Perhaps it colored my stroke a bit, leaving me with a melancholy piece that once set, was boxed and housed to make its way back to the capital. This ache was ever present as I finally was well enough to move across the peninsula to catch up with Christian. It was a dogged feeling that I knew this land as sure as I knew myself. Odd, as I never had been anywhere except the grand cities of the east coast.

It was a reunion of quiet touches and catching up when I did finally reach the party. My Christian was always so enigmatic when it came to our relations. He might one day grasp me by my whole body and not let go without a laugh and caresses that were never hidden, while the next, may only be in the form of a clandestine brush of the back of his hand against my thigh. I did not mind. It kept me guessing and intrigued and returning to him for more. This reunion, however, he walked away from me as if upset. I followed him, calling his name like a wounded puppy might.

I followed into the deep woods, where the light dappled on the ground as if fighting to penetrate with its goodness. I suddenly realized, goodness was not meant to see what he needed, nor wanted from me. His mouth crashed into mine with a carnal anger that left me breathless and needing more. No coherent words passed between us. Only desperate touches and demanding utterances graced us as he nearly tore my clothes from my body. His fingers knocked my hat from my head and his eyes stilled in absolute offense.

“Damn it. Why did you cut it, Yakov?” he growled as he discovered my hair much shorter than when he had left me.

He tugged it at the roots, pulling my head back to expose my throat to him. He ravaged my skin, leaving not an inch untouched. My man knelt in the black dirt and sucked me down, leaving me ruined and ready for him and only him to love as only he could love me. He kissed and lapped and ground his mouth on me until I was nearly weeping and close to orgasm before he clutched me with a kiss that was full of passion. He wrapped his hand around both of our girths and began to rub hard. Feeling his cock against mine was one of my favorite things, and to have him eye to eye with me, reading my face as he fed my need was near otherworldly. My love poured out on the air in my sighs and moans of pleasure.

He turned me, helped me to find my hands on the gnarled bark of a tree. His mouth sucked at my shoulder with promises of love and adoration as his cock found my entrance. And he loved me. He penetrated me in a hard press that filled me with a desire that no one had ever given me. He loved me. Each in was demanding while each out was a caress and need for more. Yes. He loved me. And when we both reached a pitch that could no longer be staved off, we danced in ecstasy as our high crescendoed into a shared gratification. He held me and I held onto him in the dirt. Our skin was inflamed with joy and our words gentle towards each other.

My fingers tangled in his sun kissed golden hair and smoothed across the manicured mustache that resided over his lip. How many days had I woken to this face only to be so enraptured by it each and every time. And he looked upon me the same. His fingers in my dark brown threads, even though I had cut it quite short, and across the hair on my chin. Always with such love. Always with such care.

We worked our way across spidery waterways. Through dense forests and broad meadows. One word was always on my tongue - beautiful. There was no green like it on the wind battered east coast. Surely, this virginal green was unlike anything on this fledgling continent. It was strong against the eye, yet the wind pushed it as if with a whisper of promise of what settling it would provide. Eagles, in grand mass, relegated in towering pines, while the deer were thick in numbers, grazed unaware of the dangers that were to come. Industry was waiting. It was our purpose to sell the dream of this ground to industry. Christian both hated the idea, but loved it for what riches it would bring to the region. Hated for it would surely be destroyed under the bootheel of man. Loved it, as he captured the most natural golden beauty through our work.

We had been in the wilds for well over a month. We pushed our way south, sketching, recording, painting. Day after day brought something new to be cataloged. Something new to be puzzled over. But most of all, captured. We were capturing the spirit and nature of this land.

The cold came swiftly in this region. Our party was forced to choose - build cabins and wait out the harshness of winter, or try to rush to the south and east to Detroit before the ice bound up the land and winter there. Christian ordered for cabins to be built - we were to settle and capture a winter’s season in the new land. We were not the only ones in this region. A new village was chartered and was beginning to grow as the last of our timbers were set in place for our shelters. I spent hours sketching and painting - even putting in the men as they labored. Frankenmuth. They were going to call the village Frankenmuth, so I titled the painting as such.

I knew hard winters. I knew winters where the sun seemed to extinguish itself for days on end and the ocean would lash at the shore in unrelenting undulation that was sure to tear permanently at the land. But this - this winter in this land of Michigan was beyond me. There were moments of crystalline beauty and desperate cruelty of storms that lingered. Christian laughed at my poetic rendering of what was around us, but it is what it was. Horrid. But beautiful.

The spring of 1856 was slow to thaw. Despite there being still snow on the ground, Christian and I were out, wrapped in heavy furs and easels in hand to sketch the landscape. It was midafternoon before I realized that he had put me into the picture he created. I laughed at him as he gazed at his work with an eye that I knew well. He was smitten with me, still. He had started to apply paint here and there, but he left it unfinished as my ministrations to him had become too blatant for him to ignore. My usual trick to get him to love me rather than paint me.

On the eve of our resumed expedition, he held me with the lament of wanting me to be his forever. He wanted to marry me as he would a wife. He seemed so adamant and passionate about it. We were together, that was enough for me.

He became sullen and started to argue with me. He pulled away and it was as if the Earth was pulling away from the moon. He was unconsolable in the moment about how I was changing with this land. I was changing? How? He said to look at his drawing, how I looked to the land like it was my lover. I was baffled. He said that I would talk in my sleep about love. At first he thought that it was himself that was causing my midnight sighs and caresses.

“Unless my name is suddenly changed to Maéva, I doubt very much that it is I who is featured in your deepest dreams, Yakov,” he had argued.

“But if you’re angry about dreams, surely you see the absurdity of your argument,” I fought back, showing that I was totally unaware of what he was talking about.

I smoothed back his hair, dragging my fingernails over that patch of skin just behind the shell of his ear. I watched as he quivered under my touch. I pressed kisses to his furrowed brow, cooing and whispering my love. I promised that I would be his husband and he would be mine in our hearts. It would be enough. I took his tongue into my mouth, sucking it hard enough to elicit a soft chirp. I relished the taste of his creamy skin, passing my mouth across the sparse, downy patch in the middle of his chest.

“I want you to quit cutting your hair,” he growled as I found his cock with my lips. “Why do you cut it when it’s so pretty?”

I pressed behind his ball sack hard as I slid my mouth up the shaft with a saucy pop. “Ever think it’s to make you upset with me, Chris?”

His eyes pinched at the edges as I looked up at him, my chin coming to rest on his thigh. He trailed his fingers down my cheek. I knew what he wanted of me. I knew and so I took him into my mouth until I was downright slobbering. I spit into his entrance as he moaned loudly, egging me on. I wrapped my hands around his thighs to spread him enough for me to enter him. And we made love, face to face. My eyes roved across his lean body, loving each turn of bone and stretch of skin. The way his mouth stretched with pleasure, and how the head of his cock peeked out as he stroked himself tightly as I moved with confidence within him. I bent, his thighs pressed hard around my hips as I lapped at the precum on his head with a moan of satisfaction. The hard inhale of breath and I knew one more trick to send him into another plane. I swirled my tongue over the head as I pressed in, snapping my hips into his rump. My fingers dug at the meat of his flanks as I dragged my tongue over the softness of his belly, circling across his nipple before sinking my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder to unravel each other until we were a complete mess.

In the darkness, he slept well as I held him close. I listened to his breathing for hours. It was shame that kept me stirred. He was not wrong about how this land was claiming me. This woman - Maéva - was haunting me in my slumber. The meaning of it was so blurred. It made me hold to him all the tighter. It was him that I loved. I belonged with him. He understood me best. Yet, this woman was a memory of deep time. She belonged to another time, another existence. I knew it deep in my bones, just as I had felt the joy of crossing all those rivers to come to this land. But my heart was cleaved in two, wasn’t it? A fractured shard that belonged to one that was not in my time of now. It was that piece that I could never surrender to my Christian. And he was mine. I pressed my face into the mass of golden hair to allow his perfume to swell around me. He was mine.

I hope you liked my tangent here into Yakov’s life. It was such a tangent that strangled me, and continues to play in my brain even though this is pretty much it for Cake Lane in this story. I’m not sure when The Dead will be ready to go. Life has been so busy, making writing time sporadic, but I’m getting there. I will be putting out a new tag list sign up when we’re closer to release, but for now, this will remain tag-less as it's just a one off. Until then - happy reading, happy writing, happy creating!

#mirador #greta van fleet #mirador fan fic #greta van fleet fan fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #mirador fan fiction #jake kiszka #chris turpin #au jake kiszka fanfic #au jake kiszka fiction #mirador au #greta van fleet au #gvf The Dead fan fiction

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lqfiles · 1 year

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— nct dream and their ideal dates

nct dream x reader , genre — fluff and comedy

MARK.

making a song together. mark’s whole life revolves around music and instruments so naturally he’d love to teach you about it, persuading you that it would be fun and a great bonding exercise, and who are you to say no to such a fun offer? mark would love to have a song that he created from scratch with you. just using his guitar while you try your best to sing without any voice cracks, coming up with lyrics from basic hums to tapping the table try and produce a main beat. no matter how bad it sounds, the fact that he got to involve the one he cares about the most in an activity that means the most to him warms his heart.

RENJUN.

a picnic date. it might sound basic to anyone and nothing special but for renjun, he’d want to make it the best moment the both of you could have. he’ll try to find the most perfect landscape where the grass is just about the right length, the weather is not too hot and not too cold, flowers surrounding the both of you and one of those typical red cloths where the two of you would sit for as long as you wished. he’d want to provide you with all your favourite food and insist on feeding it to you because you got to “match the romantic vibe”. he’d sing any song you ask him to sing, take pictures of you that he’d keep in a folder named after you, and lay down to watch the moving clouds. renjun would want to end the day asking you if you enjoyed it, hoping all his effort paid off.

JENO.

swimming. it would take him a lot of convincing to get you to even leave the house to go to the nearby swimming pool, yet he succeeds. he’d splash you with water and swim off, expecting you to obviously chase him. he’d wrestle with you (which is very unfair), play tag, marco-polo, carry you on his shoulders and splash you with more water. once he notices you enjoying the time there just as much he does, he feels his whole insides flip around. and when he has to practically drag you out the pool because it was getting late, he can’t hide the small smile he carries on his face. jeno would definitely want to take you swimming again.

HAECHAN.

arcade dates. they will always be fun, which is exactly why haechan takes you to one. that, and because he knows he’ll win most games and how can he say no to a free ego boost? haechan loves the adrenaline he feels when the two of you are in an intense match at the dance machine, or the reaction he gets out of you whenever he blatantly cheats with no shame. he enjoys the general good vibes he gets from that place and to be there with you is something he cherishes. after enough teasing he'd attempt to win you prizes such as plushies or a new device, refusing to leave the place without at least winning you something. you'd have to be the one to drag him out.

JAEMIN.

workshops. he'd applies the both of you to a photography workshop. although he did it because he takes interest in it, it was an excuse to shamelessly take pictures of you every minute, excusing it as him practicing his angles. he gets an excuse to hold your hands telling you he's helping you hold it properly. he'll compliment you with every pose you strike making you totally flustered which he loves. he'd consider the date a success once you stop feeling camera shy, knowing that he managed to make you comfortable enough to act natural as he takes pictures he's 100% keeping for himself.

CHENLE.

revisiting old locations. chenle doesn't have a set idea when it cones to a perfect or ideal date. as long as the two of you have fun its perfect to him. however there is something that manages to hit a certain spot every time the two of you do it, which is when you decide to revisit old locations the two of you have some type of story or history with. every time it happens, chenle can't help but reminisce. going back to places such as the shop where the two of you met and he bumped into you, or the local library where he'd help you with job applications which took longer because he poured his coffee on it, which also resulted in the two of you getting kicked out because of the no food policy. or that one park where he asked to be your boyfriend. he would be lying if he said it didn't make him want to tear up.

JISUNG.

convenience store dates. its quick and accessible which is exactly what he likes about it. he enjoys going on these little trips at night especially, enjoying the whole atmosphere. it also gives him a reason to stay close to you to warm you up. you'd buy some snacks and drinks from the store before going outside and sitting anywhere you wanted to. these dates are filled with hushed laughers as you don't want to wake the area up, deep conversation about various topics the both of you enjoy and don't, and words of affirmation as you get vulnerable with one another. and all of that for under £5.

thank you for reading!

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fayes-fics · 2 years

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Many Things

Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. One fateful night everything changes between best friends.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, oral sex (m to f), touch of frottage, tiny bit of breeding kink, angst, jealousy, arguing.

Word Count: 3.7k

Authors Note: This one is more romantic tbh, not too explicit (the next two Benny one-shots will be utter filth, fyi). I wanted to do a modern take on jealous Benedict request I fulfilled a few weeks ago, but this thing took off on its own adventure and frankly I was just along for the writing ride. Yes, I know I know I have other WIPs I should be working on. This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @makaylan who adores friends to lovers and even betaed this. Thanks bestie <3.

Benedict Bridgerton has been many things to you over the years - a close friend since childhood, a genius to copy homework from, a lift home at Christmas, a shoulder to cry on when the men you date let you down, and most recently, your housemate - but not what you would have considered marriage material.

It’s one fateful night that changes everything.

Some of your mutual university friends have rented a house in the same neighbourhood. It’s one of those London summer evenings where the light doesn’t fade until after 9 pm; as you walk a few streets to their place, Benedict strolls next to you, clutching a bottle of scotch as a housewarming gift, teasing gently about your latest failed date.

He moved into your house-share just three weeks before, part of a plan to save money to buy his own house. The transition from best friends to best friends who live together is effortless. Your roommates think he’s great, and everything is working well. Or so you thought…

——

“Babes”, a familiar voice from the past rings out from the kitchen a few hours into the party, “fuck, it's been AGES.”

“No way!! Matt!?!” The shock of seeing your ex at the party is tempered by the fact he was one of the most fun. Too much fun, in fact. It was the reason you had split up. You couldn't trust him as far as you could throw him, and you couldn't throw him for toffee. He still looks untrustworthy just at a glance. He was always so handsome, though, and that hasn't changed in the intervening five years.

He pulls you into a bear hug. He still smells so good too. The daring part of you, the part that always wants to throw caution to the wind in any given situation, starts to stir and ask if a revisit to the past is always such a bad idea.

“How the devil have you been?” he asks after releasing you, leaning back against the oversized kitchen island, his face creased with a huge grin.

“I'm good,” you smile back, “same old, same old in many ways.”

Out of the corner of your eye, through the doorway, you see Benedict being cornered in the living room by Zoe, a high-maintenance co-worker of your friend that you've heard more stories about than you care to remember. Good, that will keep him distracted, you think to yourself. Of all your ex-boyfriends, Benedict always hated Matt the most.

“Still at the same company?” he asks.

“Yeah, but I got a promotion. Have a whole team to boss around now,” you jest.

“Oh, those lucky bastards,” he winks, leaning in and handing you a shot glass. “Here, try this.”

“What is it?” you question, wrinkling your nose slightly at the somewhat pungent smell. You suspect it's Fireball or some other noxious choice you have mostly left behind in your uni days.

“Hey babes, if you are asking what's in the shots, you are not entering into the spirit of a house party,” he laughs.

“Fair enough,” you shrug with a giggle and down the shot in unison. It burns and catches in your throat in the way cheap liquor always does, and you have to cough slightly into the back of your hand. “God, Matt, your taste has not changed,” you laugh.

“No, it hasn't,” he winks and looks at you salaciously, his eyes running up and down your body as if you weren't just standing there in a plain cotton top and jeans.

“Haha,” you deadpan. “Give me another,” you pout, waving the empty shot glass, that devil-may-care side of you taking charge for just a moment.

After a couple more shots, you relax into the evening. Everything is slightly fuzzy around the edges, and the world seems like not such a bad place. You and Matt chat amiably; others occasionally drift temporarily into the free-flowing conversation while they refill their drinks.

You're not sure when, but his arm goes behind you at some point as he gestures mid-story. It then lands on your shoulders and doesn't move. You don't mind so much; it's a nice warm weight - it doesn’t signify anything. Or at least you think it doesn’t.

“What. The. Fuck.” Benedict's shocked voice behind you is unmistakable.

You twist around, and it looks like he has eaten a case of lemons, the sourness in his expression so obvious. On instinct, you step out from under Matt’s arm and watch as Benedict rounds the island, his face like thunder.

“Bridgerton,” Matt plasters a fake smile on his face.

“This one?” Benedict ignores him entirely and looks daggers at you. “Really?”

“What?” you challenge. Benedict is uncharacteristically very hostile, throwing you off your buzz.

“Honestly, are you just trying to embarrass yourself or both of us?” his expression is fierce.

“What is up with you, Ben?” you hiss.

You're surprised when he grabs your arm. “Don't you dare make me go through this bullshit again,” he growls. You are taken aback, not by his tone but by how hurt he looks; you can see it in his eyes.

Matt jumps closer. “Hey Bridgerton, unhand the girl,” he interjects, trying chivalry on for size for probably the first time ever.

The whole party appears to go quiet all around you as people start to look over.

Benedict’s hand drops from you, but his head whips around and snarls at Matt, “How about you first? Don't you dare touch her again,” his voice steely.

Matt raises his hands in mock surrender, “OK, man; we were just talking, no harm, no foul.”

“You stay the fuck away from her, do you hear me?” Benedict seethes, a vein in his neck you've never noticed before pulsing hard.

You have never seen him so enraged. You feel everyone’s eyes on you and realise the party - or at least your taking part in it - is well and truly over.

Not knowing what else to do, you don't give either of them a second glance. You grab your bag and stalk out the kitchen, down the hallway, out the front door and into the street without looking back.

——

You know Benedict has followed you out of the house. His long legs stride down the pavement to catch up with you fast.

“Wait, y/n,” he grabs your elbow about ten doors down from the house. “Will you just stop walking, please?”

“Why Ben? What the fuck was that? Why humiliate me like that?” You wrench your elbow from his grip and cross your arms, staring at him challengingly, making sure to put some distance between you.

“I didn’t intend to”, he says quietly, “I was trying to make a point.”

“Which was?” you prompt, irritated.

“He’s an arse, and I just wanted you away from him. I didn’t mean to make you leave the party; I’m sorry,” he looks genuinely contrite.

Somewhat uncharitably, you ignore his apology, not ready to forgive just yet. “You acted like a jealous idiot - he always suspected we had a thing together. They all do. You think what just happened will put paid to that bloody rumour?”

“No,” his response subdued, kicking a stone into the gutter.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” you pace around in a small circle, frustration manifesting in little steps. “God, do you not even want a girlfriend?! These rumours and that kind of shit doesn’t help you get someone either, you know,” you add pointedly.

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he dismisses.

“Well, maybe you should. That girl Zoe was flirting with you before all that went down, in case you didn’t notice,” you respond, your tone a little tart.

“You think I should date her?” he looks incredulous.

“No, she’s a total nightmare, but you’re missing my point,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“You want me to get with someone you know is a nightmare?” It seems like he's being deliberately obtuse now.

“No!! I want you to give someone a chance! You haven’t slept with anyone in months. Either that or you’re withholding information from me. Which is it?” you question, suddenly very invested in his answer.

“The former,” he admits, almost sheepish, as you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Why? God, Ben, do you have any idea the way that so many women look at you? How women look at me cos they think I’m with you and hate me for it?” You know your voice has gone slightly shrill now, which annoys you.

You pivot on your heels, marching away from him towards your house. You hear his footsteps behind you again, knowing this argument or whatever it is, is not over - this is merely a hiatus.

“Again, I apologise for making you feel you needed to leave the party, but I won't apologise for getting you away from him,” he calls out as you round the corner into your street. “And I'm sick and tired of having to do that, to be honest,” he adds as he catches up to you, you fumbling in your bag for your door keys.

“Do what?” you counter, angrily stopping your movement.

“Having to be the brain you sometimes so desperately lack, or rather refuse to engage,” he answers with more than a dramatic flair.

“What the fuck is this actually about, Ben?” You have lost your temper now, “cos it’s sure as fuck not about Matt anymore, is it?” You glare at him.

“Yknow what y/n, you’re right, it’s not just about him. It’s about all the ‘hims’ before and since.” You can see the irritation etched into the lines of his face, thrown into relief by the street lamp above.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s about the parade of idiots you allow yourself to be charmed by,” he sneers.

“Hey, who I choose to date is my decision,” you volley, defensive.

“Oh totally,” he says tartly, “it’s just a shame you have such terrible decision-making.”

“Well, if all my decisions are so bad, how can you stand to be my friend?” Your tone is dripping with sarcasm, lashing out when you’re hurt.

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? Maybe I can’t stand to be just your friend anymore,” his hands on his hips, defiant, his volume raised too.

“SHUT UP!!” A voice bellows from a nearby darkened window.

It's 2 am, and you are having a full-blown argument in the street; the stranger has a fair request.

“SORRY!” you both shout back simultaneously.

“Wait, what do you mean, just my friend?” you hiss after a few seconds.

“Don’t act stupid; you know exactly what I mean,” he grouses.

“No, I fucking don’t. What is going on with you tonight? Things have been great since you moved in, and now you pull this shit. It makes no sense.” You throw your hands in the air and walk away from him again, not stopping until you reach your shared front door.

“Really?? Really?!?” He rounds behind you. “It’s been great for YOU, maybe. It’s been fucking torture for me.” The bitterness in his voice cuts you.

“What? We’ve all bent over backwards to make you welcome!” You decry, angrily jabbing your keys into the lock.

“Oh, it’s not the welcome that’s the problem,” he scoffs, crowding you through the door as it opens.

“Then what? What is it? What is wrong?” You’re close to giving up on this argument and running up to your room; he slams the front door behind you. Thank god your housemates are both out of town this weekend.

“YOU!” He explodes exasperated, seemingly occupying the whole narrow hallway as he draws himself to full height. “You are what’s wrong!! Moving in together was wrong!!”

You ignore the phrasing that suggests you moved in like a couple. “Why?!” You hate the idea he regrets being closer to you; you have secretly loved it.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about fucking you, that's why!” he yells, his voice echoing up the house's walls.

You are stunned into silence.

“You think about having sex with me?” It’s almost a whisper.

He’s wild-eyed and breathing hard. “All the time and, god, now we live together, it’s impossible” he smears his hands down his face “FUCK! I’ve drank too much; I’ve said too much. I need to leave.” He spins as if to head out the front door again.

“No, you bloody don’t,” you block his path and grab his arms. Maybe it’s the alcohol making you bold; perhaps it’s given you the clarity you need, either way, you don’t just want to know where this is going; you need to know on a cellular level. “Don’t be a coward now,” you goad him.

He won’t meet your eye, and he looks pained like he admitted something he’s been keeping secret for a long time and now wants to flee. You hold steady, not letting him by. You can feel his pulse racing through his veins where you grip his arms.

“What is it you always tell me? If you want something, go for it. So I say to you again, don’t be a fucking coward” you’re breathing heavily now, too and daring him to make a move.

He’s still looking beyond you at the door like he wants to bolt.

“Ben…. for once, just… take what you want.” You state with finality. He looks down to meet your eyes for the first time since his confession; it’s breathtaking. “Please…” you exhale, suddenly frantic for him.

You crash into each other.

Before you know it, he has you pinned against the wall of the narrow hall. He slots a leg between yours and pulls you up onto it with hands low on your back; as he deepens the kiss, his tongue questing into your mouth and stealing your breath. This!! This is what it's supposed to feel like, your brain yells at you. The seam of your jeans pushes hard against your centre, and fuck if that doesn’t feel good.

“Ben,” you gasp as he breaks the kiss.

“What?” his voice is rough as he kisses across your cheek.

“This feels so…” you can't finish the sentence. You want to say perfect, but that feels too dangerous of a word.

“I know,” he reassures, “I know.”

“Please don't stop,” you urge.

“Wasn't planning on it,” he says as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth and bites it, running your earring over his tongue. He grabs your hips and encourages your rhythmic movements.

”Go on, take what you need,” he murmurs hot against your ear. “I’ve fantasised about getting you off just like this, riding my thigh fully clothed. Just friction and a little bit of…” his lips suction onto your neck on a spot just below your ear that makes you shudder and moan.

“Fuck Ben,” your voice ragged. It’s like he’s read an encyclopedia of everything that turns you on.

You tug on his t-shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin. He leans away just far enough to remove it quickly and tosses it aside. He goes to move back against you, but you hold him away with firm hands locked on his shoulders.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bridgerton?” You stutter in disbelief, taking in the sight before you. You haven’t seen him shirtless in a few years, and he’s changed a lot. The man has so much definition everywhere; it makes you salivate. A curator of an art museum has no need, no right, to be this fit, surely?

“What?” He says, feigning innocence, but his crooked smile gives him away.

“I knew you had something going on under those t-shirts lately, but this?” You trace a finger over the contours of his abs, then down the groove of his Adonis belt all the way into the top of his jeans, “this is ridiculous,” you whisper, loving the hitch in his breath as you start to tug open his fly roughly.

“Should we go to a bedroom?” He asks just before you delve a hand into his underwear.

You feel your best friend's cock, and you know your friendship is changed forever. He is so warm and silky but rigid, a real handful, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him in. He groans hard as you squeeze him.

“No, you are going to have me right here, fuck me against this wall,” you reply breathily, pumping him in your fist, pushing down the last of his clothing. “Then afterwards, you can take me to bed and make love to me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” his response is just perfect. Fuck he is just perfect. He kisses you hard again and then takes charge, telling you to take your clothes off; his tone holds more than a hint of something domineering. It has you in floods, stripping off your clothes so fast.

You are both naked and already panting hard in your shared hallway when he lifts you off the ground, your back rubbing against the textured wallpaper, and he pushes into your body for the first time. It’s everything you wanted every time you’ve had sex, that feeling you’ve been chasing. His solid weight stretches you, your toes just grazing the ground as he pulls you down onto him to the root, groaning hard against your ear, telling you just how good you feel.

“Benedict,” you gasp. You haven’t used his full name in years, and its effect on him is primal.

He growls your name, pushes you up against the wall high off his cock, and pulls you back down so forcefully you can’t help but scream. As you find a rhythm together, you finally understand what people mean when they say you fuck like you are possessed. It’s urgent, hot, and intoxicating; you can’t believe it’s with your best friend.

Suddenly he stops moving, pins your arms above your head and just holds you there, speared deep onto his cock, up on your tiptoes.

“Tell me you love me,” he commands, staring intently into your eyes, your whole world shifting.

“I love you,” you stutter, knowing it’s true; it’s always been true.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he confesses, his voice profound with emotion.

He kisses you deeply and then proceeds to fuck you like you have never been fucked before. More than twenty years of connection and ten years of lust swirled into a mind-blowing elixir. It’s the first time you have ever had back-to-back orgasms, and your body shakes so violently you can’t stand up when he finally releases his hold on you.

So he carries you upstairs to bed and fulfils the promise of love-making. Mapping every inch of your body with his lips and tongue until you are a quivering soaked mess, begging him to fuck you again. Instead, he smirks and pushes your legs even further apart, sucking your clit between his teeth, making you see stars and scream his name, pulling on his hair as he growls encouragements into your body. Dawn is breaking through the curtains when he finally takes pity on your aching cunt and fucks you again. You lose count of how many positions, but he finally stops edging you and lets you cum again with him, sobbing with relief.

——

It’s around midday when you wake up, with sore muscles but a bone-deep satisfaction.

Benedict's lips are dragging over your breast.

“If I had been braver, by my reckoning, we should be on our honeymoon by now,” he says idly, his voice languid and rough with sleep.

“Hmm, probably,” you agree, moaning lightly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

“And we would definitely be going for our first baby right this very moment,” he smirks, biting down lightly.

“Oh yesssss,” you hiss, running your hand into his hair.

“Is that a yes to babies or a yes to this?” he asks with a chuckle and bites again.

“Both, either, just please don’t stop,” you urge, already squirming against him.

“Oh, I'm holding you to that promise,” he says silkily, switching to your other nipple. “I can't wait to fuck a baby into you,” his voice impossibly deep. “More than one, in fact; I’ve always thought we could have 4, maybe 5, kids.”

“Wait, you’re serious,” you reply, your breathing suddenly tight at all the meaning behind his words.

He looks up from your breast, his eyes so soulful.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums. “But let’s just call all this a rehearsal,” he smiles, surging up to kiss your lips, “practice makes perfect after all.”

——

It’s funny how fast things can move when they are right, and you’ve known someone your whole life.

After four months, he picks up the keys to his new house, adding your name to the property deed without you knowing. He proposes getting down on one knee in the garden the very next day.

You get married in that very garden three months later.

Nine months hence your honeymoon baby is born, all that practice serving you very well. Just before your seventh wedding anniversary, you’ve given birth to your fourth. Your fifth and final child is conceived against the wisteria-clad walls of Aubrey Hall after you win a particularly spirited annual family game of Pall Mall. It somehow seems fitting that your last child is conceived the same way you first had sex.

Not that you ever stop; you just insist on a vasectomy after five mini Bridgertons. And when your eight-year-old walks in on you going at it on the kitchen table, you both vow to only do it in your bedroom from then on. That vow lasts about three weeks. Well, he shouldn’t attend a wedding in a dark blue suit, should he? It’s not your fault if he looks so irresistible you have to drag him into the gardens, is it?!

Benedict Bridgerton has indeed been many things to you over the years - your very best friend, a fantastic scrambled egg maker, the best person to play chess with, a damn good shag - but mostly the best husband and father you could ever possibly imagine.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @kkpolakow @colettebronte @severewobblerlightdragon

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton

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midnightswing · 3 months

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multiple drawings/sketches from me and @seruleansunshine s AU! They have more stuff from it as well! Its heavily based off of Archie Sonic and has a kinda medieval feel to alot of the mobians designs.

The idea is they live on a island secluded from the rest of society, and Eggman finds them and works his way into their good graces under false pretenses and once everyone lets their guard down he attacks, robotocizing most of the population. The goal is to adapt most of the mainline games into this universe and just kinda tell the old stories in a new way. Its a very ambitious project that we may never finish, but weve been working on it for years and its always very fun to revisit and play around with! Ive been working on the first issue of this AUs comic off and on for like a year now

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #my art #metal sonic #dr robotnik #sonic au #mighty the armadillo #ray the flying squirrel #miles tails prower #tails

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yonpote · 6 months

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i really want to write a full analysis comparing dnp to that one stupid lil gay furry indie rock album with the dogs on the cover but that requires way more research than i thought... so for now here is a lyrical analysis of "Twin Fantasy (Those Boys)", the final song off the album Twin Fantasy (Face to Face) by Car Seat Headrest, and comparison to dnp wrt to their careers and lives.

youtube

the original context of this album and this chorus is that the narrator is reflecting on a tumultuous past relationship, at first viewing this romance through rose-tinted glasses (the dark, inside, fantasy) before finally being able to see the truth (the sun, outside, reality.) the pain of looking at the sun is the pain of revisiting the narrator's past. often times we use pain as an indicator that we are experiencing reality (pinching yourself to make sure you're not dreaming.)

these lines repeat throughout the song, yknow like a chorus...

the past few years of dnp's careers and lives have been very much on the reflective and introspective side. for them, the "fantasy" is the explosion of their careers, their success as creators, the audience who has stuck with them. of course all of this is true, but at the same time, the reality is that during the absolute height of their careers, they were in the closet, had repressed mental health issues, had overworked themselves, and had their boundaries frequently overstepped. and they have been reflecting on both sides of this coin.

the story and memories the narrator has retold will never disappear. the fond memories of the relationship will always be there, both figuratively and literally as they have been recorded in song form.

this is true for dnp as well. the memories that they share, both with each other and with the audience, won't go away. we will always have pinof 1. we will always have videos of them being silly and goofing off and just having fun with each other. and even when they have deleted stuff in the past, they are no longer trying to take any of it down and even reference deleted videos and old posts as they no longer have anything to hide in showing them.

dude im not even gonna analyze these lyrics i just wanted to add them here cuz like just fuckin read them what the hell is this gay shit this is so dnp (and also its the same concepts as seen above)

edit: i lied i am going to expand my thoughts on these lyrics

dnp have basically built their careers on having fun. they've taken jobs and sponsorships they didnt want necessarily, they were workaholic closet cases, but like. they always made sure to have a good time. you can especially see this in the very early videos as well as on the gaming channel, where they felt ever so slightly less pressure to put up a front. they LOVE creating stuff together, they love hanging out with each other, theres absolutely no denying this! theyre not kissing and theyre not fucking i mean who knows lmao but instead of interpretting that literally, its more like. thats not the point, that was never the point. are there shippers amongst us? yes fer sure, but that isnt what pulled us all in. what pulled us in was their connection, their dynamic, and how much fun they have on camera together!!!!!!! these two brothers lovers boys and their smooth-cocked youthful adventures!

the cover of twin fantasy is a very simple drawing of two anthropomorphic dogs in an embrace, their arms seeming to be conjoined, and the eye of one dog overlapping with the similarly drawn nose of the other dog.

dan and phil. are so symbiotic. how much of this do i have to explain... from the very start, from their first meeting. yes there are the superficial similarities (tall gay british emos who like the same media) but anyone can have those similarities. dnp knew immediately that there was a connection that they shared that was different from anyone else's. there was some sort of inescapable pull toward each other, call it fate or soul-bonding or autism, they simply could not keep away from each other even if they wanted to.

alright THIS. OK THISSSSSS.

ok ok so there are two versions of this entire album, and in the rerecording (which is what we're analyzing) some lyrics have been changed. this part is spoken word, and is completely different from the original. in the og (mirror to mirror) version, it seems the narrator is lamenting this awakening into reality, and breaking the fantasy for him is dark and twisted. in this new version, the narrator is no longer talking about himself in third person. he is Actually breaking the fantasy now, literally breaking the fourth wall, and directly addressing the person whom this album was written about. the contract is up, the names have been changed, aka, they no longer have to be tied down by this dark history. in the real world, the songwriter and this ex are still friends (or have become friends again?) and said ex even drew the art for the album that came after this rerecording. this story that the narrator had put out into the world, they no longer allow it to chain down what could happen in the future.

DAN AND PHIL. OK WAIT ACK OK so like circling back to what i was saying earlier about THEIR fantasy and reality, i mentioned how their reality was dark compared to the fantasy that they showed to us on youtube. and now they have shown us that reality. BUT AGAIN. they refuse to let that tie them down!!!! yes it took a few years of recuperation but they are creating stuff together again! AND AGAIN! the version of them that can exist outside of everything, is in their old videos. we can always go back! they will always be there for us (both dnp and the audience) to revisit. in theory i mean things get deleted but ykwim tho... the contract is up. they are no longer obligated by their management or by publishing or by radio to censor themselves or hide any aspect of themselves. the names have been changed. dan rebranded in 2017, but phil also very subtly and very slowly rebranded in his own way. the gaming channel literally came back from the dead, got a facelift, and yeah itll always be the same ole dnp banting and jesting but from the very first return video the energy is SO MUCH DIFFERENT and i PROMISE it is not just bc they are out as gay although OBV thats a huge part of it but they are just. happier! and more themselves! and its so visible in their faces and body language and tone and EVERYTHINGGGGG.

but listen, remember, these are only lyrics now. theres a version of them that exists outside of everything. and that version is in the old videos. yes they were closeted and overworked and mentally struggling, but they were still happy there too. and they never ever discount how happy those videos have made US. they know how much all of their older content means to us bc it means so much to them too. "you are as important to us as we are to you."

i'll end this with the last line, that repeats over and over before the song finally ends. this line can be interpretted so many ways imo, but i just think it generally ties together my entire thesis. thank you for reading my deranged gay rambling <3

when i come back, you'll still be here.

#mytext #myrambles #phan #i should start a tag for this thing ive been going on abt specifically.#reflections #there :) ill tag all my old posts abt this topic later cuz i do wanna revisit it #dnp

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dirty-bosmer · 10 months

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Snippet Someday

So I've been revisiting the earlier chapters of my fic and am stuck in a bout of editing paralysis where everything sounds blegh, but ahhhh so is life. I thought, what the heck— let me put a positive spin on all these writing woes and make a game out of it. Plus I've been meeting a lot of new writers this summer, and I figured this would be a fun way to get to know your stories and characters as I make my way through my bookmark list. Take this chance to showcase your fic. We've all been working hard. Let's be proud of how far we've come :)

Tagging: @atypicalacademic @skyrim-forever @justafoxhound @elavoria @gilgamish @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter @paraparadigm @chennnington @expended-sleeper @snowberry-crostata @sylvienerevarine @dumpsterhipster @nuwanders @daedrabait @wispstalk @rainpebble3 @nine-blessed-hero @mareenavee @miraakulous-cloud-district @ladytanithia Sorry for blowing up your notifications. If you're not tagged, please feel free to jump in and tag me if you see this and want to join! I'm not always sure who is writing fic and who isn't. No pressure as always :D

Rules: Revisit an old fic (or earlier chapters of your current WIP) and share a snip from:

Your first chapter

Your favorite chapter

Your most challenging chapter

Alternatively, if you don't write longfic, feel free to share your one-shots. Provide as much or as little commentary as you want.

From The Illusionist: Passion, Purpose, and Penance:

First Chapter: Skirting The Black Road (commence the moral decayyy 😈)

Admittedly disappointed by this virtuous facade, he saw the crack, only needed to slip his blade into it and twist. This, he could work with, for she was a murderer in the eyes of the Night Mother whether she accepted it or not, and he had no doubt that if pressed, she too would heed Sithis' call. They all did. New murderers were pliant, he found, like old snags of dead wood. One gentle push and the roots released their grip.

Favorite Chapter: 61— Us and Them (self indulgent disaster-ship is self indulgent 🤷‍♀️)

And when he looked at her, he felt dissolved, knew not where the salt of her tears became the salt of his blood, and if he could strip her from her skin just to drink the liquid dark behind her eyes, he would.

Most Challenging Chapter: 67 — A Small Death (Newly mantled Sheogorath is not a headspace I know how to work with 😅)

“Again, Nimileth?”

There was disapproval in his voice, faint, but not faint enough to suggest he'd been trying to hide it. Nim fought back the urge to growl.

“I had a bit too much to drink, that’s all,” she mumbled. Too much last night and the night before. Too much. Too much again.

“Don’t you think you should know your limits by now?”

'Don’t you think you should know your limits by now,’ she wished to spit back at him, make herself an even greater pest if only to feel more like the lowly, burrowing insect she had become. Or better yet, something limbless, blind. A worm. But Nim didn't have the strength to finish. She didn’t even have the strength to start.

Instead, she bunched the sheets in her fists and yanked them over her head so that she lay completely covered. What am I doing, she thought. The throbbing waves of her headache crested and crashed, grinding her skull down to coarse, ivory sands. What am I doing?

Lucien didn’t linger after that. He flung open the curtains, and when he left, the sun crept across her back. Shielded as she was beneath her sheets and behind her eyelids, she could still feel its glaring, angry flare.

“I see you, Nimileth,” it said, stretching its fingers across the room. Pointing, taunting fingers that seared and scraped at the raw wounds of last night's sins. “I see you. I will set and I will rise and I will see you again tomorrow. I will see you then. I will see you again.”

#Tag games #the illusionist

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smallsies · 1 month

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Audio Drama Sunday — April 28, 2024 ✨

I checked out quite a few shows this week, mostly thanks to the @podcast-bookclub 1 Year Anniversary event yesterday!

Firstly, though, I have to give a shoutout again to episode 1 of Wanderer's Journal that dropped this week. We hosted a last-minute listening party in the server, joined by a few of the lovely cast and crew, & it was a blast! Eagerly awaiting the release of episode 2 on the Patreon feed this week.

As for all of the anniversary shows I mentioned earlier, we asked the members to submit shows for the event & they knocked it out of the park. I was only able to make it for the first half of the marathon, but it was a great time (and has definitely made me add a bunch of new shows to my to-listen list)

Fawx & Stallion was our first listen of the day! I mentioned on the stage that I'm not typically one to venture outside of my colloquial horror shows, but this podcast is incredible, & makes my past 14-year-old obsessed-with-Sherlock-Holmes self very happy. They're currently crowdfunding for their second season, which you can check out here!

We also checked out Night Shift, which I hadn't listened to before but was immediately told was right up my alley. This observation was absolutely correct, and we all liked this show enough there have already been talks in the server about giving it a listen all together! I love shows with framing devices, and podcast-within-a-podcast is always a fun avenue.

I've listened to Gastronaut a handful of times now, and was more than happy to listen to the pilot again for this event! The semi-recent addition of the transcripts was super helpful, & probably gives me an excuse to relisten to the show in its entirety now, but even just the pilot episode gives you such fun insight into the world & their expanse of cool foods that are tragically denied to those of us residing on earth.

The Grotto was the last show I had time to catch, being another one that I already really loved going in to this! After getting further into the show, you're forced to really reframe your understanding of the beginning of the story which has thus far made it really enjoyable to revisit. (I have yet to finish the finale—whoops—so maybe I'll change my tune when I get around to it?)

I didn't get the chance to listen to anything else this week, (still caught between the end of the semester, packing to move, and the upcoming Podcast Jam @podcastjam Jam Weekend,) but I have at least 14 hours worth of drive time ahead of me this week, so recommendations are more than welcome!

Happy listening for the week ahead, friends!

#audio drama sunday #i was going to make a car crash joke about the grotto but thought it best to avoid lol #audio drama #wanderer's journal #fawx & stallion #night shift #gastronaut #the grotto #fiction podcast #finch chirps

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tens-girl · 2 months

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Aziraphale’s Birthday Party…

Who Omens has come a long way since this humble beginning, but it’s always fun to revisit the start of the story…

Below the cut, an extract from Chapter One of the first part of Who Omens… Aziraphale is helping a stranger in the bookshop (who looks strangely like Crowley…) when there is a loud noise. Zee (Aziraphale and Crowley’s human partner) goes to investigate…

The full fic is rated E for the later chapters but this section is pure fun and a nice little scene all on its own!

You can also just go straight to the full fic on AO3 here.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a large clatter from the furthest corner of the shop. She nearly dropped her cup, but saved it and placed it safely down on the table beside the sofa, before jumping up to run through the maze of bookshelves, following the direction of the noise. The noise at this point was Aziraphale cursing loudly in a way that was entirely unbecoming of an angel, competing with apologetic sounds in the deeper tone of the stranger. As Zee rounded the end of the final bookshelf the scene that greeted her eyes was one that could most accurately be described as chaos. A chaos that had at that moment descended into a thunderous silence.

Aziraphale was hovering precariously on the top rung of a ladder looking down at the handsome man who was half squatting in an unbalanced way under the weight of a pile of very large, very old-looking books. Tomes they would probably be called. Several of them had fallen onto the floor. The angel’s arm was stretched out towards the pile and that probably explained why another very large book was suspended in midair as if it had been miraculously suspended half way through falling. The stranger was staring at it, eyes wide and mouth open but not entirely as shocked as Zee might have expected him to be. He seemed quite accepting of the fact that the book had apparently changed its mind about co-operating with gravity, almost as if it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Aziraphale had blushed bright pink and looked a little helpless.

Zee reached forward and took hold of the troublesomely floating book. She placed it carefully on the floor where it could continue ignoring gravity in a less obvious manner. She then took some more of the most vulnerable-looking books from the pile and did the same. This seemed enough for the surprisingly-calm man to recover his balance and lower the remaining books to join their friends on the bookshop’s polished wooden floorboards. He grinned at Zee.

“Thanks.”

She smiled back at him before turning to look at Aziraphale. His hand was no longer reaching out. It was instead clasped over his mouth. His eyebrows had practically disappeared from his face, they were lifted so high. It briefly occurred to Zee to wonder whether he was more embarrassed at performing the obvious miracle in front of a stranger or at the language he had uttered when the books began to fall. She decided it was probably both.

“Sooo…”

Zee turned back to see the stranger, who had apparently recovered himself remarkably quickly, leaning against the bookshelf nonchalantly, arms folded across his chest, one foot crossed over the other. The biggest grin she’d seen so far was stretched across his face. Again, it was not lost on her that the whole pose was extremely reminiscent of a certain demon.

“Not your average bookseller then? Weeeellll… you could be really good at magic but I didn’t see how you did it and I’m really clever. You’d have to be exceptionally good to get past me…”

“Unlikely.”

All three of them jumped at the interruption. Aziraphale let out a little squeak as he wobbled on top of the ladder. The stranger nearly fell as he turned too quickly. Zee almost had a heart attack but fortunately didn’t and only had to swivel her gaze slightly to see who had spoken.

Crowley stood at the other end of the aisle created by two rows of bookshelves. They hadn’t heard him enter. He was leaning with his shoulder against one shelf in a pose that was an exact mirror image of that just recently held by the stranger. He smirked as the others stared at him, enjoying the mischief his unexpected arrival had caused. Then he raised himself elegantly back to vertical (or as close to it as he was capable of) and sauntered towards the group. He looked at his doppelganger, although apparently either not recognising or not acknowledging the resemblance.

“I mean, not you, I’m sure you are very clever.” He didn’t bother to sound convinced. “Unlikely because he”, nodding towards Aziraphale, “is extraordinarily terrible at magic.” He articulated every single letter in the words ‘extraordinarily terrible’ alongside quite a few letters that weren’t actually present just for good measure.

The angel huffed and Zee had to fight back a giggle. The stranger merely raised his eyebrows. Crowley had reached them now and stood altogether too close to the man, looking him up and down slowly. He never was one to obey the laws of personal space when he wanted to be intimidating. And he definitely wanted to be intimidating right now. To this stranger who had his angel bright pink and squirming and Zee practically melting into the floor.

Because she was. As she’d suspected, the sight of Crowley and the handsome man stood so close together was more than a little overwhelming. They were exactly the same height. You could probably measure it with highly advanced scientific measuring devices and find that it was exact to an atomic level. The resemblance between them was even more pronounced now they were able to be directly compared. They were facing one another and the profile of the faces was identical. Not just similar but literally identical. Same nose, same jawline, same mouth, same chin. It was actually quite frightening. At least it would have been if Zee wasn’t quite so turned on by it.

Crowley was glaring at the man through his sunglasses and surprisingly the stranger was standing up very well to it. They both had their arms folded and the man showed no sign of backing away from the demon. In fact, he grinned again.

“Hello!”

Crowley jumped back, as if escaping the spit of hot oil in a pan. It was possible that the brightness in the stranger’s smile was somehow actually burning him.

“Ngk” he exclaimed disdainfully, a shudder running through his body. Zee stifled another giggle, earning a murderous glare from Crowley. That only made it worse and she practically snorted out a laugh. She knew she would pay for that later.

“Right then!” resumed the stranger brightly. “So not a magic trick? Which brings us back to not your average bookseller.”

He fixed Aziraphale with an intensely interrogative look. The angel looked like he had rather hoped everyone else had forgotten about him and was devastated to discover that they had not.

Crowley sighed heavily. “What did you do, Angel?”

Aziraphale now had three pairs of eyes fixed on him. He was still blushing furiously. Crowley and the stranger each raised an identical eyebrow at him questioningly. Thankfully, since Zee was looking at the angel too, she didn’t notice. After a momentary flicker of his eyes towards the man, Aziraphale looked guiltily at Crowley before crumpling completely.

“Oh… it was the books Crowley. They were falling and some of these are terribly old and really very precious. I couldn’t let them get damaged. It might be irreparable…” The final word was whispered as if what he was suggesting was truly the most horrific thing he could imagine.

“What did you do, Angel?”

Aziraphale glanced quickly at the stranger again.

“Um… well… the books might have… stopped falling?”

His voice rose at the end, turning the phrase into a question. But Crowley understood the angel well enough to infer what had happened.

“So you used a teeny tiny miracle to save your books?”

The angel nodded, shooting yet another look at the stranger. Crowley rolled his eyes at that.

“Oh come on, Angel. I don’t think you need to worry about him. He’s terrifyingly calm and going with the whole not-your-average-bookseller schtick. I’m willing to bet he’s not-your-average-human.”

He turned to the man, tilting his head to one side, making that last sentence a question. The stranger shook his head. Crowley raised both eyebrows, encouraging him to elaborate.

“Not actually human.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped in a charming mixture of excitement and surprise. He was suddenly a little less anxious and back in the hunt for mystery.

Zee’s brain was just trying to keep up with the conversation.

Aziraphale descended a couple of steps, gazing fascinatedly at the stranger. Crowley was also looking at him intently, but with more of a medium-grade glare. Taking another step down the ladder, Aziraphale knitted his brows together in confusion.

“You’re not an angel,” he said softly.

“Or a demon,” supplied Crowley.

“No,” agreed the stranger, scrunching his nose slightly as he shook his head in a way that was quite alarmingly endearing. He smiled. “I’m the Doctor.”

Continue reading on AO3!

#good omens #doctor who #crossover #doctor who fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #tenth doctor #going back to the beginning #forgot how fun this was!#two David Tennants are better than one

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hi-there-buddies · 2 months

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So dragon ball and dragon ball z is my childhood I watched half of it without understanding anything because it was not translated to my language (my older brother had to endure my constant questions when we were watching it) and I loved it! I loved the characters, I loved the plot, I loved every outfit Bulma ever had, I wanted to learn how to fly and all that ( I was 7 years old). I also loved that later I got my hands on subtitles in my language.

With time I moved on and started enjoying different fandoms and although db was always in my heart I never wandered into the fandom, never saw what was going on.

This week I got a little sick and suddenly got a lot of free time. Somehow led by nostalgia i revisited dragon ball and (after the initial warm feeling of my childhood) got so irritated. I just kept reading some takes on Goku and thought to myself "man, was I really such a bad judge of character" and decided to rewatch dbz. I'm not finished yet but my views from all those years ago didn't really change and Goku is still my favourite.

Anyway I wrote all of this to tell you that I agree with a lot of your opinions and I'm thankful that you are uploading them on the internet. You don't have to answer this but just know that you are now Defender of my childhood ❤️❤️

I feel the exact same way!!! Dragon Ball was my childhood too, and when I grew up I saw a lot of people saying it was actually bad and that everyone who liked it was blinded by nostalgia. Naturally, as a young teen I thought that I was one of those people, and compared to Naruto and Bleach, it wasn’t good at all. I just went with the most popular opinion because I thought “if this many people are thinking it, it must be true, right? It’s only popular because of nostalgia, the other shonen are much better”

Fast forward a few years later and I decided to rewatch Dragon Ball from OG to Z, and wow, I was so wrong for just going along with the public opinion. Because Dragon Ball is good!! It’s so fun and cool and satisfying, and I know it’s not nostalgia, because I’ve seen people who have never watched Dragon Ball before watch the entire series, and adore it!

I think people say that it pales in comparison to other Shonen because Dragon Ball is very subtle with its emotions. It doesn’t have a lot of flashbacks like Naruto, it doesn’t have a huge character roster like One Piece, and it doesn’t have incredibly thought out story lines like Bleach. But that’s not because Dragon Ball lacks any deeper meaning, it just finds a more natural way to convey feelings and emotions.

A really good example of this subtlety is Gohan’s PTSD. And when I say that, I don’t mean him striking Great Saiyaman poses that he got from the Ginyu force. I mean his PTSD during the Saiyan to Cell saga, and the constant nightmares he had. These aren’t one off things, either. He’s had at least 4 of them throughout the show. But he doesn’t dwell on them, so the audience doesn’t. But these nightmares illustrate one of the Gohan hates about himself: he’s always letting everyone down. This is stated explicitly in his beam struggle with Goku before going SSJ, but it didn’t come out of nowhere. It was just (say it with me) subtle

Not saying DB is better than any other shonen btw. It’s actually not even my favorite one, but I’d say it’s at least on par with the big three.

I’ll always defend Dragon Ball❤️

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wario-speedwagon · 5 months

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i wanna hear abt whatever "the backflip failed to assert dominance" had going on

Haha, now that one is quite a silly name for what was a more serious, mystery story, with the title stupidly referencing what the plot twist is, hehe! Sadly, this wip was abandoned a long while ago as I didn't have clear ideas for what I wanted to do with the story to its end after a certain point, and I wanted to focus my creativity on the two WIPs I was still feeling inspired by (one of which was Pruny! :). However, I'm feeling generous, so I'll just copy/paste the whole unfinished draft below the cut for your own reading, maybe you'll still enjoy it!

It's very rough and clunky at parts, and rereading it for myself took some strength to not immediately change several lines to make it read less confusingly, but it was better than I remember it being! :) The next paragraphs will be spoiling the "twist" and what plot plans I had for it in case you wanna read it for yourself and come to your own conclusions first, so Spoilers in 3, 2, 1...

. . .

So this story takes place in 1993, the year Freddy's would end up dying. We follow the Scott Cawthon phone guy of the Utah location who has just doomed himself by hiring the infamous Dave Miller. Previously up to this point, DSAF 1 happened as normal with the gnarly ending (where Jack and Dave got away with murder and shut down Colorado), but when DSAF 2 happens, Dave arrives to Bakersfield as Jack never showed up, meaning Vegas was the last he ever saw of him. So Dave has been continuing his Freddy's closing mission one place at a time, though eventually losing his passion for it since he's alone again doing it.

However, the Scotts have gotten more and more cautious of Dave over the years and this one is especially proactive about watching Dave and preventing him from achieving his killing MO if at all possible. Killing time at work to cool off suspicions, Dave records some phone tape recordings (which are featured in and taken from Project: Save the Kiddins), then he checks out Scott's paperwork and sees an application by "Mike Schmidt" who seems suspiciously like an anonymous Old Sport, which excites Dave and inspires him to get his old Spring Bonnie as well as Sportsy's Spring Freddy suit too, now! (After all, he can't just kill the kids not suited up, can he?) Sadly though, it would turn out that this is actually the canon FNAF Mike Schmidt, who as you know is also a rotting anonymous zombie serial working at Freddy's...

Meanwhile, Scott, with Dave having left the premises, finally has some free time for himself and decides to fix the Happiest Day machine before having a "dream" (not realizing he's gone into it) and meets a puppet and some ghost children. And then the story leaves off with Scott feeling compelled to save the children's souls.

I didn't have enough draft written to make my subtle hints grow more obvious before revealing, but if you were somehow very smart enough to figure it out, this Scott is actually a Phonified Jack who springlocked himself (perhaps by backflipping, hence the dumb title hehe) on day one of DSAF 2 before he could ever reunite with Dave. That's why he was extra aware of Dave's danger and methods while also feeling drawn to saving the children in the Happiest Day machine :)

I'll almost certainly never return to this WIP, but it was fun revisiting it and even sharing it, so thanks for the opportunity! :D

Hurricane, Utah, 1993

Friday, XX/16/93

Model 51_1 was swamped in paperwork to work out like usual. As always, too many employees to replace, and thus too many positions to refill. Another dayshift spot to fill after another typical event, another nightguard they'd inevitably gone through, it was always the same sh- crap here. Over half a decade of it for this Scott, not that counting did anything to help his spirit any.

Spirit? No, at this rate, he probably didn't have one of those anymore. That’s assuming he ever had one to begin with. Freddy's was effective at killing those off in anyone who worked there.

Focus, Scott. Let's see what we got for today.

Sighing for impending boredom, he adjusted his gloves in preparation for a whole lot of handwriting and took the first packet.

Applicants. Alright, let’s see.

As often as they cycled through employees at Freddy's, new applicants were always found for him by means he didn’t want to know. Probably the cause of their staff being so chronically sketchy though.

Top sheet.

Randall Jade.

Applying for night guard. A-And dayguard, how convenient…

Experience: sex work, goose control… the latter might be a relevant skillset…

Phone no.: 1-800-8=D SEXY PHONE

Place of residence: Freddy's hopefully.

Well…the honesty was the opposite of professional, but Freddy's values rock bottom desperation in its applicants above all else. All in all, the programming in his head told him Jade was an ideal candidate for the position–uh, positions.

Next.

Dave Miller.

Oh.

Oh no.

Dave Miller.

Applying for dayshift worker.

Experience: ur mom.

Phone no.: 69

Place of residence: ur mom.

Scott felt like he had been marked next for a death sentence. That's essentially what Dave was, all Phone Guys knew it. Dave Miller was an open secret, a promise for destruction for whichever location he picked next. A blight on Freddy’s not even a crucifixion could solve.

The programming in his head told him Miller was an acceptable candidate for the position.

Next.

Scott's hand trembled as he continued to whittle down tonight’s stack of papers.

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

Monday, XX/19/1993

Dave had received an unsurprisingly quick response to his work application just a day after submitting. He was naturally hired. Freddy's only survived because it had no standards. But of course, Dave vowed that that would also be its downfall.

So he showed up for his umpteenth first day. He didn't bother finding the Phoney; both of them should know exactly what was up without fake formalities. They knew their place by now. Those guys were like a hive mind with their programming and company newsletters.

Yet as he entered the building, Scott of course was waiting there to meet him anyway. Dave walked past his trademarked Phone Guy greeting to go see how this place’s Saferoom had changed over the decade he’d been gone. Phoney sighed at being ignored; both of them knew it was better for his immediate safety if he left Dave alone to his devices. Dave had to admit, it was in some ways nice to have his reputation finally precede him.

Old Sport had disappeared after Vegas in 87, and once he finally learned he would no longer be following him around, Dave realized he was going to be alone again for a while. But of course, Sportsy would surely come back for him sooner or later?

But in the years of meantime, Dave had tired of the mocking charade he used to put up for the Phoneys. The end result was always the same anyway. It just wasn't fun anymore, and it certainly wasn't needed.

After all, Dave's score was still undefeated.

He was more wary than usual about trying something too soon, though. The Phone Guys these days are always on edge about him, and they're always the most paranoid in the beginning.

To prove his point, he could see this new Scott carefully watching him from afar right now in his periphery. There was something… distinct about this one though… off-putting in some way he couldn't yet pinpoint, but he had a boring week ahead to digest his thoughts.

The best Dave could come up with for now was that it felt like he knew something the other Phoneys didn't. Like he was “in the know.” Whatever that would mean.

Dave checked the Saferoom, but to his surprise, there weren't any springlock suits here. That…was definitely an unexpected wrench in his plan. He promptly went to go properly meet this Scott after all.

“Phone face. Where the fuck're the suits?”

“Ah, now that I would’ve told you during orientation; we had to get rid of those after the original five murders here back in the 80s. Y'know, to prevent any more scandals here after miraculously saving this location from going under. Higher ups are really attached to this first location for some reason.”

Dave was right ticked off. This Phoney smelled like bullshit.

“Freddy's is dying, Dave, and the company's had to… adapt.”

Dave now had weekend plans to visit Bakersfield.

Not dignifying Scott with a response of acknowledgement, Dave just marched off to the office to fuck around on the computer.

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

Tuesday, XX/20/93

Another boring day of not murdering children. Another day of ignoring Phoney’s paranoia.

Dave decided to explore the security office next to kill some time.

Scott of course noticed Dave’s detour. Seeing him in person again… it filled him with determination. A determination to… do something about him, certainly to stop his usual plan to shut down this location. He’d already gotten rid of the springlock suits last weekend, a crucial ingredient to Dave’s shenanigans that hopefully bought him more time.

He was personally familiar with what this “man” was capable of, and he wouldn’t have it occur under his watch. And certainly not if his hide depended on it.

…

Well shit.

“Rip in fuck, nerd.”

Dave kicked the dayguard’s nearly headless corpse aside to raid the office drawers for anything interesting.

Most of it was junk like tape, post it notes, pens… no scissors. Maybe he could just draw some dicks and post them around the–

Ah. A tape recorder. Those’re always fun to mess with.

He played the one that was currently inside.

“Hello? Hello, hello? I have a message for you... to help you get settled on your first night. Umm, I actually–"

Dave immediately paused it. He didn’t know why he expected anything other than the same old tiring Scott voice stuttering through some training script. As the years went on, that same voice only irritated him more and more.

But then Dave smiled with bored inspiration and pressed Record.

"Sorry. I just had to cut that asshole off. What a fuckin' nerd.

Anyway, good fuckin' going on landing a minimum wage job. Where you have to fend off gigantic felt-covered bastard animals who want to smack your neck and stuff you into a fuckin' bear suit.

That phone guy left some tips of his own to help you survive. But honestly, it didn't do him much good. Spoiler alert: he fuckin' died. What a nerd! So, good ole Davey's gonna give you some of his pre-recorded safety tips!

By the way, this place is totally fuckin' haunted, and that's on me. I sorta murdered a few dozen kids, back in the 80's and stuffed them into the robots out of pure spite for the company. Don't worry though: kids don't count as real people. I'll call ya tomorrow. And remember: you can't out-wrestle the bear, so don't even try."

Satisfied with a job well done, he hit Stop. It felt good to make a positive difference in the world sometimes. Ah, who was he kidding? He smirked thinking of the next nightguard they’d hire hearing this as they fended for their life.

…He was still bored, so heck, tape #2.

"uh, hello? Hello? uhh, well, if you're hearing this then you made it to day 2! um, congrats! U-uh, I won't talk quite as long this time–"

"Hey, how ya doin' man? It's me again: Big Dick Davey! Night 2, eh? Good job on not getting stuffed into a tacky fuckin' bear suit! Honestly, the night should be the exact same as last night was, just with slightly angrier robots who will try to rip your throat out twice as hard.”

He drifted onto a Foxy-related tangent. He had too many opinions to not share them.

“...Well, that's enough pretending that I care about your safety for this night. I'll call you tomorrow with more Freddy's-related bullshit trivia. See you on the meanside.”

Dave looked up at the clock. Seriously? Only 2:15?

Ugh, whatever, let’s just record another.

"Hello, hello! Hey, you're doin' great! Uh, most people–"

"Hey, yo, doggo, it's me, Davey. Wow, night 3. Incredible. See, if there's one thing I can do, it's give bad advice to future night guards.

By the way, since these messages are pre-recorded, I have no actual idea whether you're actually alive or not. Let's be honest, statistically, you probably died back on night 1.”

He looked down at the poor bastard on the ground behind him.

“Priceless. If you're still alive, worry not. To survive tonight, just do the same shit you did last night, but better.

Just don't dick around and you'll be fine. I'll speak to you tomorrow, dude.”

Dave was starting to get bored again, so he called it a day and stood up from the office chair.

Oh, right. He should probably let Scott know about that bozo on the ground. He considered just letting him be a fun surprise for Scott later, but he was still in the paranoia phase, so Dave would probably be blamed for murdering him if he didn’t report it. He missed that one Colorado Phone Guy, he was probably the most chill one he ever had the pleasure of fucking over.

It was also the Phone Guy he and Old Sport got to take down together.

Man he missed those fleeting days.

…

“Hey Phone-fuck, yer dayguard’s dead.” He thumb-pointed behind his shoulder toward the room he’d just come from.

“Oh godd-dang it, already?”

Scott grumpily walked over to the security office. Dave had to admit, this one was off-putting for sure, but he appreciated the laxer programming on the fake professionalism of this guy.

Though it made him uncannily human to him, and that circled back to off-putting.

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

Another night, another stack of papers for Scott motherhecking Cawthon.

He let out a stressed sigh.

Already he could expect to file another dead security guard. More applicants to reconsider already too. Jeebus, it was only the first night on the job, Randall!

Well, comparing the previously declined applicants against each other again, he– hey, wait a minute, there’s another new application that was submitted today.

Mike Schmidt

Applying for nightguard.

Experience: 20 years in night security, 10 years with Freddy’s.

Place of residence: Hurricane, Utah

H-How conveniently perfect. Although there was no Mike Schmidt in any of the company files despite such a history… He was one of those name-changers. …Whatever, taking their applicants at face value was the Freddy’s way. He of all people should know that better than anyone else.

The programming in his head told him Schmidt was a perfect candidate.

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

Wednesday, XX/20/93

Dave came in for day 3 of bored snooping around. Hell, maybe he should just start the killing already, just so he could move on from this extra depressing, windowless dump.

The Phone Guy learned surprisingly quickly not to interact with Dave if not necessary, but that still didn’t end his unusually keen hypervigilance on his movements throughout the building. Dave half considered just dismantling this Phone Guy early himself since his usual MO was already being derailed off tradition.

Not committed to any particular plan yet, Dave went to the kitchen to locate a knife or any sort of stabby paraphernalia for future reference. And to his severe chagrin, there wasn’t a single knife to be found in any of the drawers or counters. Not even any forks.

It was a good fuckin’ thing Dave was a creative thinker, and right now, he was using those creative juices to think of payback for that damn Phoney. Phone Guys were never this annoyingly proactive.

But what, did this guy really think Dave wouldn’t provide his own tools when the time comes? The more annoying Phoneys often had a knack for thinking they’re two steps ahead of his plans, but all those Phone Guys were long gone now. Dave grinned at the thought of that. Served those creeps right.

He found himself in the office. There was paperwork strewn about the desk. There was no reason not to rifle through it. At the top was an application that Scott seemed to have accepted based on the red pen marks circling him when the others seemed blank.

Mike Schmidt, huh?

The more Dave read and pondered his application, the more a hope unexpectedly began to flicker where his heart should be. This guy had quite a history with these restaurants…

He booted up the computer to check the employee file on him, and there was one. Opening it… it seemed to be created this morning? This was a good sign.

Mike Schmidt.

Age: ?? (Note: Avoided answering)

Residence: Hurricane, Utah

Employment history: 1993-current, Nightguard, Location #1

Note: Skin does not look healthy. Avoid physical contact in case of STD, we can’t afford such lawsuits like we used to. Mike doesn’t talk much either. Exercise caution around him.

Heart elated, Dave promptly headed off to the security room.

…

He hit Record.

“...Old Sport! Oh, how I've missed you! You came back. You always come back. Have you come back for me, old sport? Have you come back for ole Davey? I knew it, I just knew that you really loved me!

Look, I have to go, old sport. But, I'll be right back tomorrow night, okay? Stay alive, old sport. I'll speak to you again tomorrow, sportsy!"

And with that promise recorded, Dave excused himself from work early to start his drive to Bakersfield a couple days ahead of schedule.

And Scott was awe-struck to see Dave just run out like that. The programming screamed how wrong it was and urged him to drag him back here, but the programming also screamed at him to stay here on-site during working hours.

But most of all, his memories screamed that Dave was up to something disastrous. And this time, he would be at the receiving end of the catastrophe.

His programming faithfully corrected each and every one of the panicked swears he muttered as he paced back and forth.

Unable to calm down all the tension in his head, Scott looked for something to distract his mind from the impending dread.

There. Something. That da-dang machine over there.

It was always broken, and with no Dave to watch like a hawk right now, maybe finally fixing the poor thing would calm him down. Clearly no one else was going to do it so he might as well. He went to Parts and Service for a wrench.

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

A dream of being at his old Freddy’s job.

It was disorienting.

It probably wasn’t real.

Before long, he noticed a puppet standing there before him.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“W-What do you want? What’s going on?”

“The five children.

Ten years later and they still do not rest.”

“I… don’t understand.”

But that felt like a lie after he said it.

“Gabriel. Fritz. Susie. Jeremy. Cassidy.

They’re all still waiting for rest.”

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

Thursday, XX/21/93

Yesterday was strange. He’d had the strangest dream when he fell asleep against the machine he’d just fixed, and then he felt compelled to carry out even stranger errands for the puppet in that dream. But… it felt right to do it. Something about the robots seemed tame this morning.

-End WIP

#thanks so much for the ask! :D #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf fanfic

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